Chapter XXIII - Sparks Fly Upward
Yang
She felt sick and twisted and knotted up and utterly, utterly wrong.
It had been hours and almost a day since she’d spoken to Sun and forced a huge rift between her and Blake. Threads still connected them, but they were strained, trembling taut, and she knew if she didn’t fix this soon, they would snap altogether.
“YANG!”
Yang’s head snapped around as a high-pitched wail pierced her ears and a weight— a small red and black weight that was currently baying in misery— crashed into her, her voice rising high enough to go out of vocal frequency. “I’m sorry— I’m so sorry— I accidentally told Blake about what you told us, this is my fault, I should have kept my mouth shut—”
“Good Lord, little sis. Take a breath.” She extricated herself from Ruby’s grip. “It’s all right. It was bound to come out sooner or later. I’m not upset. Just— it’s okay, really. I just,” she frowned. “I just feel like I forced us to take a huge step backwards, that’s all.”
Ruby blinked at her. “But I—”
“I promise I’m not angry at you,” she said. “But, uh, do me a favor, and you and Weiss— don’t come by the dorm room tonight until I message you from the Scroll, okay?”
Ruby’s eyes widened in curiosity despite her solemnness. “Something you want to tell me?”
“No, no!” Yang flushed. “Nothing like that. I just— I need to apologize, and I… don’t want anyone butting in. You know?”
“Sure thing. I’ll force-feed Weiss sleeping pills and drag her to the library!” Ruby said cheerily, before turning and streaking down the hallway. Yang debated on calling after her, but she sighed, turning and placing her hand on the doorknob, before hesitating.
She closed her eyes. Brushed against the Bond in her mind. Blake was within the dorm room. Yang couldn’t get any emotion from her— she was guarding it, keeping it carefully blank, but it still seeped through, a searing mixture of sorrow and grief.
She opened the door.
Blake did not turn as she entered, but her shoulders straightened, lines of tension showing through her shirt. She remembered once, weeks and weeks ago, a clear summer’s night when she had found Blake after days of searching. She remembered when the ocean had tinged the air, Blake’s eyes very wide and gold in her face. You wanted to talk, she had said to Blake, the ice of winter in her voice, contrasting the warmth in the air. So talk.
It was the mirror opposite of that now, with her own fire inside, and the cold autumn freezing the air outside. Blake was the one to watch her with a guarded expression. But she could not mask herself, truly, could not mask the sorrow she felt.
“Blake,” she said. “I came here to tell you two things.”
“You did?” Blake’s voice was flat, devoid of anything, but the Bond was alive like a wire, and Blake’s eyes were as pained as if she’d been stabbed through the center. “Then I suppose you should speak.”
“I need you to hear me,” Yang whispered. “I need you to listen.”
“I’m listening,” Blake said, but it was abundantly clear to Yang, that, despite what she said, her mind was millions of miles away. She took a step forward, wrapping her fingers around Blake’s wrists. Blake looked up at her, achingly close, but unreachable all at once.
“Yang?” she whispered, confusion warring with sorrow in her eyes.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
Blake looked as if she were going to protest, but then she met Yang’s eyes, saw the steely flint within them, and she complied, eyelids fluttering shut. She looked so young, so heartbreakingly alone, that Yang’s heart constricted as if gripped by iron. My fault, my fault.
She brought her lips close to Blake’s ear. “The first thing you have to know,” she whispered, “is that I’m sorry, Blake. I’m so, so sorry for deceiving your faith in me, that whatever else isn’t true, that, at least, is.”
Blake’s breath caught, her hand reaching out for Yang, but she moved away as fast as Blake could make her own movement. Her partner’s eyes flew open in confusion, but Yang shook her head.
“Keep your eyes closed.”
She did, frowning.
Yang leaned forward, brushing her lips against Blake’s. “Secondly,” she whispered, hearing Blake’s heartbeat like a war drum in the air, “you were wrong. I was wrong. But you’re asking too much of me to expect me to never mess up, to be flawless. And maybe I’m asking too much to expect you not to be who you are.”
Her breath subsided into a sharp intake of breath, the expression on her face cracking into a thousand pieces, replaced by a raw sadness. Slowly, Blake’s eyes opened, first reflecting the starlight that filtered through the skylights, then they landed on Yang. She could see herself in Blake’s eyes, two tiny reflections. She wasn’t crying, but she looked so heartbreakingly sad that she could hardly believe it was her, and something in Blake’s face changed. “Yang,” she whispered, taking her face and bringing their foreheads together. They were so close— Yang was inches away, their lips were a whisper apart— but it wasn’t close enough. It was never close enough.
“Tell me,” Yang whispered. “Tell me why you won’t let me fight for you.”
Blake’s face fell. “I don’t know.” Tears shone in her eyes. “I don’t know, Yang. I’m just so scared because I’m falling, and what if what happened before with Adam happens again, you know? It was cruel and unfair and I got angry at you for something so stupid and trivial, in the end, because I do trust Ruby and Weiss, and I do trust you. And that’s not okay, it’s not. And I just got so wrapped up in thinking you could do better. You’re perfect, and I can’t—”
“No, stop there. I’m not perfect.” Her eyes pinned Blake; she saw the muscles in her throat contract as she swallowed. “Say it. I’m not perfect.”
“You’re not—” she faltered; took a breath. “You’re not perfect. You’re not.”
“And you can hurt me just like I’ve hurt you.”
Blake’s shoulders slumped, and she repeated it softly.
“Don’t you get it?” Yang took her wrists gently, fingers resting against her pulse. “Could I hurt you? Yeah. Just like we’ve hurt each other.” Blake opened her mouth to speak, but Yang shook her head, cutting her off. “That doesn’t mean we don’t try anyways. I mean, hell, Blake, that same logic could apply to anything! Why get up in the morning if you’re just gonna go back to bed at night? Why make any bonds if they may crumble in a few years? Why try if you’re going to die someday?” She kissed her, hungry and rough. “Because I can make you really, really happy if you let me. So let me. Okay?”
Blake was shaking, but she wrapped her fingers around Yang’s. “Okay,” she said softly, and then Yang was kissing her, relieved and shaky.
“I was scared,” she said, head falling forward to rest on Yang’s shoulder, before she drew herself up and looked Yang in the eye. “Because I knew— know— I’m in love with you. I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t even want to want anyone but you. And— I don’t know, Yang, maybe I’m not a good person, but corrupted people don’t love. They possess, and seek, and own. And I can’t help but think that some part of me has to be good, at least partially, to love you like I wish to.”
“You are a good person, Blake. Maybe melodramatic,” and here, Blake wrinkled her nose at Yang, though her eyes softened, “but you’re absolutely good.”
Blake’s brows settled in a serious line. “Do you— can you forgive me?”
Yang leaned forward, kissed her softly and tenderly, her hands cupping Blake’s face, Blake’s breath ghosting out against her lips. “Do you forgive me?” she countered, her voice barely louder than a breath.
Blake’s eyes searched her face. “In all my life, I have found you— you, who, when I pushed you, you pushed me back. And how many people like that do you find in a lifetime?” Blake pulled her back into the kiss, hard and driving, until Yang let herself fall back on the bed, the two of them still tangled together. A part of her mind wondered, briefly, how far they were going, but the rest of her mind was perfectly content, and so she tuned herself out, only feeling Blake’s body on top of hers, so strong, and so vulnerable at once.
“Yang,” Blake whispered, pulling away. “I want to tell you something.”
Yang blinked, forcing herself to listen as the seriousness in Blake’s tone shone through. “Okay. What is it?”
“Before— I don’t know what we’re doing, right now, but… I haven’t told you what you mean to me. Even when I was angry at you. We met here— Beacon— and now we’re here, you and me. You took everything I thought I knew and showed me that it was false. That I could trust, and that I could love, and that perhaps I was really a person, and not just the sum of so many mistakes. You make me feel hope again.” Blake’s voice dropped to a rough whisper, and Yang reached up, caressing her jaw and brushing away the strands of hair the fell in her eyes. “You make me want to be everything for you. And I’ll always want you. Always. So what I’m trying to say… Yang, I think I love you. I do love you.”
Yang’s heart was so full of emotion that, she felt if she contained anymore, she surely must let it out, or brim over. “Kiss me,” she said instead, and Blake leaned down and pressed her lips against Yang’s, nipping her bottom lip gently. Their hair fell together, a curtain of black and gold mingling to shield them from the world, as Blake’s mouth moved over her own. If their first kiss had been the beginnings of a wildfire sweeping through them, this was a star going into a supernova. It was heated and driven and sent fire swirling into her veins, dazzling and driving away all her thoughts but the mantra of Blake, Blake, Blake. All she saw, heard, felt, was Blake: she was all that mattered. Blake’s hands came down, one to her hair, one to her shoulder. Her heartbeat was unsteady and quick, Yang could hear it, and she was breathing ragged and fast.
“Yang—“ Blake broke away from the kiss, panting, her pupils blown. Yang didn’t think she’d ever seen her like this, not in her element with perfect surety and grace. Blake’s hands were trembling. The faint light of the stars outside the window swung crazily— Blake didn’t seem to want to move away, but neither did Yang— and her lips still tingled with the bruising force of Blake’s kiss. “You have to tell me what you want— I can’t think—“
“It’s okay.” Yang looked up at her, the amber of her eyes, and almost unconsciously drew her hand along the slant of her jaw, the arch of her eyes, which fluttered shut at Yang’s touch. The color she’d always loved. They were just rims of gold circling her wide pupils now, her cheeks spotted with two patches of flushed red, high along her cheekbones. She was shaking. She was the most beautiful thing Yang had ever seen. “I want to, Blake, if you want to.”
“Of course I want to. Can’t you tell?” Blake’s laugh was soft and wild, before she kissed her again, softly this time, barely a butterfly brush of her lips against Yang’s, but it still sent electricity jolting through her.”I always want you.”
Yang’s eyes fluttered half-shut, her breath stuttering, her head falling back to expose more of her throat as Blake trailed a line of kisses— like brands, burning hot against her skin, prickling more with every touch— down the curve of her cheek, the slope of her jaw, the wild pulse thudding in her throat. She mouthed over the curves of Yang’s collarbones, where they coalesced into the hollow of her throat, and Yang groaned low in her throat, a wild heat thrumming within her, hands finding the wiry muscles of Blake’s shoulderblades, like an angel’s sheared wings.
Blake lifted her head, her eyes a hot gold, and Yang marveled, for a moment, at the change that had come over her. She remembered Blake as she’d first met her: her eyes hard and flat, her expression wiped blank, like the cold effigy of an statue. She had thought those cold golden eyes were distant, more distant than the farthest stars, even frightening, before she’d grown to realize what she was looking at was the expert shielding of seventeen years of self-protection. Seventeen years of guarding her heart.
Yang smoothed her hands down Blake’s spine, brushing her hair back. “I love you,” she told her, heart skipping down a flight of stairs. “I love you, Blake Belladonna.”
Blake’s eyes were free of shadows, and she brought her head down, pressing a swift kiss to Yang’s jaw, sending another jolt of liquid fire thrilling through Yang’s veins. You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire. “I love you too.”
And with her skills as a huntress of smooth certainty, Yang flipped their positions swiftly and surely, so she was on top, straddling Blake with a coy grin. Blake’s hair fanned out dark, and there was an intensity in her eyes that made Yang shiver, along with an unasked question which she voiced as soon as Yang gave her a quizzical look.
“Are you— are you sure?” Blake blew out a breath between her teeth. “I want this— God, I want this— but I don’t want to if you’re not—“
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Yang laid her hand over Blake’s, gave it a light squeeze, their own sign, before she leaned down to kiss her. Blake’s hand tangled in her hair. Somewhere along the line, her bow had fallen off, and not for the first time, Yang wondered at how on earth she’d gotten to have someone so beautiful. But then, Blake was staring up at her with the sort of unadulterated wonder that Yang associated with sheer awe, like she was a sculpted Greek statue, something to be worshipped. That was how Blake had seen her, somehow, impossibly beautiful; she’d been blurred to look enigmatically breathtaking in Blake’s memories.
They were both sitting up now, panting and flushed from the force of the fire of their bond— both of them, the Bond and not, the one of their partnership and the one they shared in their hearts, and Blake was fumbling with the knot on her scarf and jacket. She was still shaking, and Yang calmly laid a hand over Blake’s. “Let me,” she murmured, pulling the scarf and mahogany leather jacket over her head in one fell swoop, leaving her in a sheer white camisole that hugged her body tightly. She shook out her hair over her shoulders, faintly wishing for something more remarkable, but Blake was staring at her as if she were something exotic and amazing.
She kissed her; when Blake pulled away, her finger traced the outline of Yang’s mouth, slow and reverently. “For this I would have been damned forever. For this I would have given up everything.”
Yang felt her heart quicken, and she touched her cheek gently, knowing her eyes were shining with what she had said once, what emotion was thundering through the Bond and her heart with all the surety that the sun would rise the next day. “Blake,” she breathed like a prayer, before moving to cover her body with her own.
Blake
She woke as the coming dawn spilled its first light into the room, filling the air with pale rose and gold. The sheets shifted around her, and her eyes fell onto Yang, her hair scattered like sparks in the dimness.
She sank back against the mattress, a smile— not a quirk of her mouth or a grin, but a real smile— spreading across her face. She was safe, she was loved. And last night, they had done… stuff. They had reconciled, as well, but… it was looking brighter than it had in a while. Things were going to be okay.
BZZZ! BZZZ!
She started as a sharp buzz cut through the air, originating from the bedside desk. Yang’s Scroll was lit up with a message. Blake glanced at it. The contact name ‘lil rose’ was bouncing on the notifications, and she grinned. Ruby, of course.
10:07 PM: u never messaged me back and I had to convince weiss not to burst into the dorm anyways. it was totally hard & she abt did come in but i persuaded her not to, so u owe me one. we’ll crash with jaune and the rest of his team until u message me back!
ps. omigod sis! i found out ren talks in his sleep and pyrrha snores super loud. BLACKMAIL MATERIAL!! :D
7:03 AM: You better message me back by nine, yang! we have plans today with sun’s team b4 the missions, remember!
A picture followed the message, of Ruby flipping a peace sign at the camera while, in the background, Team JNPR and Weiss could all be seen. They were blurred in movement, Weiss, shoving her head under a pillow to try to get to sleep, Jaune, who was yawning with a puzzled expression on his face, Pyrrha, who was laughing, and Nora, grinning at Ren, who was fast asleep. Blake let out a huff of exasperated laughter at the image before turning back around, and poking Yang. “You’ve got mail, Yang.”
Yang gave a sleepy murmur and tightened her arms around Blake’s waist, not even opening an eye. “Shhh. Warm. Quiet. Sleep.”
“Don’t you want to wake up?”
“No,” she murmured, burying her face in Blake’s side, breath warm against her bare skin. “I kinda want this little moment to last forever. So let it last as long as it can. Okay?”
“I’m all right with that,” Blake whispered, and, content as she had not known before now, she pressed a gentle kiss to Yang’s forehead, twined her fingers into her partner’s, and let sleep claim her once more.