Emma heard him tromping into the kitchen and peered over her cocoa, expecting her son to be tousled and dreary-eyed in all his morning glory.

It was not the case.

He was tousled, she'd give herself that. But the 16 year old had hardly just rolled out of bed. She recognized the messy-on-purpose hair and the dark clothes he'd taken to wearing, a look that hardly matched his personality. But he insisted nonetheless, swearing on the coolness and informing her that she "just didn't get it."

"Sleep well, kid?" she asked, setting her mug down and forcing herself to look him in the eyes without smirking at the overall humor of the facade. Something was slightly unusual in his style. Something new that she couldn't quite place.

"Yep!" he assured her, crossing the room to pour himself some cocoa as well. She studied him quietly as he turned away from her, still something nagging at the back of her mind. But nothing cleared up and she found herself sighing as he sat beside her.

"Do you want me to drop you off at school?" she asked, knowing full well the answer before she opened her mouth.

"No mom," he moaned, rolling his strangely dark eyes.

His eyes.

"Henry, are you wearing eyeliner?" the words rolled from her tongue before she could sensitize them and she snapped her mouth shut but still stared in shock at his face. Sure enough the black makeup was smudged around his eyes, intensifying his sharply unamused stare.

"So what if I am," he finally muttered, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze and looking back to his cocoa. She felt bad for her reaction, but the development was still too shocking for her to worry too much about his feelings. This damn rebellion stage.

"Why are you wearing eyeliner?" she asked in the same tone, trying not to sound as panicked and shocked as she felt.

"Because it's cool, mom," he moaned, "Cool people wear-"

More footsteps, and Emma looked up just in time to see a definitely fresh-out-of-bed Pirate. He smiled tiredly at her, crossing the room and planting a soft kiss on her head.

"Morning, love," he grinned crookedly at her as he crossed the kitchen for the cocoa mug, and it hit her as she returned her gaze to her son, who was leaping from his chair at a speed never before seen in his morning haze.

"Cool people," she smirked, "Right."

He shot her one final glare (perhaps slightly amused this time around), before slipping out the door.