A/N: Takes place after Season 1, Chapter 8 Players and Pieces

"It's difficult to come out of a battle unscathed," Pyrrha observed from her locker.

Jaune looked up at the warrior, eyes roving over her polished armor, and scoffed. "Is that your way of apologizing?"

She shut the metallic door without speaking and he resumed his needlework on his torn sweatshirt. The clacking of her boots reached him as she moved to join him on the bench. "I don't condone giving women unwanted attention," she said as she sat beside him, wary of the contents strewn about the sewing kit between them. "I also saved you from a dangerous fall. I'm not sorry for that."

Across the pair, armor was piled up in Jaune's open locker. The wear that discolored the dented set was obvious from where she sat. Pyrrha glanced back over at him to assess the damage she had caused with Miló. The definition that his snug undershirt revealed, however, distracted her.

Without the bulk of his outermost layer, it was apparent that Jaune had been training. Or, at least, he kept in shape. A sudden burst of heat pooled in her cheeks and she forced her gaze to his hands. Mortified, she wished she could blame her fidgeting on the steam from the showers.

In an attempt to steady her spiked heart rate, Pyrrha watched him slip black thread through his sweatshirt. His motions were methodical. Skilled. Surely, he had mended many garments before, though his clothes bore no apparent patchwork. She gave a slight grimace. Perhaps he had been afforded new clothes for the school year in addition to his uniform. "I am sorry that I ruined your combat gear."

"Twice," he grumbled as he finished backstitching the first slash in the cloth. "Look at you," he grit out as he bit off the end of the secured thread. "Not even a scratch."

"Yes." She smoothed her hands over her leg armor and leaned forward. His eye was hard to catch when he was preoccupied. "But I didn't start out so fortunate, Jaune."

He busied himself with rethreading his hand needle. "Oh yeah? Can't imagine you'd ever get beat up by a tree."

"Well, maybe not twice," Pyrrha supplied with a grin.

Jaune barked out a hollow laugh. "You'll never know my pain, Pyrrha. Trees are unforgiving."

Bringing a hand to hover over her mouth, she couldn't help but join him.

Wide-eyed cerulean blue collided with apple green. Finally, he set down his sewing to look at her. "You… you really think I'm funny?"

"Of course," she managed between staggered breaths. It was hopeless, now, to hide her blush.

He smiled and continued to hold her gaze. "Well then, we're going to have a beautiful partnership."

Pyrrha's chuckles mellowed into a warm smile that matched his own. "I agree. Thank you for letting me on your team."

His sweatshirt all but forgotten, he shifted towards her and nearly toppled the sewing kit over. "So you weren't kidding."

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"A-About me being a leader," he stammered.

Her smile returned. "I sense that you're an honorable fighter, Jaune. While simple, your weapons are respectable and more civilized than the contraptions that many students carry around. You're also quite… charming. A team leader needs your kind of determination."

If he hadn't taken notice of her flushed face before, she might as well have confessed how fond she already felt of him then and there.

"Determination? Really?"

Her lips gave a wry twist and she arched a brow. He really didn't know?

"Oh." He coughed and ran his fingers through his mop of blond hair. "You mean Weiss."

"You came here today and sought out your goal, then seized an opportune moment."

"But she totally blew me off!" he exclaimed. "And didn't you say you don't approve?"

"Well," she began with a sigh. Why was she encouraging this? "You were invading her personal space. Just simply change tactics and… adjust."

"Right," he affirmed. "I've really got to woo her!"

He wouldn't take her words the way she wanted, but that didn't stop her from crossing her arms and liberally pushing up on her breastplate. Whatever it took to get him to notice her was worth risking her pride for. When he turned to pick his needle and thread back up, however, his eyes never once dropped to her chest.

She slouched, visibly deflating at his lack of interest, and let out another sigh.

Perhaps it was taboo to want this.

A/N: For those of you who follow my writing, you'll notice I often use song lyrics as fic titles. This one comes from "Crush" by Sleigh Bells. This is also my first RWBY piece, so feedback would be greatly appreciated! A review is worth a thousand faves.