Introductions
Living above a coffee shop had a variety of perks. For example, they roasted their own coffee beans, so sometimes, the landlord had explained, you could wake up to the smell of coffee beans being roasted in the mornings. Some hated it, but it was one of Blake’s favorite scents. Otherwise, you got the building discount -- 7%, but over time it added up. And, of course, working at said coffee shop meant the shortest possible commute: down a flight of stairs and through a door in the building foyer.
For Blake, it was the perfect apartment, and she had spent the past month anticipating her move-in date. While she was eternally thankful for Weiss allowing her to temporarily move in with her, living with Weiss hadn’t quite allowed her the space she needed to… get over some things. This is what she was determined to turn this apartment into: the rest of her life. Or at least the beginning of it.
She grimaced at how melodramatic she was letting herself be and decided to move onto more pragmatic things.
Weiss had insisted on paying for movers, which Blake was forced to begrudgingly agree to because she had nobody else to actually help her move the handful of things she had brought with her, and that Weiss had also forced on her.
The last set of boxes had just been set down in her hallway, and Blake waved her goodbye to the last mover to leave, calling her thanks as animatedly as she could with what energy she had left. As soon as the mover had turned the corner and started down the stairwell, she closed and locked her door, and leaned against it, staring at the plethora of boxes and partially-assembled furniture in her new place. She was tired, but she had to admit part of her felt refreshed just being there.
She was signed up for classes, she had her own place, she had a job.
As she walked down the short front hallway to the “living room” part of the studio space (there was a small nook where the movers had helped her set her -- currently unmade -- bed), she trailed her hand along the couple stacks of boxes, then along the smooth gray-blue wall, then it came to rest on one of the boxes labeled “BOOKS” that the movers had blessedly placed near the one large built-in bookshelf stretching along one of the walls.
There were several more important things to unpack, like her bed linens, or her entire kitchen collection (brand new and expensive, also from Weiss), but she knew the unavoidable parts of herself too well and started by opening the top box. An hour later, and the last box was empty, and her books filled the shelf, alphabetized by author’s last name.
She didn’t start work for another three days, and classes didn’t start for a month and a half, and she was in an entirely new city, so she allowed herself to leisurely unpack on and off for another two hours -- continuing with her collection of everything related to tea, and expanding to everything else her kitchen needed. Compared to the last several times she’d moved, it was comforting and peaceful to so deliberately clean the space as she went, carefully setting things in their new homes as she set herself there, as well.
Not really having anything else to do besides packing wore off as motivation after a bit, and Blake allowed herself to sit down on her couch. Downtown Mistral was bustling right outside her window, and it was a new downtown that she’d never experienced before. She had originated in a small city in Menagerie, which she’d left unexpectedly and swiftly a few months previously and found refuge with Weiss in downtown Atlas, which was about three hours away from downtown Mistral, where she now found herself.
Checking her phone for the first time since the movers had left, she saw a text awaiting her from Weiss from half an hour before. “Don’t hole up in your new place, you better text me pictures from somewhere there.”
She was about to grumble in what might’ve been disagreement before her stomach beat her to the punch, and she realized she didn’t have any food in her place yet. Glancing back down at her phone, she decided Weiss was right, put on a pair of boots, grabbed her keys and her purse, and went on her way.
When she stepped out into the hallway and turned away from locking her door, she noticed someone else who appeared to be moving in down the hallway. She had long blonde hair, tied back in a very messy and very wavy ponytail, and she was wearing a black tank top and a pair of khaki short-shorts, and was clearly fit enough to be lifting lots of boxes on her own.
Blake froze for a moment, noticing she’d have to walk somewhat near the girl’s open apartment door to get to the stairwell. She straightened her back and adjusted how her purse rested on her shoulder and with social anxiety fluttering in her chest, moved toward the stairwell with her well-trained expression of neutrality and disinterest.
Much to Blake’s dismay, by the time she made it near the stairwell, the other girl had already set down her box down in the apartment, and was making her own way to the stairwell again.
“Hey!”
Blake’s gaze shifted from her target, the stairwell, to the chiming voice who could only belong to the only other soul on the floor for all she knew, who was now maybe eight feet away from her.
Sure enough, there she was, standing with one hand on her hip near the apartment door with a lopsided smile on her face. Blake noticed a sprawling dragon tattoo on her right shoulder that she hadn’t noticed when she’d been carrying the box inside, and remembered not to stare as she returned eye contact.
“Hello,” Blake immediately noticed how much more muted her greeting was, and felt the need to balance it out. She didn’t want to paint a bad image of herself, especially to whoever this was. “Are you moving in here, as well?”
The other girl exhaled a big sigh and pushed her bangs across her forehead. Blake could see the dragon tattoo flex in her peripheral vision and wished she could see it -- or, the girl’s muscles -- move again. “Yeah, most of my stuff is here now, nothing’s out of its box, though. My little sister was supposed to help me out but something about her dungeons and dragons group…”
Blake smiled at that, the girl’s disgruntled frown had the sort of charm all disgruntled sibling moments did. Before she knew it, she was asking if she could help with the rest of the boxes and taking in the glow of the other girl’s growing smile. Was that a bit of a blush on her cheeks, or was she just warm from carrying boxes upstairs?
“I mean, there’s really only like two more boxes, but if you’ve got nowhere to be I wouldn’t say no? I’m Yang, by the way.” She extended her hand, the dragon flexing once again.
Pausing for half a second, Blake closed the gap between them and grasped Yang’s hand, their eyes locking and lingering for a moment too long. “One box each, that’s nothing,” she said, the small smile returning to her lips.
Yang’s smile had persisted, though. “Man, thanks! At least we’re only on the second floor, too!”
Yang was heading down the stairs before she’d even finished her sentence, Blake following without a second thought. What greeted Blake as they exited the front door was unexpected: a large yellow motorcycle with a similarly large trailer attached to the back of it. Yang turned to watch Blake’s reaction, and laughed.
“Yeah, this is my bike, her name is Bumblebee, and I should probably not be pulling this much stuff with her, but oh well, that’s what multiple trips are for.” She shrugged and then clapped her hands together. “Shall we? You can take that one!”
Blinking still for a moment, Blake moved to pick up the box -- the smaller and flatter of the two, and something Yang definitely could’ve carried on top of her own box -- and followed Yang back up the stairs. She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks when she made the mistake of looking upward as she walked, her eyes level with Yang’s… shorts. Her eyes shot back down and she focused on each step.
Yang practically kicked her door in when they got back to it, and Blake was impressed it didn’t fly back and dent the wall. She stepped carefully over the small brick Yang appeared to have been using as a temporary doorstop.
Due to the nature of the building, Yang’s apartment was quite similar to hers, except some things moved around and some dimensions seemed different. Yang had also put her bed in the same side nook, except she had put up folding screens decorated with a painting of delicate pink and red flowers partially blocking the unofficial bedroom. A couch was shoved partially up against the wall leading to the bedroom nook, a television and a pile of cords rested atop a sleek black tv stand on the opposite side of the room, on the other wall leading to the nook. A black desk and a single bookshelf occupied the other area of the living area, and there were several boxes in the kitchen.
The walls were also a different color than those in Blake’s apartment. While Blake’s were a gray-blue, the walls in Yang’s apartment were a muted tan that, if Blake hadn’t met Yang (even so briefly), would’ve seemed kind of boring. Instead, it was warm and felt full of life.
“I like your place.”
Yang stood up from where she’d been digging through an already opened box. “Thanks! It’s already as cozy as I’d hoped it would’ve been by the time I got here. Do you think those screens are too big? My sister insisted I take those since they were the thinnest at our old house, but I’m afraid they’re weird there.” She was always moving when she talked, her hands making some gesture or another.
“No, they’re beautiful,” Blake offered. “They fit perfectly, I think.”
In reality, she quite liked it and felt herself staring at it, trying to see all the flowers painted so carefully onto the paper. It looked handpainted, and Blake took a few steps closer to look at it, strongly aware of her proximity to what already seemed like a comfortable bedroom, the bed already made with obscenely cushioned blankets for the middle of July. She made a mental note to make her own room as welcoming for herself as Yang had made hers.
“Thanks!” Yang beamed, pulling Blake back from her focused inspection of the brushstrokes. “My mom and my sister actually painted that, if you’d believe it, so I’m really glad I can have it here. I’m obviously aiming for comfortable aesthetics.”
Impressed, Blake looked from the screens to Yang and smiled. “They’re very talented, and you are a very good designer, I already feel very at peace here.”
She realized what she said, and it seemed like Yang did, too, as the two shifted a bit away from each other. Checking her expression of calm quietude, Blake took it upon herself to keep any words being spoken.
“I was actually leaving to go find someplace to eat here,” she began. “If you’d like to join me?”
Yang breathed what she hoped was a well-concealed sigh of relief and excitement. “I’d love that, I’m pretty starved, too. Did you have anything in mind?” She reached down to pick up the simple leather purse resting on the side table next to the couch, and Blake watched the dragon as she swung it over her shoulder.
“Not really, I just moved here from Atlas, so I don’t know anything about Mistral yet.”
“Whoa! Atlas?” Yang’s curiosity was palpable. “I’ve never been there, I’m from Patch but I moved here three years ago. I like to think I know some good spots.”
“Atlas has quite a lot going on, though I was only there for a few months,” Blake kept her statement brief. “But, I’d love for you to show me some of these good spots, I think.”
“You think?” Yang teased. “C’mon, we can just wander around until we walk past something you think you’re into. We live in the best part of downtown, there’s a little of everything!”
And so the two started their slow walk around the nearby blocks, Yang pointing out which stores and restaurants to avoid and which ones were okay.
“That little Italian place, do not eat there whatever you do,” Yang said, pointing an accusing finger at a tiny building, the first floor of which seemed to have been split in half (one belonging to the restaurant in question, the other to a gift shop). She never elaborated, but Blake made a strong mental note to take her word for it.
“Do you like Chinese food?” Yang asked. “Like, real Chinese food?”
Blake looked up one of the tall buildings they were walking next to, with two floors of stores and several apartments with large balconies looming above. “Is it okay if I say I love shitty American Chinese takeout as well as authentic Chinese?” she asked, giving Yang a side glance and a raised eyebrow.
“I would accept no other answer,” Yang said, putting both hands up in front of herself. Blake couldn’t help but laugh.
“My friend, Ren, has this incredible place. It’s a little far to walk, but we could always bus, or if you don’t have your student travel pass yet, we could take my bike?”
There was a momentary lapse in conversation as Blake processed the invitation. She didn’t even know about the student travel pass, but thoughts of that were swiftly overridden by the thought of riding on the back of Bumblebee, clinging onto this total (alluring) stranger.
And that was exactly what she told Yang. Well, without the bit about clinging onto her. That was not something Blake would ever say out loud.
“Great! You can borrow my sister’s helmet, it’ll probably fit. Let’s turn this way and we’re only a couple blocks away!” It was a situation where Yang could’ve reached for Blake’s hand to steer her the right way. Blake could feel that intention in the air, but instead Yang respected Blake’s space and turned on her heel.
Riding on Bumblebee was as much of an experience as Blake’s imagination had lead her to believe riding a motorcycle to be. Yang had dashed upstairs to retrieve the helmets, giving Blake a black one with very dark red accents and a shaded visor that receded inside the helmet when flipped up.
“Just remember that when I go to turn, you should sort of lean your body with mine,” Yang explained as they stood next to where the bike was parked. She held her hands in front of her like she was holding handlebars and leaned her torso ever so slightly, with what Blake could tell was years of application on the actual bike.
There was, to Blake, no way Yang didn’t know what she was doing to her, and it just made Blake look into the challenging purple eyes even more.
And then they were off, Yang swinging one leg over Bumblebee’s black leather seat and gripping the handlebars. She nodded over her shoulder, hair spilling out from beneath a black and yellow helmet and lilac eyes shimmering beneath its visor, and Blake followed suit. With a purr, they were off, soaring down the city street, hair streaming behind them.
The restaurant they pulled up in front of was humble, one of the few standalone buildings in an otherwise very vertical city. It made of dark bricks, with various forest green awnings accenting the entrance and windows.
As they entered, Blake let Yang lead her in, she was greeted by a bustling scene: several rooms and seating areas filled with a comfortable crowd. It smelled like good food and good perfume, with the lights just bright enough to see but dim enough to be instantly calming.
The host smiled as Yang approached, and raised his hand in greeting. “Yang!” his features were as calm as his voice, his excitement muted but apparent. Blake immediately liked him. “I hope your week has gone well. Table for,” he paused to direct his eyes to Blake, who hovered next to and ever so slightly behind Yang, “two?”
Blake smiled in confirmation and gave her name.
“Hey Ren! She’s my new sort-of-neighbor,” Yang explained. “She’s new to Mistral as of today, and this is her first stop here.” Blake felt herself focusing on Yang’s ever-constant motion, the way she leaned against the host’s station and leaned away, mirroring the ebb and flow of the brief conversation with Ren. She felt her reserved hovering was complementary, and wondered if Yang felt the same.
“Well, it is nice to meet you, Blake. We have a table open this way, if you’ll follow me.”
Ren lead them away, Blake disguising her glances at Yang in between glances around the room, taking in the various antique-looking decorations around the restaurant. Yang, in turn, tried to mask her glances at Blake as making sure she hadn’t gotten lost along the way, despite the proximity that was allowing their arms to nearly brush.
They were seated at a small table, clearly only for two, next to a window that looked out over the outdoor seating area, which was designed around a weaving koi pond. Yang guided her through the menu, and she ended up ordering something for her, the name she couldn’t remember of the mountain of long-named dishes Yang rattled off to her.
“So, why did you move here?” Yang asked around her spring roll.
Something about it coming from Yang, a being of relaxation and ease, made it less intimidating of a question to Blake. “I left my hometown and moved in with my best friend to reorient myself, and then I just decided Mistral sounded like a good city.”
Yang bobbed her head, the waves of her hair turning like a golden ocean even in the dim light. “That’s basically what I decided, too, except I came here for college and less of a big life journey.”
“Oh?” Blake hadn’t expected Yang to immediately read in between the lines, but appreciated she hadn’t pried further. And she never did pry any more than innocent curiosity would have prompted. There was never any pressure, only questions and stories of various cities and various people.
Eventually, they were nearly finished with their meal, and it became apparent to both of them that neither wanted their conversations to end. Yang wanted more time to appreciate the small twitches and quirks of the corners of Blake’s eyes in response to what she said. Blake wanted to hear Yang’s voice for a while longer.
“I was going to go to this show tonight, it starts in like an hour, and it’s not too far from our apartment building,” Yang said. She was looking at the edge of the napkin as she rolled it around between her fingers, but looked back up at Blake with a final question. “Do you wanna maybe come with?”
“Depends,” Blake blinked, tilting her head at Yang, whose confident eyes anticipated whatever she had to say next. “Is it country?”
Yang laughed -- a loud guffaw that caused some of the nearby tables to look at her. “Who do you think I am, Belladonna? Hell no, it’s some local bands, some sort of rock punk blend, but nice and chill.” She leaned back, resting one arm over the back of her chair and leaving the other on the corner of her napkin.
“I’m in.” Blake’s small smile was all she could do to alleviate some of the warmth everything Yang said sent through her body.