Chapter Text
Relief and disappointment were often two sides of the same coin, each rendered transitory by the slightest influence.
For Weiss, that coin never stopped flipping.
Things that once disappointed her—and Dust knows many things had—were now relieving in ways her former self would never understand. She’d crafted goals in meticulous detail, perhaps some excessively grandiose, but such zeal was expected of her when harbouring the pride of the Schnee name.
And, to her initial mortification, not a single one reached fruition.
She was supposed to partner with the Invincible Girl, not some uncouth child who was unduly accepted into Beacon early. She was supposed to be team leader, not demoted to a mere follower. She was supposed to take over her company, not lose the position to Whitley. She was supposed to ration the lowlifes in cages, not be ensnared in one herself. The absolute lunacy of it all would’ve garnered a tantrum from her younger self like that alleged Prince from earlier, and the idea that she used to be even remotely as pompous made her want to gag.
But she wasn’t anything like him now, nor that stunted imitation of Father.
She was Weiss Schnee, a Huntress, defined by her beneficial disappointments. If she’d partnered with Pyrrha instead of Ruby, she never would’ve learned to see someone as an equal. If she’d been appointed leader, she never would’ve experienced the fulfillment of being a good teammate and friend. If she didn’t lose her status, she never would’ve obtained her resolve. If she hadn’t escaped prison just to be locked in another, maybe she never would’ve found her way home.
There were endless ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs,’ fossilized branches jutting from every choice, how just one could’ve changed everything, and sometimes she did ponder the possibilities. But never out of longing, only thankfulness, because this was the only version of herself that mattered, and because of her growth she gained a loyal family she’d do anything for. She viewed the world more clearly than ever before, looking forward and up instead of just down, grey becoming kaleidoscopic, sometimes blindingly so, on account of what she’d been through.
The past 24 hours proved that, apparently, she hadn’t been through enough.
Everyone carried variations of loneliness and hers was a constant acquaintance, so instilled it lingered with every glance at her reflection, never forgetting it was once her only form of companionship. Father drilled into her head that if she wanted something done right she had to do it herself. She couldn’t debase her dignity by relying on those beneath her. Companies didn’t grow by assisting others but by crushing them, and if she wasn’t doing the crushing someone else would crush her. There was no guilt in forsaking worn toys, not when it achieved results. Camaraderie, business partners, marriage; all were stepping stones to the top of the tower. No one cared about her and she shouldn’t care about them. If she wanted to win, bore the ambition of a true Schnee, all she required was her own strength and intellect. She didn’t need anyone.
Until she did.
Until her friends fell one by one.
Until her reflection in black glass was her only companion once more.
Until she desperately fired an unfamiliar weapon because it was the only piece left of someone she loved.
Until she saw a friend’s blade impale another friend’s chest and it was too red, too loud and too quiet, too cold when she’d just become warm.
Until she saw her sister, her hero, her hero who couldn’t save her, cry for the first time.
Until she was dying, drowning, forever falling, sinking deeper and deeper alone, alone, she was going to die alone—
“Weiss!”
She sucked in a harsh gasp, the mythical orbs illuminating an endless ocean of ink shifting into an enormous campfire under the stars.
The heat was as tangible as the voice, overpowering Winter’s cacophony in her ears, and she used this clarity to ground herself. Her hands trembled as she balled them into fists, one finding purchase in her skirt and the other in Myrtenaster’s security at her hip. She shuffled just enough to grind her shins against dirt, resisting the heavy sway of her asymmetrical braid. Her ragged breaths slowed as she focused on these current and concrete sensations, exhales stabilizing the more she relaxed. Everything was fine. She was fine. She wasn’t dead.
She wasn’t. Dead.
Relief.
But, like clockwork, disappointment wasn’t far behind.
After indefinitely plummeting through oblivion and piercing the sky like a platinum meteor, after not procuring a scratch when she should’ve been paste, she learned she bypassed Remnant’s invisible barrier and entered a fairy tale. A legitimate fairy tale. An everyone-read-this-as-a-kid-but-now-it-was-real-life fairy tale.
Dying would’ve saved her the headache.
Literally. Her skull still throbbed from nearly giving herself a concussion.
And that was only the beginning. Her entire existence had been fueled by logic, statistics and rules and order, and nothing was logical about this place. The flora, the wildlife, the madness of articulating animals and sentient game pieces. Showering in the drool of an obtuse mouse twice her size. Lien marked useless in lieu of hugs and bottled emotions. Labyrinthine paths granting the illusion of choice; hers was brilliantly throwing a rock frontward only for a betrayal from behind that joggled her brain like a gong.
She wasn’t designed for such insanity. Math, science, history, Dust studies; years of private tutors yet she remained ill-equipped to solve this fever dream of a conundrum. And she couldn’t blame herself for that. She refused to. Nothing made sense here.
“Weiss?”
Except them.
She’d calmed enough to recognize the voice, to remember where they were, what they were doing, relieved for the umpteenth time she wasn’t trapped in this nightmare alone. The flames roared strong and both intact moons hung high—they loitered regardless how often she checked like their permanence wasn’t offensive to the laws of the universe—so surely she hadn’t zoned out long.
Just long enough.
She met the worried depths of amber and amethyst several feet away, Blake and Yang huddled close together as if previously engaged in conversation, lulled as their attention favoured her. Weiss generally adored the spotlight, showing off for them like earlier, but didn’t know how she felt about starring in this particular scene. She took solace in the lack of judgement in their eyes, merely concern, though she wished it wasn’t wasted on her.
Blake looked ready to crawl over, fashioning her patent flat ears and sad eyes combo she always wore when blaming herself for something that usually wasn’t her fault. At least not entirely. She blamed herself too much; tried too hard to fix problems beyond her control. The effort was admirable but unwarranted, especially with all the unconditional support at her side. But when those problems shaped her life, when the SDC explicitly triggered so many of those problems—something Weiss still felt guilty for even when it wasn’t her fault, the irony uncanny—she couldn’t just tell Blake to stop. Regardless if those problems were White Fang level or friend-having-a-crisis-in-a-storybook level, she knew Blake would try to make things better.
With the unfathomable, and frankly unfair, magnitude of problems their team weathered since conception, they needed that righteous energy.
Yang’s gaze was harder to hold and Weiss shivered under her firm appraisal, such precise scavenging only viable because of similar experiences. Yang never discussed it but Weiss caught how her arm shook sometimes, the forcible grasp to make it stop, the bounce of fiery gold as she bounded corners in hasty retreats. Thankfully Yang’s episodes became scarce after infiltrating Atlas but Weiss knew better than to assume they were gone. Maybe they never would be, abiding in the threads entwining flesh and steel.
But, like the insufferable oaf she was, Yang always put others before herself. “Are you okay?”
Weiss’ grip on Myrtenaster tightened to a painful degree, utilizing that pain to lodge her impulsive biting sarcasm in her throat. What was there to be okay about? Being trapped down here? Logic meaning nothing? Winter thinking she was dead? Being clueless to the fate of their friends? Knowing she was too incompetent to change anything? The warm ache in her chest every time Blake and Yang—
Tighter, tighter, until her knuckles were as white as her hair.
“I’m fine,” Weiss managed through clenched teeth, seeking to ease her clipped tone with a brittle smile, but under the weight of their deepening frowns it shattered like a frail glyph.
She wasn’t surprised they saw right through her. Wasn’t upset, either. She used to practice that smile daily, a necessary precaution against Father’s enemies and Father himself, often her only merit as a child. But she was no longer a child, nor an heiress, her former persona unidentifiable in the ashes of Atlas. Her skill at faking smiles was rusting, an enlightening yet conflicting corrosion, as the only things in this world that conjured natural smiles also conjured tears.
“You’re not,” Blake surmised, so softly she nearly vanished in the crackles of the fire.
Yang shot a look at Ruby, shoulders slumping. “None of us are.”
And Weiss couldn’t have summoned a better example if she tried.
Ruby lay on her side towards the boundary of dark trees, hopefully already asleep. She deserved a break from whatever tortured her, regardless how temporary. Weiss had never seen her so despondent; didn’t think Ruby was even capable of such a state. She was like a completely different person from the bubbly dolt she first met. All of them were different, true, for the better in her opinion, but the clouds in Ruby’s mind would escalate to hurricanes if she refused to open up. The eye of the storm was deceptively big and one wrong turn could sweep her away. Weiss would be there for her partner when she reached, if she reached, but she couldn’t be a buoy if no one grabbed hold.
That vulnerably couldn’t be forced. Not with any of them.
“If you already knew then why did you ask?”
Weiss immediately winced, ashamed at her lack of control. She didn’t mean to sound so harsh; an unfortunate by-product of Ruby’s dismissal, of their capricious predicament, of Blake and Yang’s attention, of more feelings than she could handle. She knew what such a belligerent response would have invited back at Beacon; recalled the crimson glares and warbling fury and the lonely parade of ebbing stomps all too well. It was what she deserved then and probably deserved now.
But the only shift in Yang’s eyes was the desperation Weiss hadn’t seen since their blindsiding intimacy in Mistral. “It hurts enough that Ruby won’t talk to me,” and Yang’s tone, though terribly crestfallen, was even, her statement reiterated by the wilting of Blake’s ears. Her voice dimmed with unambiguous, bone-deep exhaustion, “Please don’t do the same.”
“This isn’t the same!”
And it took a moment to recognize herself, the defensiveness she logically knew was pointless around them, but logic had abandoned her and she didn’t mean to, Gods she didn’t mean to, porcelain mask crumbling at the open hurt flashing across their faces. She’d seen those looks too many times to ever want to cause them herself. She couldn’t believe there was a time she enjoyed making people feel that way, the sick sense of power it provided; an embellished bully in every manner. Now the only thing preventing her from being swallowed by regret was the leeway she allowed herself in their strange situation and her prompt apology, clear and genuine. She liked herself more after learning to apologize.
She sighed and tried again. “I wouldn’t even know how to start.”
That response was more amicable, Blake and Yang’s postures relaxing, their compassionate smiles washing away the grains of her guilt. “That’s okay,” Blake reassured, her calm tone helping Weiss resume her deep breathing. Blake’s very presence seemed to have that effect, like her aura was tranquility incarnate. “You don’t have to. We’re just worried, that’s all.” Weiss still wished they weren’t but she couldn’t blame them—not when she worried, too—so she merely nodded, peering down at the dancing shadows.
“We’re here for you whenever you need us,” Blake continued. “You don’t need to tell us everything right now, or—or anything at all. Just...” At Blake’s distinct trepidation Weiss glanced up again, watching inquisitively as Blake chewed her lip. “Don’t shut us out, okay?”
Weiss blinked, so startled by the assumption all her pooling negativity momentarily drained. Her eyes flitted between their mirrored, troubled expressions. “I... won’t?” It emerged like a question, and when she received no answers she had to ask another. “Have I done something to imply that I might?”
Blake and Yang shared a long, confusing look, as if searching each other for the answers Weiss was unable to give. They seemed to silently debate who would begin the explanations, which they better, as there seemed to be a misunderstanding somewhere in this fiasco and Weiss did not have the patience for additional absurdity. Thankfully, before it stretched too thin, Blake gave a pointed tilt of her head in Weiss’ direction, ear flicking like a command, and Yang sighed before speaking up.
“We noticed you’ve been...” Yang fumbled for a moment, face scrunching in contemplation. “Well, keeping your distance from us. Since we got here.” Her prosthetic gleamed in the firelight as she gestured to the gap between them. “Like right now.”
More questions, so many more questions, and Weiss struggled forming any with the migraine building at the base of her skull. First, why had they been talking about her? Why was that something they noticed? Why did it bother them so much? Second, surely they didn’t need her to spell it out. They couldn’t be that dense. Well, perhaps that was arguable with Yang, but Blake couldn’t be that dense.
Right?
“Never out of malice,” Weiss clarified slowly, just in case she truly was the only one with functional brain cells. It was a long fall. The relief that brightened their eyes swiftly darkened with disappointment, and she realized a second later she outright admitted to avoiding them. Weiss peeked at their brushing thumbs, wondering if they even noticed, and raised an expectant eyebrow. “I assumed you would appreciate the space.”
It caught them off guard way more than it should’ve. Frankly it shouldn’t have caught them off guard at all, not with Weiss’ provided space so graciously taken.
So it was astonishingly ludicrous how they trailed her insinuation down to their hands, looked up to each other on autopilot, flinched as if caught stealing candy and whipped their heads aside in blurs of black and yellow, but—and this was the important part—didn’t pull away, keeping their modest connection even as flattering shades of pink filled their cheeks. Each occasionally glanced at her from the corner of their eyes, glancing away just as quickly. She thought her observance would fluster them enough to separate, and she could pretend something in this fabled forest was more fascinating if they really wanted her to, but despite their timidity she swore their hands shifted a fraction closer.
They were cute, if mildly infuriating. She’d deliberately sat far away to give them privacy, because the one good thing spawning from this Ever After limbo was that Blake and Yang were finally flirting. An ensemble of tiny gestures; shy smiles, tender touches, lingering doe eyes, nervous and excited inflections as they stumbled through basic sentences. Everything was testing the waters but at least it was something. After watching it build for years, watching it collapse and re-establish stronger than ever, at least it was something. Maybe they’d even kiss before they were all Maria’s age. Maybe Weiss would even get to see, a little treat after rooting for them no matter the hardships.
They were Weiss’ final fragment of logic in this cursed fairy tale and she wouldn’t lose them, too. She wouldn’t let them lose each other. So help her if something got in the way of—
“So you... uh...”
The bashfulness coating Yang’s typically brash tone shook Weiss from her elaborate reverie. Yang’s mouth opened and closed, fighting for words, procrastinating by rubbing the back of her neck. She gestured awkwardly between herself and an equally sheepish looking Blake. “You know?”
... What was that supposed to mean?
Yang’s comedic timing was abysmal, truly, but the jokes themselves, though crass, were usually decent. Unlike whatever that was. How dare Yang ridicule her developing humour, which honestly was stellar given her strict upbringing, when she presumed something so suboptimal could pass for—
Hm. How quaint. Yang didn’t look like she was joking, rather incredibly antsy, mischief replaced with wayward eyes and drumming fingers. But that would be absurd, because how could she believe this was in any way a secret? Maybe Yang really was that dense because Blake, completely contrasting her Semblance, hadn’t been remotely stealthy about this. She’d been blatantly coy since they got here, overcame her former inhibitions, and simply couldn’t hide how Yang’s goofy encouragement during battle made her blush.
So why did she seem surprised, too? It couldn’t be that they both...
Oh for the love of—
“What do you mean ‘you know’?” Weiss squawked indignantly, migraine returning with the force of a shotgun. Blake’s ears skyrocketed and Yang winced at her volume, both recoiling like it would save them from her dignified wrath and it absolutely would not. “Of course I know! Anyone with eyes knows!”
Yang’s widened at that. “Really?”
“No, Yang, I’m lying,” she retorted flatly. “No one has ever noticed how you always conveniently end up in each other’s arms touching foreheads.” She felt a twinge of smug satisfaction when Blake’s shoulders hunched, red creeping down her neck, and maybe Weiss would’ve taken pity after teasing Blake’s favourite form of affection if they both weren’t so maddening. But it was Yang’s perpetual owlish gawking that uprooted a beleaguered huff from the depths of her lungs, wishing she was close enough to whack her arm. “Yes, really, you brute!”
Blake’s lips twitched like she couldn’t decide on smiling or not, losing the battle at Yang’s faux-offended gasp, her subsequent melody of lovesick giggles like an annoying song Weiss couldn’t get out of her head. But she allowed it, cherished it, because she remembered when Blake never laughed at all. As Blake calmed so did the colour in her cheeks, and when her eyes locked with Weiss’ they sparkled like curious fireflies. “So you gave us space... on purpose?”
The hesitancy, like Blake believed but was still trying to comprehend, had Weiss comprehending a hard truth of her own. “Please tell me you’re not just considering that possibility now.”
Weiss didn’t know what response she expected but Blake and Yang sharing a flustered look told her all she needed. She maintained her composure until Yang’s hefty shrug, the smack from her palm meeting her forehead echoing in the quiet forest. “Why do I associate with you people?” she muttered under her breath, the brimming exasperation barely concealing her inexplicable endearment. Idiots, both of them. But her idiots. More importantly, each other’s. Idiots finally obtaining a bite of bliss during a buffet of despair, so she couldn’t stay annoyed at them for long.
She was hungry, too.
“If that’s the case,” Blake started, prompting Weiss to peek up. Blake’s conviction tapered off, displaying a tentative grimace while tucking her hair behind her human ear. “It’s not that we... don’t appreciate it.”
And the annoyance returned. “Then please enlighten me on the issue.”
Yang sucked her teeth. “Maybe ‘issue’ isn’t the right word.”
Weiss sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m so tired of riddles after today.” Her headache was only getting worse and Yang being a direct cause was the least surprising thing ever. “Do me a favour and just give it to me straight.”
Yang snorted, parting her mouth for a civilized response, Weiss was certain, but stilled her tongue as Blake tossed her a monitory glare. Yang settled on a cheeky grin and Blake rolled her eyes fondly, and Weiss was perplexed when those eyes, no less fond, fixed on her.
“What we’re trying to say,” Blake clarified, “is you don’t need to keep your distance. I mean, if you’re more comfortable where you are, then stay. But there’s...” Blake paused with a nervous waver, cheeks dusting pink, before her lips curved in a small, welcoming smile. She offered a hand to Weiss. “There’s plenty of room with us.”
Weiss blinked in the proceeding silence, the snapping wood deafening as flames licked the empty air. And when the words finally registered she only heard her thundering heart, booming louder with each of Yang’s vivacious nods. Blake’s velvety proposal replayed in her mind with the smooth ease to misconstrue but she wouldn’t, absolutely refused, otherwise her heart would truly burst out her chest instead of this imbecilic and incapacitating threat.
Logic was her only balm for panic so her gaze darted between Blake and Yang and the outstretched hand, searching for deception as instructed, then remembered who she was and who she was addressing and searched for misunderstandings instead. Although unintentional the second prospect proved feasible, and with her rudimentary upbringing it would be so simple to misunderstand this.
But all she discovered was encouragement.
And she yearned, tangible in the jolt of her heart shooting blood and electricity and vigour down her legs and feet and toes in the overwhelming desire to launch herself at them, sentimentality she tolerated in the past so why not now? She wanted their companionship. She wanted to see her reflection in their eyes. She didn’t want to be alone.
But she wasn’t alone, they were right there, and this dose of reality simmered the molten rush in her veins until it was stagnant, fingers fidgeting as her legs grew numb. What a shameful overreaction. What did it matter if she sat with them or several feet away? They were together either way, the only way they’d ever be, and she hated how effortlessly greed flanked her; the rooted urge to own and have and take. She always got like this when someone gave her the slightest attention. It wasn’t a big deal. Shouldn’t be. Probably wasn’t to them.
But to her this was a goldmine more precious than any Dust. Someone wanted to spend time with her unrelated to her surname? Someone didn’t judge her for expressing emotions? Someone actually liked her? She wasn’t sure how it was possible, with her cynicism and arrogance and prickly exterior. She was told no one would. She’d be respected and feared so it didn’t matter if she wasn’t liked. And to Weiss Schnee it didn’t matter.
To Weiss it did.
What also mattered was why, especially in this case; especially regarding her favourite people who should be enjoying their time without her. Why would they offer this? It would be much more awkward to flirt with her right there, wouldn’t it? Weren’t they embarrassed about it? They had to be with how shy they’ve been acting, how they could barely keep each other’s gaze or hers. Would they stop flirting altogether if she joined them? She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to get in their way. She didn’t want anyone else sacrificing themselves for her sake.
They had time now; no Maidens or Relics or Salem, no corrupt politics or terrorism or escaping the law, even if just tonight. Tonight they had time to be young adults discovering themselves, discovering love, discovering that not everything involved saving the world. All it took was falling into a different dimension where their plights didn’t exist—hopefully didn’t exist—but that was beside the point. Who knew how long this peculiar peace would last? Who knew when something else would go wrong? Who knew how time worked in this place?
So why waste it?
Why waste it with her?
Why involve her, even indirectly?
She was perfect where she was. That’s all she had to say. She was warm, she was safe, and she didn’t want to disturb them more than she already had. Weiss Schnee could’ve lied easily.
But Weiss...
“Are you sure?”
Like stones thrown in a pond their smiles sunk, amber and amethyst teeming with so much confusion and worry Weiss thought she’d drown, capsizing from her own precarious query. She was at war with her survival instincts to not crush Myrtenaster in her fist again as she struggled to the surface. Like when diving through the inky ocean of infinity she optimized her oxygen with careful breaths and focused on not getting lost.
How could these two make her feel just as lost as she was found?
“Don’t force yourself,” Blake advised with a gentle frown, ears descending. “If you’d rather be...” For a second she looked disheartened, so much more than mere seating arrangements should make anyone, and after shaking her head that look was replaced with concern again. “It’s totally okay if—”
“It’s not that,” Weiss intercepted before Blake travelled too far into blaming herself territory. Her hand found purchase on Myrtenaster once more, loosely though, relishing the familiarity of its handle in such an unfamiliar situation. “I just don’t want to intrude.”
Yang recovered from her concern just fine, smirking at Blake. “She says that like she hasn’t butt into our personal business at every opportunity.”
“Not every—” Weiss’ flustered rebuttal surrendered to an affronted scoff, cheeks heating at the amused flick of Blake’s ear. Muscle memory activated and she crossed her arms, raising her chin and sneering down her nose. “Well,” she spouted, “excuse me for caring!”
And Yang just laughed, all her nervousness evaporated in the fervency of her carefree spirit—which thankfully remained given all she’d been through. At first Weiss thought she lost it along with something else, but Yang hadn’t lost anything; she only had more to find. “It’s so fun when you admit you have feelings,” Yang gibed, slapping the ground beside her with obnoxious force. “Get that tiny ass over here.”
“Tiny—” Weiss cut herself off with a sharp, stabilizing breath. “Fine.” Weiss stood and brushed dirt off her knees, approaching them with a faux-haughty smile. She could play this game, too. “I suppose I can grace you with my presence.”
Yang snorted. “Okay, Red Prince.”
Weiss glowered. “Do not start with me.” A disgusted shiver decimated her frame. “The very idea is mortifying.”
“That’s good, though,” Blake said with a drop of humour and a bucketful of reverence, brushing Weiss’ fingers with her own as she passed, and Weiss warped back to her mandatory childhood lessons of proper form when walking. “Means you’ve grown.”
“Not in inches,” Yang countered, insufferable smirk cemented like a tattoo.
Weiss huffed as she hovered above Yang, hands planted on her hips. It was always strange viewing her from this angle, like both their necks were never meant to bend this way, though she’d be lying if she said this perspective didn’t provide a little thrill; a twinge of temporary power. But not for a moment did she believe it was real. Yang’s height was inferred by her spread legs and muscular arms and lion’s mane nonchalantly taking up space, as confident as she was tall.
Well. Normally tall.
“You have no right to mock me when we’re all six inches right now,” Weiss chided.
As always, Yang was not deterred. “You’re still the shortest.”
“Being short has its advantages.”
“Name one.”
She would not, because the first advantage that popped into her head involved suffocating in soft warmth whenever Yang hugged her. If she dared voice something so brazen Yang would never let her hear the end of it.
“Can’t do it, huh?”
Weiss scowled. “Zip it, brute.”
She liked to imagine she looked somewhat intimidating, tried mustering Yang’s red-eyed demeanour, but Yang just flashed a charming grin. Weiss rolled her everlasting blue eyes, ignoring the accompanying roll in her belly. When Blake giggled Weiss nearly stumbled as she made to sit, folding her legs neatly beneath her to preserve whatever poise she still possessed, if any.
Blake shifted forward enough for all of them to see each other but now that Weiss was here she had no idea what to say. She didn’t want to talk about what plagued her before, nor what always did. She didn’t want to burden them. She didn’t want to ruin the mood.
But she already did, didn’t she?
“I’m probably not the best conversationalist right now,” Weiss murmured, her energy from their flippant bickering gone as quickly as it came.
“I meant what I said,” Blake reassured. “We won’t force you to say anything. You don’t have to listen to us either.” Her smile could melt ice better than the fire, and Weiss did feel a little warmer. “We just want to keep you company.”
“Exactly,” Yang affirmed, pointing an enthusiastic thumb at herself. “And you won’t find better company than us.”
Not like Weiss had a choice, but she’d sooner give herself another concussion than outwardly admit she’d choose them every time.
So instead she sighed, tossing them a weary but appreciative glance. “You’re both so strange.”
“Check it out, Blake,” Yang proclaimed with a wide grin, looking all proud of herself like she always did when about to say something ridiculous. “Our strangeness is Weiss certified.”
And there it was.
Blake’s ears curved frontward, content and playful, amber brimming with mirth. “I can’t imagine a higher honour.”
“Of course that was taken as a compliment,” Weiss droned, palm reacquainting with her forehead.
“Can we get that in print?” Yang nudged Weiss’ shoulder with her own, earning a muted glare. “Wanna frame it above my bed.”
Blake snickered lightheartedly. “Maybe she’ll make ID cards.”
“She totally would.” And there they went, talking about her like she wasn’t there, and the odd flutter of butterflies in her gut tempered any annoyance she should feel. “I’d keep it on my desk.”
“I’d keep it in my wallet.”
“I’d wear it in a lanyard.”
“I’d pin it to my shirt.”
Yang laughed. “Stop one-upping me!”
“You’re both intolerable,” Weiss groaned. But she couldn’t stop her lips from twitching into a fond smile, their happiness her biggest weakness, and she wondered if they even fathomed how much that was true. “Very well.” She repositioned, curling her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her arms. “I’ll take you up on your offer.”
Yang tilted her head. “Of the ID cards?”
Weiss snorted. “Of being kept company.”
Their amusement faded to earnest affection, Yang gently squeezing her shoulder and Blake reaching across to pat her shin.
And, like they promised, they never forced her to talk, or listen, or engage in any form. They continued their conversation like her presence wasn’t a hindrance. Like her proximity was natural. Like she was free to join whenever she wanted.
She didn’t plan to, instead enjoying these few moments where her mind was blissfully blank.
She slowly inhaled fire and pine and remnants of Yang’s citrus shampoo, lulled by the white noise of burning wood and their hushed tones. Her vision blurred, midnight backdrop illuminated by multiple flickering sunsets, and like a spear of sunlight through this obscurity was the clarity of their distraction. She only noticed now she hadn’t been assailed by the fall since they acknowledged her avoidance, too busy surrounded by their absurdity. Friendly bickering, just like old times, meant she was safe and warm with them on the ground.
It was astonishing how swiftly they managed to relax her just by being there. With Father’s eternal indoctrination that she couldn’t rely on anyone it was almost frightening how willfully she let her guard down. How, instead of vulnerability, she felt strength; her muscles were less tense, she noticed, nails no longer digging into her palms and Myrtenaster ceasing its rattling at her hip. With that steadfast shield impairing her like a rusty anchor it was mystifying how free she felt without it. How the chains unwound without her influence. How they coaxed it off without even trying.
But that was wrong. They did try. Yang’s honesty, passion, conviction, cunning; Blake’s fortitude, ingenuity, empathy, kindness; they were always trying. For her, for each other, for their team. No matter the grievances, big or small, they were always trying.
Weiss needed to try harder.
Time passed as if in a dream—she still struggled accepting this wasn’t one with every authentic horsefly —and with no drive for anything else she allowed her fuzzy gaze to drift. To the arcane darkness, to the flaring kindling, to the back of Ruby’s head, to Little’s tail peeking beyond Ruby’s choppy hair, back and forth in a loop.
But her vision cleared when lingering on Blake and Yang.
They’d occasionally glance her way—just checking on her, surely—and she’d glance away just as quickly, pretending the flames outclassed their vibrancy. In too much of a daze to fight the temptation her eyes always returned home, and by then Blake and Yang were too engrossed in each other to notice.
The swaying shadows accentuated Blake’s jaw line and cheekbones as she giggled at whatever Yang said, the burst of colour across Yang’s face prominent even with the orange glow of the firelight. Blake’s body language was open, her once closed off demeanour but a distant memory, leaning towards Yang as if to hear her better. Which obviously had nothing to do with anything, not with the angle of her ears and astronomical hearing, but Yang leaned a little closer too, arms primed to catch Blake if she leaned too far. By how Blake chomped her lip she was considering such an ‘accident’ but didn’t capitalize on it, her own blush rising as she played with Yang’s fingers instead. And Yang didn’t seem to mind, a sheepish grin stretching her lips as she reciprocated the innocent affection.
Weiss wrestled the urge to push Yang into Blake’s arms because this was satisfying enough, she supposed. More than what they were doing before. If she abused her position she’d be breaking the cardinal rules she’d set for herself a lifetime ago: no rushing them, no pressuring them, no confessing for them.
No getting involved.
Blake giggled again, tracing shapes into Yang’s palm with the tip of her finger, and Weiss suppressed a shiver, extending her empty hands nearer to the fire. Blake was the one making most of the advances, another thing her former self never would’ve guessed. Yang oozed charisma like embers dripping from her mane, turned heads wherever she went, so learning Yang was quite shy when in love was endearing. What wasn’t endearing was how she seemed afraid of coming on too strong, or that Blake would leave her again if she made a mistake.
In fact, the very thought was ludicrous. Weiss knew Blake would be thrilled with anything Yang was willing to give. Who wouldn’t be? But Blake was shy too and, much to Weiss’ chagrin, probably wouldn’t reveal her yearning with words, not yet at least, utilizing her coy mannerisms and infrequent flares of emotion until Yang finally caught on.
They could quit this charade if one of them just said something. Genuinely confess instead of skirting around the threshold. The potential was there to form something solid; something misinterpretations could never splinter. All they had to do was say the three pretty words they obviously felt and this would all be solved. One less problem for them to deal with in this nightmare. It really was that easy.
Not that Weiss had any right to judge.
“Anyone else getting Mt. Glenn flashbacks?”
Yang’s jovial inquiry startled Weiss from her musings, Yang’s shoulder rubbing against hers as she gestured and—wait, was she always this close? No, she’d definitely shuffled closer when Weiss wasn’t paying attention. Blake had shuffled closer too, knees practically brushing, their triangular formation mirroring their sleeping arrangements on that mission. Either they didn’t notice or they didn’t care, and all Weiss could do was pretend not to notice or care.
“No?” Yang egged. “Just me?”
Blake smiled. “This whole day’s basically felt like that.”
“Back then I didn’t think I could ever feel more exhausted than that. Oh, 17-year-old me,” Yang sighed dramatically, “so naive.”
“And so obtuse,” Weiss growled, recalling the ache in her bones all too well from both the horde of Grimm and their poor sleeping conditions. Despite her harshness, Blake and Yang seemed relieved to hear her voice. “Of course I’m getting flashbacks. How could I forget you having the audacity to ask if I was awake while you two were talking.” She rolled her eyes. “Absolutely insufferable.”
Yang didn’t look insulted. She rarely did from her remarks anymore. “Is that why you haven’t bothered trying to sleep?”
Huh? Have they been monitoring her since they set up camp? Why waste their time like that? She could take care of herself.
Blake winced, ears sagging. “Were we too loud before?”
“No.” Weiss shook her head, the swing of her braid ghosting Yang’s thigh, and if she weren’t still partially out of it she would’ve swore Yang flinched. Her gaze lowered to the small patch of dirt at the epicentre of their positions, shoulders slumping. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I tried.”
The thought alone was petrifying and it took everything she had to keep her hands from shaking again. She’d see what she tried not to think about. Glass and death and Winter’s tears, over and over and over. She knew the nightmares were waiting, dormant behind her eyelids like a chronic disease. She had them too often—of Father, of barely surviving a plane crash, of housing a volcanic spear in her gut, of those rotting bodies and Apathy at the farm, of not being good enough, of being left behind—to not have them about this as well.
She felt like she hadn’t slept in days, which may actually be true, but she preferred toughing it out to the inevitable alternative.
Perhaps Blake and Yang didn’t agree as they never responded, so Weiss looked back up. They peered at her with sad, sympathetic eyes, eyes containing nightmares of their own, ones they didn’t have to reveal for her to know, and maybe they knew about hers, too. A silent connection only possible through shared hardship. If nothing else, their team was never short on bonding opportunities, though it would be swell if the universe gave them a break for once.
Maybe tonight was that break.
“It was hard to sleep that night, too,” Weiss said as a slight diversion. “For a man so rattled on coffee, Professor Oobleck knew exactly how to rattle all of us.”
“No kidding,” Yang chuckled. “I never really gave the whole Huntress thing too much thought until he asked me.”
Weiss was the opposite, only to be proven starkly wrong. “I thought I knew everything back then.”
“To be fair, you were extremely smart.” Yang’s face scrunched in mock-irritation, negated by the mirth igniting her eyes. “Your constant A’s pissed me off.”
“A pluses, thank you. And don’t think I missed that ‘were,’ you cheeky pest.” Weiss glared with no real animosity and was oddly comforted by the combo of Yang’s smug grin and Blake’s amused smile. “I knew everything in theory. It wasn’t until that night I realized I only knew how to recite speeches.” Weiss sighed, muttering, “I don’t even know that girl anymore.”
“We kind of owe him, don’t you think?” Blake mused. “Maybe we wouldn’t be where we are if he hadn’t confronted us.”
“That’s giving him too much credit,” Weiss scoffed, though not out of disrespect to him—even if his methods were questionable at best. She’d take hundreds of Mt. Glenn excavations over the horrors they’d encountered since their schooling abruptly terminated. “We changed ourselves in the end.”
“You’re right,” and Blake looked at her in a manner Weiss vainly sought since she was small, a manner Blake often looked at her now that she thought about it, so she tried to stop thinking about it. “But he gave us the push we needed to do so.” Amber flicked aside as Blake tucked shadows behind her human ear. Her voice was achingly soft, “I always thought I was doing the right thing. I doubt I would’ve questioned my ambitions otherwise.”
Yang clashed that ruefulness with a snicker, luring Blake’s gaze. “I’m sure he’d appreciate a coffee shop gift card.”
Blake laughed as well, matching Yang’s levity. “Just one?”
“Right, how silly of me. Think we’ve earned enough dough to buy the whole shop?”
“We all deserve a fortune after this nonsense,” Weiss groaned. “I’d kill for some coffee right now.” How quickly little pleasures were missed. The brewing routine, the warmth in her hands, the rich flavour, the rush of energy; she craved it all, so much she couldn’t think of anything else. Curse them for bringing it up. Wait, no, she was the one who mentioned it first. Dammit, she did this to herself. In desperation she turned to Blake, ever the encyclopedia of literary knowledge. “Did Alyx drink coffee in this book?”
Blake blinked, taken slightly by surprise, before giving a sympathetic chuckle and patting Weiss’ knee. “No coffee here, I’m afraid.”
“That would be my luck.” Weiss sighed, long and deep until her lungs deflated. “As if this place couldn’t get any worse.”
“It could,” Blake stated, tone too buoyant for the seriousness of her words. “But if we survived Atlas, we’ll survive this.”
Yang tilted her head, a waterfall of golden curls spilling over her shoulder. “Digging the confidence, but what makes you so sure?”
“We have an advantage Alyx didn’t.” Blake smiled, gaze flitting between them. “Each other.”
And the line sounded so corny, like ripped from the pages of a fairy tale itself. Something meant to inspire kids in the ‘power of friendship’ but made jaded adults roll their eyes. Something that, for most people, thanks to Grimm or criminals or the weariness of isolation, would probably be illogical.
For them it wasn’t.
Blake took a shuddery breath. “Everything was different back at Beacon. I’d just ran from the White Fang and didn’t know who I was without it. I was afraid to know. I was afraid there wasn’t anything left of me. I’m sure you two had similar worries about yourselves. All of us were lost, trying to slot into roles we didn’t fit. How could we when we didn’t know ourselves or each other? But now...” Her smile softened, tension fleeing her body as pink coloured her cheeks. “Now we do know. And it’s—it’s more than that. We don’t just know each other, we have each other, in ways we couldn’t have back then. We learned to get along despite our differences, of course, but we didn’t quite fit before.” She rested her warm hands on Weiss and Yang’s. “Now we do.”
Foremost was a pleasant wave of relief—elated that Blake recognized her growth, that none of them were as ignorant as they were in their freshmen year, the absolute affection and loyalty leaking from her words—but as it receded the imminent disappointment was revealed in the sand, itchy clumps clinging to Weiss’ skin. She wished to be worthy of Blake’s praise, and in some ways she was, but not in every way. Not in the ways unveiled by an alternate meaning. Not in the ways meant for Yang. Weiss couldn’t be worthy of praise meant for someone else; that she shouldn’t be privy to in the first place.
So why was she here?
Those amber depths, like lanterns guiding her path, became too blinding to follow, and Weiss escaped to the hand laying on hers—which, really, wasn’t so much an escape as skulking into a new trap. Weiss loved having her hand held more than she would ever admit. It brought forth an infallible sense of comfort and security while maintaining the controlled distance she so often required. And she... she wanted to. She wanted to hold Blake’s hand. She always wanted to, cherished when they had back in Atlas, yearned for it since their hands brushed earlier. Her fingers twitched at the memories, fighting the urge to lift her palm. It wasn’t her place. It wasn’t her moment. It would never be her moment.
The second step of her fruitless escape led to Blake’s other hand on Yang’s, and unlike her Yang had acted on her urges, fingers lacing and thumbs stroking. Of course, why would Yang deny them? She had no reason to. If anything she should act on them more. More than merely responding to Blake’s advances, more than the occasional protective arm around Blake’s shoulders deemed ambiguous by the daft; preemptively giving physical affection.
Blake would love it coming from her, and though Yang managed to get on Weiss’ every nerve she also gave the safest, warmest hugs Weiss had ever received—and not just because she grew up touch-starved. Because Yang was passionate, caring, a pillar of stability, strength incarnate. During that fated moment in the bandit camp the golden hour paled in comparison to Yang’s golden radiance, Weiss’ personal shimmering sun, and she flung herself without thinking because she didn’t need to. All she needed was Yang. And Yang caught her effortlessly, held her off the ground like she weighed nothing at all, her grip strong and secure long after Weiss stopped crying. Yang rendered the rest of the world nonexistent, nothing else mattered, because she was home. Weiss never felt more at home than in Yang’s arms.
But that home wasn’t built for her.
When Weiss looked up Blake and Yang were ensnared with each other, smiling so adoringly Weiss felt she shouldn’t stare but couldn’t help it, overwhelmed by the tight warmth bleeding in her chest. And they didn’t budge, seeming completely comfortable with their audience—or did they even notice? Probably not. Most performers ignored their audience for the sake of their jitters even if they enjoyed the limelight, Weiss included. So why would Blake and Yang care when they had more important indulgences?
They were always beautiful—especially with the joining of firelight and moonlight illuminating their bodies in a celestial glow, constellations on their cheeks and tresses glittering like stardust—but most beautiful when reflected in each other’s eyes. When they recognized the viewpoint of their most precious person. When no words were needed for a thorough conversation. The sensation was unknown to Weiss, but perceptible; their widening smiles, enlarged pupils, synced breathing, the curve of Blake’s ears, the relaxation in Yang’s muscles, the barely restrained need to be closer. Maybe others wouldn’t notice but Weiss wasn’t like most others—and most others probably didn’t reserve a front row seat. Even from far away she knew what to look for, but this close everything was crystal clear.
It was one of the things she learned watching them over the years, amongst a surplus of other lessons. Many self-taught, but she gained a significant amount of information from her allies, her enemies, even the world itself. Everything Father taught her was not only cruel, but bigoted. To change she had to throw away her pride. Many people were smarter and stronger than her. She had a long way to go to rival Winter’s Summoning. To define her name she’d have to tear it down and build it back up. Even if she apologized she may not be forgiven. She wouldn’t always get what she wanted. Most were hard lessons, ones that took awhile to learn, but she wouldn’t be who she was otherwise.
Blake and Yang taught her something, too. Maybe the hardest lesson of all.
That she could feel relief and disappointment simultaneously.
She always thought it was just one or the other, or one leading into the other. Not both at once. Not from the same thing. How could a coin land on both sides? It hurt to think about. It didn’t make sense. But she felt it every time she looked at them. Not one, not one then the other, both. If she felt just one or the other this wouldn’t be giving her such a crisis, but there was no turning them off so there she sat as they tore her insides to shreds.
Her life was debatably easier before she knew. Back when she didn’t have a mind of her own. When she was Father’s puppet. When she was still figuring out who she was, who she wanted to be, when she thought she was already certain. When her sense of identity didn’t matter so long as she lived up to her role models. When she didn’t recognize her potential sealed inside a doppelganger. When she didn’t know Team RWBY and didn’t care to outside of leading it. When she didn’t learn from Blake and Yang. When she didn’t watch them. When she didn’t know their feelings for each other.
When she didn’t know her own.
She shoved them so deep down she forgot about them sometimes. They weren’t a priority and they didn’t matter. Her feelings never mattered. All they accomplished were distractions and hindrances; fogged her brain and agitated her heart and influenced spontaneous decisions she wouldn’t otherwise entertain. They were a hazard to her health and wouldn’t benefit anything or anyone. At best she’d get rejected, a thought so crippling her throat swelled. At worst she’d ruin the budding relationship between Blake and Yang, and she’d waited too long to screw things up for them now.
It was only possible to forget when she wasn’t close to them. She’d sat away for a reason. The distance was a buffer, lonely but necessary, a wall manufactured since childhood to keep people out. Yet, instead of smashing it—what Weiss was taught to do to those who’d never care about her—Blake and Yang convinced her to walk out their constructed door of her own accord.
So it was her fault she caved to weakness and joined them. It was her fault Yang’s heat curtained her side. It was her fault Blake’s palm blanketed the back of her hand. It was her fault she had a clear view of Blake and Yang’s unwavering intimacy. It was her fault everything she pretended not to feel burst through the surface, and she was horrendous at hiding emotions now that she knew how to feel them. It was all her fault.
Everything was always her fault.
The only alternative was blaming them, and she’d sooner accept another spear to the gut than consider such a thing. Doing so would not only be wrong but woefully pathetic. They didn’t force her to catch feelings. They didn’t awaken her senses to their every move; shifts in disposition, quirks of their mouths, bats of their lashes, the hue of Yang’s eyes and the elevation of Blake’s ears. They didn’t intentionally spur the sleepless nights spent imagining the taste of their lips, the tranquility of drifting off between their warmth, waking to gentle snores and mouthfuls of hair and drowsy grumbles and calloused hands tugging her closer. Their compassion was blameless. She caused this problem.
And every day, albeit ineptly, she strived for the solution.
Weiss never planned to tell them, a decision cemented by a churning cesspool of despondency, reverence, inhibition and self-loathing. Regardless how much she yearned to hold Blake’s hand, regardless how much she yearned to sink into Yang’s arms, she’d never tell them.
Instead she watched them fall deeper in love, just like she’d always done.
And it was wonderful. Truly. Not everyone had the privilege of witnessing the birth of such enchantment—clouds parting for their approach, skies swathed in their auras, lilies blooming from their footsteps. Exaggerated, maybe, but Blake and Yang’s perfection together wasn’t. They brought out the best in each other’s prowess and morality. They healed each other’s wounds; proved not everyone lied, not everyone left, that they would always find each other again. They worked through their problems and came back stronger. Rebuilt their rickety bridges and met each other halfway. Weiss was so proud of them, and just as happy.
But each joy brought sorrow. Not after, not later, at the same time. Her fragmented heart withstood via sinewy strings, and with each pulse of euphoria the strings stretched dangerously thinner. She loved when they touched each other but she wanted to touch them, too. She wanted the consoling weight of Blake’s forehead against hers. She wanted to glide her fingers through Yang’s luscious hair. She wanted to see if her reflection in amber and amethyst was worthy. She wanted to meet them halfway, too.
But her bridge didn’t reach.
Weiss drew her useless legs closer, fingers digging into her skirt. All she used to worry about was waking them up on time, ensuring they did their homework, correcting their postures, coordinating their attacks, preparing for the Vytal Festival. Being the best teammate, the best friend, she could possibly be. It wasn’t always easy, but it was just as rewarding as it was routine.
It was easier before she fell in love.
There was one outstanding upside to her feelings, she supposed. Fancying two people, two women, and one of them being a Faunus? Father would have a stroke. She chuckled silently at the thought. Let him perish alongside his condescending, archaic notions. Nothing he said would influence how she felt anymore. She was allowed to be a Huntress, she was allowed to be a follower, she was allowed to define her name, and she was allowed to love whomever she wanted.
Even if that love was unrequited.
Blake and Yang continued gazing at each other—not at her, never at her—and afterwards came the expected amalgam of relief and disappointment. Yes, this was good enough. More than she could’ve hoped for. At least she knew she could fall in love, that her heart wasn’t stone, and she couldn’t have chosen better people to fall for. At least she was alive to feel it, to see them, to be in the backdrop of their masterpiece, because for a time she thought they were... she thought... she thought she’d never...
“Weiss?”
Huh? Did... did they say something? Which one of them said that? She... she couldn’t tell. She couldn’t hear them. They were too far away. They were falling. She couldn’t see them anymore. It was too dark. She couldn’t see.
“Weiss, what’s wr—”
They were gone. She was alone. She’d always be alone.
“Wei... it... kay.” Noises. Voices. Someone was speaking. What were they saying? “... ight here.”
Someone’s mouth was moving, someone’s, more than one, but she couldn’t hear, muffled, underwater, drowning. Her chest burned, throat constricting, cumbrous and disoriented and petrified as her numb limbs tumbled off the edge.
She was falling, falling, she was always falling—
“Just... eiss. Don’t...” The voices kept cutting in and out. She wanted to hear. She was trying so hard to hear. “... eathe with... okay?”
She faintly registered someone grabbing her hand, her palm flattening against something undulating, something warm. And for a long time this grounding source of comfort was all she focused on. She counted as it went up and down, recognizing a pattern, the meaning of patterns, the meaning of this particular pattern, the logic it renewed. It took dozens of repetitions and an ample amount of patience, but her sense of hearing slowly returned.
“—at’s it, Weiss. You’re doing so good.”
“—re right here. Keep breathing for us, okay?”
A few more massive, ragged gulps and then she blinked, noticing one of her hands contained in Blake’s and the other pressed to Yang’s chest. They both gazed at her worriedly, specks of panic highlighting every flick, no longer lost in each other’s eyes but trying to find her instead. With each passing breath Weiss discerned the applicable material of her outfit, the heat of the fire, the nip in the night air, and as she became more and more aware of her surroundings they visibly relaxed.
“There you are,” Yang murmured, mustering a small, sad smile, one she’d doubtlessly shown in similar situations before. “Gave us a little scare. You feeling better now?”
Blake gently swiped at Weiss’ sweaty bangs. “Just like before we won’t force you to talk about what happened. Please just tell us if you’re okay. If there’s anything we can do, all you need to do is ask.”
Yang nodded, squeezing the trembling hand snug in her grip. “Nothing is too much. Not for family.” Yang’s thumb brushed gingerly across her knuckles. “Not for you.”
That reassurance was her undoing. Her vision blurred and her heart whacked against her rib cage like a mallet, their intimate, undivided attention piercing her like arrows from all sides. Everything she blamed herself for—her powerlessness, her incompetency, her loneliness, her love, her fear of losing them in every way—the infinite checklist stirred in a scrambled concoction of pointless and infuriating heartache.
She remembered watching, frozen, as Yang plummeted, and after thawing all she could do was curb Blake from jumping after her because Weiss just lost one love and she couldn’t lose the other, too. But she did, unable to save either, unable to save anyone. She glanced at Gambol Shroud, recalled its foreign weight in her hand, the bullets she carelessly sprayed. How she used it to accomplish nothing. How she could have used it to kill the Fall Maiden and it still wouldn’t have brought her loves back.
She thought she’d failed them. She thought she’d never see them again. She thought they were dead, thought she was dead, but now she was here, they were here, gazing at her like she meant everything to them, the way they meant everything to her, and that couldn’t be true, it couldn’t, she couldn’t—
Her lips trembled with a weak breath, afraid she’d choke on her heart leaping into her throat, but with what she managed to procure in her lungs thanks to them—
“I fell last.”
Barely a whisper yet Blake and Yang tensed like she’d screamed, and then it was noiseless beyond the resounding crackles of the kindling. She couldn’t perceive their expressions and was partly glad, apprehensive of what she’d see, misty vision lowering. Those three words, her personal confession encapsulating the expanse of her turmoil, echoed in her mind, lingered on her tongue, threatened to spill from her eyes, and she was too tired to fight anymore.
“I...” A tear trailed down her cheek. “I fell last.”
And that was all she needed to say.
How they immediately shifted closer shattered the last of her composure, eyes overflowing. She attempted to furiously wipe the wetness away, curl up in herself and hide, but the gentle fingers at her wrists were having none of it, leading her to where they believed she belonged. She heaved a broken sob as a steel hand cradled her head into the crook of Yang’s neck, hot tears darkening Yang’s scarf. Blake followed suit, wrapping around Weiss from behind and resting her chin on her shoulder, comforting purrs nestling between each vertebrae of Weiss’ spine. Weiss was completely enveloped in their warmth and safety; something she’d always dreamed of, thought she’d lost, thought she’d never get the chance to experience.
This revelation only made her cry harder, hands desperately reaching, one gripping Blake’s elbow and the other the back of Yang’s jacket, clinging to them like a child, quaking as they held her tighter. Gods, she was pathetic. She was so pathetic. She tried so hard to quiet her cries, mortified with every strangled noise that spluttered free. She didn’t want to wake Ruby, didn’t want to be a burden, an obstacle, a disappointment, didn’t want to make this about her—
“You’re not alone, okay?” Yang’s cheek pressed to her crown. “Never again.”
Blake nodded against her shoulder, breath warm on her neck. “We’re not going anywhere.”
And she tried to respond, tried to apologize, but all that emerged were muffled sobs.
Despite their continuous whispered assurances she was well aware they may never hold her like this again. This was too intimate for friends, meant only for the two of them, yet they willingly gave themselves to her because she lost control. They were so close but so far, only here because this was the most efficient way to placate her. This fairy tale was her nightmare, truly, with how it separated them from reality and erased logic and made her question her every decision, but it also ended up being the only place she could experience what she dreamed of most.
And she couldn’t even enjoy it.
She couldn’t enjoy it because it was so frustrating.
Her stomach rolled with boiling anxiety and shame, muscles seizing, gripping them tighter and burying her face deeper into Yang’s neck. Why was she crying? She shouldn’t be crying. She couldn’t turn back time, and even if she could what difference would it make? She couldn’t have defeated Cinder. She couldn’t have saved Penny. She couldn’t have saved Atlas. She couldn’t have saved anyone. Why couldn’t she stop blaming herself for things that weren’t her fault?
But something was. Something was.
And it was stupid. She felt stupid. Unrequited feelings should be the least of her problems. There were so many things she should be worrying about more, like their doll-size height and Ruby’s mental state and Crescent Rose’s whereabouts and finding a way home. Things that actually mattered. She knew they’d never love her, accepted this fact, so why did she wait for them to loosely get together before having a disreputable breakdown? Why put them through this? Why dampen their feelings with her own? Why strain them with something that wasn’t their fault but most definitely hers?
She should be happy for them. She was. Why couldn’t that be it? Why was she always so conceited? Why did she always force herself where she didn’t belong? Why did this have to feel so wonderful and painful at the same time? Why couldn’t she just be happy for them?
Why did she have to fall for them, too?
If only she’d fallen first. Maybe Yang could’ve made a difference up there. Who was she kidding? Of course Yang would’ve; she’s the strongest and bravest of them all. And if Yang was present maybe Blake wouldn’t have been distracted by anger and grief, able to fight to her fullest potential. Their trademark combo attacks would’ve at least caused some damage, unlike Weiss’ useless retaliation. Weiss falling first would’ve caused the least amount of turmoil. Maybe if events occurred that way she would’ve been the only one to fall.
But she fell last, and was still falling.
And regardless of the implication it didn’t matter. Whether she hit the ground or fell forever it didn’t matter. Either way she was alone and either way she was too late. Too late to protect them, too late to be worthy of them, too late to make them happy.
But they protected each other, were worthy of each other, made each other happy, and that did matter.
Eventually her cries calmed to sniffles and she slumped in their hold, drained but strangely satisfied. The measly cry she suffered that morning wasn’t nearly cathartic enough. She needed this. She needed the physical reminder why Blake and Yang were so important to her, and how so much of it stemmed from their importance to each other. She was their friend, their biggest and most impatient supporter, and she would do absolutely anything for them. Shoving her feelings under the rug included.
However, since she was here, in a moment soon lost to history, she allowed herself these few seconds. Just a few more seconds to indulge in the vibrating lullaby of Blake’s purrs; the soft movements of Yang’s chest breathing life into her own; a reality where she was theirs and they were hers.
But this was only a fairy tale.