I'm terrible at updating. So sorry for the wait folks but my senior year has been nothing but insanity. Here's a chapter and I hope you all enjoy!

Emma's dorm suite is exceptionally freezing; the rain being of really to blame as it patters against the windows. The space is much larger than I remember, now that it's not cluttered with people, and I'm able to fully see the set up of its interior. Specifically the exact spot in the main lounge where we first introduced ourselves to one another. My lips quirk upward at the thought despite the fact that I'm slightly shivering where I stand.

It takes a mere glance for Emma to tell that I'm uncomfortably cold. "Sorry it's so cold in here. Normally I would suggest going into the room I share with Ruby because there's a heater but after the conversation we had, that would probably sound too suggestive. Right?"

"Emma," I chuckle lightly, shaking my head. "I get that you don't want to push boundaries but I'm on the verge of hypothermia. So please."

"Understood." Near the entrance, on an adjacent wall, is another wooden door. Emma twists the knob, pushes it open and motions for me to walk inside with a single wave of her arm.

The room is roughly around the same size as me and Kathryn's, the set up resembling ours also. I guessed the side that belongs to Emma simply by examining the posters on the wall, a few being of rock n roll legends. She seems like the type. That and there's a couple of Polaroids of baby Emma.

"You can sit either on the bean bag chair or on my bed; doesn't matter." Emma cracks the door then walks over to check if the heater is on.

I take a seat, more like fall and sink, on the red bean bag chair a few inches near the foot of Emma's bed, facing it.

"Are you still cold?" Emma questions as she walks over to take a seat next to me on the floor. She leans her back against the wood of the bed, her knees halfway bent so that they don't entangle with my outstretched legs.

"My hands are still kind of numb but I'll live." I reply, rubbing my tingling fingertips.

"Oh, here, let me." Emma extends her palms flat in my direction and in return I glance at them. Then I glance at her face and one of my eyebrows arches in question. "I've been told I give off a weird amount of body heat." She shrugs.

Fair enough.

When I slid my hands to cover hers, I realize that it's going to be impossible to forget how soft they are. "Oh, oh they are warm." My genuine surprise makes her laugh as she closes her hands over mine.

"So usually when I'm trying to get to know a person," Emma starts and I find myself struggling to pay attention to what she's saying. Her thumbs are doing that thing on the back of my hands again and because of the sensation, I'm loosing the ability to concentrate. Good thing her eyes are focused on the task of getting my hands warm which, if I may add, had already been achieved the minute we made contact. "I do it through a game of 21 questions because it makes things fun." Her eyes meet mine and she smiles playfully at me, the top row of her teeth bite down on her lower lip. "Wanna play?"

So much for not being suggestive. I breathe out a small laugh at the thought. "Sure, why not."

Emma makes this little squealing noise out of excitement and if it were any other person I would find it irritating. Emma's somehow different. A cute kind of different-of course I mean that in the most platonic way.

"My way of playing 21 questions is that each person gets to ask five questions of their liking and we go back and forth. If the subject is too touchy just say so. Okay?"

"That doesn't sound like much fun."

Emma laughs. Now she's just absentmindedly holding my hands, allowing them to rest on her bent knees. "Trust me it is. Look I'll start. What's your favorite color?"

"That's not really important."

"It is to me." Emma quickly counters.

"What does me telling you my favorite color have to do with anything?"

"Oh my god, Regina, that's how the game goes. I ask you anything and you answer."

I sit in thought for a moment before giving up and asking, "Can I say pass?"

"We're playing 21 questions not charades. Just answer."

"Okay. Fine. Um...blue." I reluctantly answer before immediately huffing. "Emma, I feel ridiculous."

Emma breathes out a gentle laugh, her head bowing for a moment before she lifts it back up. "You're not use to having someone's full attention on you."

"Is that another one of your questions?"

Emma shakes her head slightly, her crystal eyes roaming and studying my face; darting back and forth as if searching for an answer imbedded in my expression. "An observation. I do have a question for you though: Do you know that your hands are shaking?"

I'm tempted to tell her how stupid the question is because of course I know that my hands are shaking. They belong to me after all. But I don't; instead I settle for shrugging because I don't really understand why my hands are shaking and the fact that she noticed, despite me wishing she didn't, is embarrassing. "I'm cold."

"My hands are shaking too." Emma completely ignores my excuse. She interlaces our fingers together, pressing our palms flat against one another. "Can you feel it?" Her eyes are on me and my eyes are on our hands.

It takes a short while but eventually I do. In a way it's comforting knowing that her body reacts the same way mine does. "Why are you shaking?"

"Honestly? You make me nervous. So, so nervous." She admits in a breathy, sheepish laugh. Though it may seem wrong, the piece of information makes me happy in the strangest way. "Is that the same reason you're shaking?"

"Maybe." In other words, yes. I've realized that now because she brought it to my attention. Emma seems to understand that because she nods.

"Well, this," She raises our intertwined hands for emphasis. "Is a good thing. It's genuine. Would you feel more comfortable if I let go?"

"No." I object quicker than necessary. My face is flushing, I'm sure of it. "I mean-you're warm and, you know, I'm cold."

Emma tries to suppress a smile as she replies with a soft, "Okay.", her eyes boring into mine.

"Do I make you nervous in a bad way?"

"You make me nervous in the best way possible, Regina." Emma answers and a weight is lifted. "Do I make you nervous in a bad way?"

The side of my mouth quirks upward. "Think of your own questions, Swan."

"Speaking of questions and last names," Emma begins, her face expressing realization. "I don't think I know yours."

"Oh. It's Mills."

"Mills." Emma repeats, nodding. At first I thought nothing of giving the information. That, is, until I could see the gears in Emma's head turning through parted lips and unblinking eyes staring at nothing in particular. When she looks at me, I bite down on my bottom lip. She squints and tilts her head to the side. "You wouldn't...by any chance, have any relation to-"

"Cora Mills?" I finish expectingly, an eyebrow arched. "My mother."

Emma's lips form an O shape. "Holy shit." Then she's leaning toward me, resting on her knees, with wide eyes. Unintentionally, I glance at her lips before quickly averting my stare back to her eyes. "You're the daughter of the mayor of this town? That must've been awesome."

"Former. Mayor." I correct rather quietly, pressing my lips tightly together.

Emma's excitement instantly simmers down, a look of complete horror slowly takes form. She leans back, her mouth agape. "Oh my god." Her hands reach up to cover her face. "Oh my god, I'm such a terrible person. I'm so sorry for bringing her up. I completely forgot what happened. Damnit." Emma moves her hands from her face to thread her fingers through her hair, avoiding eye contact whilst silently cursing herself.

About fourteen years ago my mother, the mayor of StoryBrooke, was murdered by an intern she was having an affair with. He shot her in cold blood inside of her office before killing himself. It made the top story for weeks and at age seven, I had already seen it happen. For a while I have tried to repress the memory and I have succeeded up until now. I break away from my own thoughts by blinking one good time. "No. No, Emma, it's okay. We were never really close anyway."

"Really?" Emma looks at me, one hand still gripping a section of her blonde hair. "You sure I didn't trigger you or anything?"

I shake my head, inhaling deeply. At least I don't think she did. I don't feel the need to cry or hide because of the memory-in fact, there's an insistent need to speak about it. "Being the mayor's daughter wasn't as awesome as you'd assume it would be. My mother spent majority of her days in the office leaving my father to watch over me and on the days she did receive a break she would rarely come home. I think the only time I had ever really made any actual contact with her was around the time we took a picture for a news article." That's when the flash happened. For the first time in years my mother showed any remote affection toward me and I watched her die. The hand holding the gun had a gold ring on it, the same gold ring her intern always wore. "I remember crying that day," As of now, I'm no longer speaking to Emma nor looking at her. "And she yelled at me for ruining the portrait then told my father to take me home. I'm sure that furthered her hatred for me."

"I doubt she hated you, Regina." Emma's soft statement centers my attention on her once more.

"Oh no she did." I nod. "That's why she gave me this scar-actually, it's the only memory I have of her." My mother may have hated me but I couldn't hate her. That's why I tried to save her. I told my father about her affair with the hope of putting an end to it. When he confronted her she, I'm not sure how, immediately knew that I told and hit me across the face, her diamond ring splitting my lip. Not only did I end the affair and my parent's marriage, I ended my mother's life. Her intern couldn't take the thought of them splitting up and, well, you know how that story goes.

"Regina. Regina?" Emma's angling her head to catch my eye.

Realizing that I must've zoned out, I blink a few times and my eyes meet Emma's sympathetic blue ones. "Sorry. I have no idea why I told you all of that." Suddenly I feel incredibly vulnerable.

"It seems like this is the first time you've talked about it out loud."

"It is." I nod once before narrowing my eyes. "Don't tell anybody about this."

Emma extends her pinkie finger in my direction, a gentle smile on her face. "You confided in me and I'll never betray that for as long as I live. Pinkie promise."

I'm torn between wanting to laugh at Emma's childlike tendency in believing that hooking pinkies could possibly hold something as great as a promise and wanting to cry at the mention of her lifespan. People like her shouldn't be taken out of this world, it's unfair.

I push back those thoughts with a gentle chuckle and hook my pinkie with hers. "You're a child."

Emma hums a response. She's smiling with her bottom lip in between her teeth. "You still like me." She teases, tilting her head slightly to the side in motion with each word.

Not being able to deny the statement, I settle for scrunching up my nose and playfully glaring at her before snatching my pinkie from her's. The laugh my reaction elicits from her only adds to the already growing, not to mention annoying, list of things I like about Emma Swan.

By the time we reached outside, the rain had stopped but the sky remains clouded over. Emma decides to busy herself by jumping to avoid every puddle and, my god, she's such a five year old yet I find myself grinning at her like an idiot.

"You're either going to bump into somebody or you're going to fall." I say as we near the building.

Emma twirls around to walk backward, smirking at me. "I'm the most well balanced person ever." She brags. The minute she spins back around, the door to the building opens and Emma slams directly into a lady, a nun to be specific, walking out of it sending a few books falling to the floor.

Well, I did warn her.

Being the nice person she is, Emma immediately and repeatedly apologizes, bends down to gather the person's belongings and hands it to them. It when they make eye contact that a slow, wild grin spreads across Emma's lips meanwhile the woman tries her best to maintain her composure. Despite me being slightly confused at the exchange I remain silent behind Emma.

"Mother Superior." Emma says in greeting, her tone slightly mocking.

Mother Superior clears her throat, tilts her chin high and does a single nod. "Good day." Is all she says before moving past Emma to walk away with her books held tightly against her chest.

I continue to watch the woman practically speed walk away from us, as if we had some contagious sickness. When I turn to look at Emma, a brow arched in question, she seems highly amused as she holds open the door for me with her back resting on it. "I'm laughing because she hates me. So so much."

"Why's that?"

"Well, Jesus is her best friend and if you haven't noticed already, I'm very very queer."

"Ah."

"That and I may have made out with a girl in the chapel she practically lives in. And I may have or may have not been intoxicated."

"You're horrible." I chuckle. When I glance back for a moment I notice that Mother Superior is still in my line of view and apparently me and Emma are in her's as well. She quickly looks away then scurries off leaving a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"You're going to be late for your class if you continue to stand here all day." Emma voice brings my attention back to her.

I merely nod in agreement, taking a step forward inside the building only to stop myself and retreat to cast my eyes on Emma once more. My mouth opens and, for a short moment, I hesitate to speak because I'm not too fond with expressing myself. "Thank you, Emma."

"Yeah, of course. Chivalry isn't completely dead." She replies.

"What?" Oh, she thinks I'm referring to her holding the door. I laugh at the realization and shake my head. "No, not for holding open the door. For...listening to me and taking what I said into account."

A gentle smile curves Emma's lips and she tilts her head slightly to the side, her blonde hair falling off her shoulder. "Of course. Anything for you, Regina." The statement is soft, genuine. And for the first time my stomach clenches, not from anxiety but from something deeper. "Until we meet again?"

I narrow my eyes a bit. "Why do you say that? A simple goodbye or see you later would be sufficient, you know."

Emma's smile only grows. "See you later is too broad. Goodbyes are too permanent." She explains simply then bites down on the corner of her lower lip, eyes penetrating my own. "And I don't want to say goodbye to you anytime soon."

Neither do I, Emma.
Neither do I.