You didn’t expect much when you answered the ad for a new roommate in Storybrooke—just a quiet place to stay, maybe someone decent to split rent with. What you got instead was Emma Swan: guarded eyes, leather jacket, and a smile that could melt concrete if you ever managed to earn it.

“Don’t touch my coffee, don’t touch my red leather jacket, and we’ll get along fine,” she said when you first moved in.

You grinned. “Noted. I’ll try not to cross the sacred boundaries.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched up. That was the beginning.