Ever Happened

Pyrrha Nikos prided herself on her ability to read people. It was a necessary skill as a warrior, a Huntress-in-training, and as someone who had spent years in the public eye. She had learned to see past the masks people wore, to recognize their intentions, their weaknesses, their strengths.

But Jaune Arc, however, had become an absolute mystery lately.

She wasn’t sure when exactly she noticed it. Maybe it was when he slid into his seat at breakfast, leaned back way too casually, and said—

“What’s up, my dudes?”

Weiss had given him the same expression one would give a cockroach wearing a tuxedo.

Nora had cackled, slapping the table. “Oh my gods, Jaune, this is the longest bit you’ve ever done!”

“Yeah, wow,” Yang had smirked. “I kinda admire the commitment to it.”

Jaune laughed nervously.

But Pyrrha had frowned. Something was… off.

It was subtle, but it was there, the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes flickered between them, watching their reactions.

That was the first time she really looked at him.

And then she realized.

Jaune really does looked different.

Not in the dramatic sense… his hair was still a mess, his armor still mismatched, and his goofy smile still lit up the room, but something about him had changed. His posture was better, his movements more fluid. He was standing taller, and for the first time, she realized he had… broader shoulders.

Since when had Jaune Arc had broad shoulders?

And his voice,  though it wasn’t deeper, but there was something in it, something steady and assured, like a man who had seen things.

Pyrrha found herself watching him more after that.

And unfortunately, that only made things worse.

Pyrrha wasn’t unaccustomed to flattery.

She had plenty of admirers growing up, even if none of them had truly seen her for who she was.

But nothing could have prepared her for Jaune lately.

They were walking back to their dorms after training when he suddenly turned to her and said,

“You know, Pyrrha, I never really noticed before, but your hair shines beautifully in the moonlight.”

Pyrrha nearly tripped. “M-My… what?”

Jaune chuckled, looking at her like he had just made an offhand comment about the weather. “Your hair. It’s kind of like fire, but softer, warmer. How do you even make it like that?”

Pyrrha opened her mouth. Then closed it.

She had no idea how to respond to that.

“Are you—” she started, gripping her arms. “Are you feeling okay, Jaune?”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Because you’re flirting with me, damn it.

She wanted to say it. She really did. But instead, she just laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Jaune gave her a small smile. A mature, easy, confident smile.

You can do that now!?

Pyrrha decided she needed to go back to her room before she combusted.

Jaune had never been smooth. He tries to, but never does.

He was awkward, endearing, and prone to tripping over his own words. Pyrrha had grown very used to being the one who flustered him, not the other way around.

That balance had been completely shattered.

The next day.

They were walking together to Combat Class when Pyrrha absently adjusted her ponytail. Jaune glanced at her, smiling.

“You always look nice with your hair up like that,” he said, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Pyrrha nearly walked into a wall.

An hour later, they were studying in the library, and Jaune, who was actually taking notes no, sighed, stretching his arms behind his head. Pyrrha, unfortunately, happened to be looking at the time.

His shirt lifted slightly.

Oh.

She quickly turned back to her book, forcing herself to focus. Jaune, completely oblivious, grinned at her.

“You work too hard, Pyrrha.”

She blinked. “I… don’t think that’s true.”

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “You do. Always training, always pushing yourself. You should take breaks more often. You deserve it. You're wonderful.”

Pyrrha froze.

She had lost count of how many times people had called her a prodigy, how often they praised her skill, her strength, her dedication. But Jaune? Jaune didn’t talk about her as a warrior.

He just talked about her.

She barely managed a response before Weiss appeared, saving her from embarrassing herself further.

But Weiss narrowed her eyes at Jaune before pulling Pyrrha aside later that day.

“Not to be rude,” she said, arms crossed, “but what is up with Jaune?”

Pyrrha blinked. “What do you mean?”

“He’s… different,” Weiss said. “I don’t know how to explain it. He still acts like a fool, but then he turns around and says something that makes you feel like he’s seen the rise and fall of kingdoms.”

Pyrrha didn’t answer.

Because she’d been thinking the exact same thing.

Jaune had improved in combat. That much was obvious.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

It was just a normal spar—nothing special. She had sparred with Jaune before, coaching him, guiding him. She had expected more of the same.

She had been so wrong.

Jaune stood across from her, Crocea Mors in hand, his stance relaxed but prepared. And then, when Goodwitch gave the signal—

He moved.

It wasn’t raw strength or sheer speed that caught her off guard. It was his control.

Gone was the clumsy, overeager Jaune who swung like he was chopping wood. His strikes were precise, each movement flowing into the next.

Pyrrha barely deflected a downward cut before he transitioned seamlessly into a Meisterhauw, his blade carving a sharp diagonal arc.

She twisted, parrying just in time.

Their swords clashed, steel against steel, ringing through the air like music.

Pyrrha felt her heartbeat quicken—not from exertion, but from exhilaration.

Jaune countered with a riposte, his blade gliding past her guard, forcing her to retreat a step. He wasn’t just fighting—he was taking control.

They moved together, blade meeting blade, each attack met with a counter, each counter met with a response. Pyrrha found herself grinning, heat rushing through her veins.

She had always wanted this.

Not just to spar, but to fight. To truly test herself against someone in sync with her movements.

And Jaune—Jaune was giving her that.

She didn’t think as she moved. She felt.

It was intoxicating.

And then, in a blur of motion, Jaune disarmed her.

Her weapon clattered to the floor.

Silence.

Pyrrha stared. Jaune, breathing hard, met her gaze. For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Jaune smiled, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Damn. That was fun.”

Fun.

Pyrrha’s face was burning.

She then hurried back to their dorm room.

Hiding her face.

Thinking.

Wondering if someone took a video when he smiled like that.

At the cliffs near Emerald Forest after class lesson.

Pyrrha was lost in thought.

Because Pyrrha Nikos had a problem.

A Jaune-shaped problem.

Because Jaune was still Jaune, still dorky, still sweet, still capable of getting lost despite having been at Beacon for a year now. But now, there was something else.

Confidence. Strength. A quiet, steady presence.

And worst of all, he was completely unaware of what he was doing to her.

She wanted to know what gave this change.

So she can somewhat understand.

Jaune stretched his arms behind his head and let out a soft sigh as he walked next to her, as if it was the most natural thing to do.

“Y’know,” he murmured, “I think I’d follow you anywhere, Pyrrha.”

Pyrrha’s heart stopped.

She turned, staring at him. “You… would?”

Jaune glanced at her, his smile lazy but warm. “Of course. You’ve got this way of making people believe in something bigger than themselves. It’s kind of amazing.”

There was nothing teasing in his voice, no attempt at flattery. He meant every word.

Pyrrha didn’t know what to say.

She had dreamed of finding someone who saw her, not the champion, not the invincible warrior, but her.

She turned away quickly, pressing a hand to her face. “I—thank you.”

Jaune just laughed, leaning back against the grass. “Anytime.”

Pyrrha exhaled slowly.

This really was going to be a problem.