Henry is three the first time he sees his mother cry. She's sitting on an armchair in her study holding a piece of paper and a crumpled tissue and her back is to him. It's an hour or two past his bedtime but his room is too dark and lonely and and he can't remember how to sleep and he finds her like this. He doesn't say a word. He listens to her sniff and shudder and breathe. He knows about crying. He cries when he falls or has a nightmare or loses a toy. He has seen other kids cry. But he has never seen a grown-up cry. Especially not his mother.

He'd never thought about her needing or wanting to cry. He'd never thought of her losing her composure for a moment. But he's three years old and standing unnoticed in a doorway, and for the first time he realizes that his mother is human.

He starts to cry.

She turns around in a moment, wide glassy eyes and open mouth, and flies across her study to collect him in her arms. "My little prince," she says, and he feels at home right away. But she doesn't stop crying.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" He asks her, voice incredibly small and scared, and he thinks maybe he doesn't understand a thing. It's then when he notices the paper in her hand. It's a drawing of her and himself he had made that afternoon, and there's drops of saltwater seeping through the paper. "Is it bad?" He bites his lip, suddenly feeling very wrong, very imperfect and as though everything is his fault.

But she shakes her head and holds him tighter, picking him up and sitting down on the couch, fingers combing through his hair and scratching his scalp. "No, no, no," she keeps repeating, and Henry feels himself calm down, even though he doesn't understand. "I love it, Henry. I love you." She's rocking him back and forth in her arms, and there's a world of truth in her words.

He still doesn't understand, but he's not afraid anymore and he falls asleep in her arms.

-

Henry is five the first time he falls off of his bike. It's a warm summer day, and his mother had insisted he wear sunscreen and a helmet, and he's learning how to ride without training wheels. The sidewalk is rough and hot from the heat, and he doesn't feel much on impact, but then then there's stinging and when he looks at his hands he sees blood. He hurts and cries a little, but in a moment, his mother is beside him, collecting him in her strong arms even though he's almost too big for this, and she carries him as though he's nothing into the house. He gets to sit on the toilet seat and pick his favorite colored band aids and lay in bed next to his mother and watch nature channels.

He doesn't say that he doesn't even mind that he fell off of his bike because now he can feel her arm rubbing his back and he can have lemonade through a straw on his mother's big bed, and he feels the safest, maybe, that he's ever been.

-

Henry is nine the first time he yells at his mother. He had been at school earlier that day and a few older kids had cornered him and asked him why he didn't look like his mother, and he'd been scared and he didn't know why. His back had hit the cold metal of a locker, and for the first time, he realized that her eyes are chocolate and his are green; her skin is olive and warm and tan and his is pale; she knows how to speak pretty words in Spanish that he's learning, but no one else knows them. And he'd felt scared. He'd felt scared and lost and confused and left out on something important. Like he should know, but didn't. He'd been boxed once on the ear before he left for home, blinded by tears and banged the front door shut.

He screams at her, "why don't I look like you?" And she looks at him with shock and surprise and sadness and love. And it makes him mad and confused but he loves her and he doesn't know what any of this means.

She kisses his head and wipes his tears away and sits him down at the kitchen table and tells him that she wasn't able to have babies, but out of all the little boys in the world, she had wanted and picked him, and that she'd never regretted it once in her life.

He doesn't say much after that. She kisses him again and makes him lasagne for dinner. That night, he tells her that he loves her before he goes to sleep.

-

Henry is thirteen the first time he finishes writing a book. He listens to a record his mother had made for him, filled with seventies' and eighties' rock, and writes the last page. He cries when it's finished.

It's about a boy who realized that he didn't need to have an extraordinary backstory to be extraordinary. The boy has an adoptive mother and he lives in a small town and leaves home to find his own story.

It's not really an autobiography, but when he shows his mother the next day, she cries. And for the first time, he thinks he might understand why.

-

Henry is fifteen the first time he kisses a girl. Her name is Grace and she has blonde hair and a sweet face and bright eyes. He'd taken her to a high school dance, and he's wearing an ill-fitted suit and she's wearing a pretty dress. They both agree not to embarrass themselves dancing because they don't know how. Instead, they stand in the back of the school gym drinking punch and suddenly Grace pulls him by the arm and leads him into a dark classroom.

It's quiet. He can feel the vibration of the bass of the music a few doors away, but there's a rush in his ears and all he can see is the dramatic shadows on her face. He's not sure why he does, but it makes sense. He leans down and kisses her on the lips. She doesn't pull away, and he realizes that she'd wanted this.

It's not much more than a peck, but he's erupting in flames and he knows he liked it, but it felt kind of weird. She's giggling softly, but not in a bad way, and then they can joke together and at the end of the night he can kiss her cheek.

His mother picks him up before eleven at night and she's smiling at him in a way that makes him feel like she knows. She asks him about his night and he holds her hand that's not gripping the steering wheel, and she squeezes his fingers.

It's not until he's looking in the bathroom mirror later that same night that he realizes Grace's pink lipstick is smudged across his lips.

-

Henry is sixteen the first time he realizes he is taller than his mother. It's a spring morning and they're standing in the kitchen. The windows are open and the smell of freshly-cut grass and flowers is wafting through them, and it's not time for him to leave for school yet. Neither of them are wearing shoes.

His mother is faced away from him, taking the coffee pot off the burner. She turns around, and their eyes meet. And he notices for the first time, that her eyes lift to meet his, and that he can almost see the top of her head. He almost wants to laugh about it, almost wants to tease her, and almost wants to cry at the same time, because he'd never realized before just how small she is.

But she's quiet too, and he thinks that maybe she's noticing for the first time, as well. Her eyes water and he wants to take the coffee pot from her and wrap his arms around her. He wants to shrink and fit below her chin and make her smile. He also wants to grow and fit her head under his chin and protect her from harm. Stuck in an uncomfortable middle, he watches her.

She blinks past the wetness in her dark eyes, and asks him for the very first time if he wants coffee. His eyes fill with unbidden tears and he wants to hug her.

He says, "Okay." They both understand.

-

Henry is eighteen the first time he says a real goodbye to his mother. His graduation has come and gone, and she'd sat in the passenger seat as he'd driven all the way to the campus of the school of his dreams. She'd even kept the speed nagging to a minimum, and her knuckles weren't quite so white as she clutched onto the 'Jesus handle' in Henry's new car.

They're standing in his new dorm. She'd spent the last hour helping him carry boxes and tucking hospital corners into his bedding and straightening the clothes hanging in his small closet. She smoothes down his new black comforter--not his blue quilted one--and he knows she's stalling, but he doesn't mind. He doesn't know how to say goodbye, either.

But he's wearing a lanyard around his neck and his new roommate is coming in and giving Henry a fist bump even though he doesn't know him. His mother stands off to the side, anxious hands settling over her flat belly, and he catches her eye. He excuses himself politely and leads her into the empty hall.

"Mom," is all he says, and then her eyes are filling with tears and she's falling forward and clutching him in her arms. He's tall enough now to place his palm on the back of her head, and he rocks them slightly side to side as he whispers in her ear.

He doesn't know how to say how much he loves her. He doesn't know if the words exist to tell her how much it all means to him -- that she chose him, that she cried over his childhood drawings and kissed his injuries and read his books over and over again and pretended not to notice when he had lipstick smudged on his mouth.

But she knows, she always knows, and then he's crying quietly and telling her over and over again that he loves her, and it's all enough.

-

Henry is nineteen the first time he smokes weed. He's with his roommate and they're both sitting on Henry's unmade bed and his roommate hands him a rolled blunt and Henry doesn't say no. He smokes it all, wearing nothing but a hoodie and basketball shorts and he waits to feel calm the way his roommate tells him he will.

He doesn't. He feels nervous, paranoid; his heart begins to race and the room begins to spin. He clutches the frame of his bed to ground himself and his roommate laughs at him. Henry doesn't smile.

An hour later, Henry washes his face and sees bloodshot eyes staring back at him in the mirror and he wonders what his mother would think of him now.

Henry doesn't smoke again.

-

Henry is twenty the first time he kisses a boy. He's at a party and he's a tiny bit tipsy, but it's the end of the semester and he has one more final and his brain is just about fried. He doesn't feel bad about leaving his dorm room. He enjoys himself at the party, says no to a batch of brownies, and sits outside on the porch and watches the stars. He's by himself for a good half hour before he hears footsteps behind him.

It's a boy from his English class named Anthony and he sits a little too close to Henry, and he's not drunk or high. Anthony asks him a few final paper-related bullshit questions, before he gives up the act and points out a few constellations. Henry leans over and places his head on Anthony's shoulder. His heart races, beating outside of his chest, and he thinks hard about how all semester he'd been longing for a moment just like this.

They talk and joke and laugh and then Henry leans up and shuts him up with a kiss. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is shaking and it doesn't relax until Anthony kisses him back.

And he feels safe. And he wonders what his mother would say if she saw him, but he thinks he knows. A contentment spreads across his chest and he tangles his fingers in Anthony's hair.

-

Henry is twenty-three the first time he walks down an aisle. He realizes that he's stupidly, madly, ridiculously in love and he wants this more than anything. Still, he's in the back of the church fiddling with his tie and feeling a seed of panic deep in his stomach. The next moment, his mother is behind him, a steady, calming hand spreading across his back, and it grounds him.

He turns around and she fixes his tie and she looks beautiful.

"Mama," He says, voice breaking, and she looks up at him with pride and love and only a hint of sadness in her eyes.

"You want this, don't you?"  She asks him, warmly, steadily; and Henry knows that he could answer anything and she would understand.

He says, "More than anything," and she she closes her eyes, smiles softly, and nods.

"I love you, my little prince," she tells him just as the music starts up and he holds out his elbow for her.

"You're not giving me away," he reminds her. "I'm still yours, forever and always."

She kisses him on the cheek, a sea of words and emotions in her eyes, and then the doors open and he's walking down to meet his groom. When she lets go, he feels her absence, but it doesn't make him cry. He knows she's there.

And as he kisses Anthony for the first time as a married man, he knows his mother is watching and cheering louder than anyone.

-

Henry is twenty-five the first time he's a father. It had taken years for him and Anthony to save up and right all of the paperwork, but then he's holding his adopted little girl in his arms, a perfect and beautiful baby from Mexico and he knows the moment she opened her big brown eyes to look at him that she took his heart and claimed it for her very own.

His mother is there in a flash, dark hair undone and eyes large and wet. He trails his finger down his daughter's soft, chubby cheek before placing the bundle into his mother's arms with all the care in the world.

"See, Princess? That's your Abuela. Isn't she beautiful?" He tells his daughter, tickling her round tummy and meeting his mother's eyes with love shining in his own irises.

His mother opens her mouth, but no sound comes out, and Henry just pulls her into him and places his chin neatly over her head and wraps his arms around the two most important women in his life.

-

Henry is twenty-eight the first time his daughter sees him cry. Her dark hair is in two little pigtails on the top of her head, and she's coloring on Henry's home office hardwood flooring. She springs up suddenly, and Henry looks up from his laptop. She thrusts a piece of paper into his hand--a blue scrawl of "I love Daddy," against a white background. Henry's heart drops in his chest and his throat closes.

"For...for me?" He asks quietly, voice breaking against the syllables. Her daughter nods happily and Henry lifts her onto his knee. He blinks fast, two tears falling out of his vivid green eyes.

"Daddy?" She asks, worrying her bottom lip and her brow creasing as her eyes begin to glaze over.

Henry shakes his head and lovingly places the paper down on his desk before wrapping his strong arms around the small body on his lap. "I love you. I love you." He tells her, planting kisses all over her hair.

She giggles again, and Henry clutches her tighter, looking up at the ceiling through his tears. And thinks about his mother and a three-year-old's crayon drawing and the way she cried.

And for the first time, he truly understands.

-

AN: anyway....there's another RegalBeliever oneshot literally NO ONE asked for. This is kind of an AU I guess because there's no magic or anything and Emma's not in the picture so maybe it's just a normal, no magic AU. oh well. It was fun to write simplistically and keep it in one point of view the entire time (for ONCE.)

Anyway, I promise I'm working hard on the Epilogue for Memorize Me. Just needed a break.

Thanks for reading! Comments are very appreciated. :)