A/N: Me putting off writing one shots for OQ Prompt Party until the last minute and then just writing a short drabble I'm not sure I like because I'm so tired? It's more likely than you think.

So anyway this is for day three/wednesday of OQ Prompt Party Week, based on prompts 104 and 207. It takes place during the Missing Year and Regina and Robin were already in a relationship before this.

--

"You are my future," he tells her, and she knows he wants that to be true. Knows he so desperately wants to hold onto her for the rest of their lives, knows that she wants it too, but--

She also knows that can never happen. Those who love her never stay around long. They don't always have a choice

She can't bring herself to look at his eyes, so she settles for his hands instead. His hands, wrapped around hers, holding them gently enough that she could slip away if she wanted. If she could ever bring herself to do that. She doesn't know what to do. She can't allow him the pain of loving her; no one deserves that.

It might be several minutes, or maybe only a few seconds, before she finally gathers the courage to speak. "But I'm not sure you're mine," she tells him. It is the hardest thing she's ever had to say. She fights back tears as she watches another potential happy ending slip away. She slips her hands out of his and steps back.

She still can't bear to look him in the eye.

She's making a mistake, she knows this, but she can't take back her words now. She takes another step back before she turns, and she runs.You're making a mistake , her heart screams. But her mind shushes it and tells her feet to keep moving. She doesn't stop running until she's outside, under her apple tree. She collapses.

You made a mistake.

"I know," she whispers to no one. I know. And then--

No! She thinks. Maybe running away wasn't the mistake, maybe running away was the right choice, maybe... maybe... She can't form a coherent way to finish her thought, so it dissipates. She studies the grass instead, so she doesn't have to try to think.

But her thoughts bubble back up eventually, even as she watches the grass stand tall in the still summer evening;

You made a mistake. You made a mistake. You made a mis--

"No," she says out loud, in a last ditch effort to stop her thoughts. Her thoughts aren't as loud as her voice is, not as powerful. Her voice can drown them out. "No. Maybe running wasn't the mistake, maybe..."

And then the end to her thought comes to her.

"Maybe we were the mistake."