A/N: How do I always end up with the tense chapters? Ahahaha, ah well. Please accept this mountain of hugs.
Hugs,
Defenestrator
Weiss wasn't sure when the laundry room became the go-to place to hide from one's teammates, but she couldn't go back to the dorm because Yang might be there, and it was a Friday night, which meant no one in their right mind was cleaning clothes, so the laundry room was at least logical as a choice for solitude.
The single strip of fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Weiss took one of the folding chairs under the narrow windows and dragged it to the space under the overhead cabinets full of cleaning supplies. She reflected briefly on the advantage of being partially concealed by the washers as she dropped her head into her hands.
It wasn't as if she hadn't tried to tell Yang to stop bothering her without shouting it in front of the whole school. She'd told her over and over, in fact, and Yang just didn't listen.
Weiss shut her eyes and concentrated on relaxing her jaw. It wasn't her fault that she'd made Yang upset. The brawler deserved it. She was in the wrong, and Weiss wasn't going to feel bad or, Dust-forbid, lonely about it. Why should she? There was absolutely no reason.
And yet... she rubbed at her eyes, fighting the telltale sting of tears.
The door to the laundry room swung open then, the very source of Weiss's frustration strolling right across the threshold, her crumpled uniform clutched securely in one hand. Sweaty, slouched, and dressed in her gym shorts and sports bra, Yang shuffled past the first few lockers, her vision largely blocked by the drenched orange handtowel she was using to wipe her face.
Weiss bolted upright, pressing herself back farther in the corner next to the washer. Dust dust dust, she couldn't see who'd come in but she did not want to be found crying in the laundry room, of all places.
Fortunately for the heiress, Yang's attention was elsewhere, focused at the moment on the washer near the center of the room where she had tossed her uniform and towel. Unfortunately, she had forgotten detergent. The brawler quietly glared down at the washer as though it had betrayed her. Heat began to swirl around her. The longer she stared at the washer the more her anger built. She knew it was irrational, but it had been a long day of nothing but failure after failure and Weiss definitely hated her and now this stupid detergentless washer was mocking her and why couldn't she do anything right. An earsplitting CRACK signaled the untimely end of the ill fated machine as Yang's fist plunged straight through it.
This was not an encouraging sight to Weiss, who held her breath, crushing herself back in her chair in the cobwebby corner between the washer and the wall. What had possessed Yang to choose this day, this hour, this handful of minutes, to wash her uniform and towel?
One part of her went tactical: how was she going to get past her? Weiss's blue eyes flickered up and across the portion of the room she could see, assessing the dimensions and if they would allow her to evade the brawler.
The other part knew she couldn't run forever. But what was she supposed to do? Yang had just punched a washing machine into oblivion. If the heiress tried to talk to her now, more than likely it would be the library all over again- all caging hugs and near-death experiences. She pulled her legs in a little farther and the edge of her boot upset an empty bottle of detergent. It made a hollow sound as it tipped over. Weiss grabbed for it to keep it quiet, but it was too late.
Yang whirled around at the sound, finally taking note of her surroundings. The room was silent, save for the pitiful mechanical hissing coming from the crushed washing machine before her. She would have thought the laundry room empty, it not for the blue plastic bottle slowly rolling across the floor at the end of the row of washers. Eager for a distraction from her latest destruction of school property - she was probably going to get some kind of detention, again - the brawler strolled over to the corner of the washroom, expecting to find a mouse, maybe a small lizard. She did not expect to find the Schnee heiress herself crushed into the corner, hiding among the cobwebs like an overgrown spider. Yang's already-exhausted brain finally ground to a halt, and all she could do was stare.
Weiss reacted immediately by summoning a glyph. A blue ring of light sprang up at once beneath Yang's feet, pinning them to the spot. No matter how the brawler tried, her boots would be stuck as hard as if they'd been nailed down.
The heiress held the glyph, swallowing as she tried to piece together something to say.
Amethyst eyes blinked slowly, finally registering that it was, in fact, Weiss sitting in the chair before her, hiding in the corner of the laundry room... What was she doing here? She didn't hear any of the washers or dryers running... Why wasn't she back at the dorm? But even more than that... The brawler's eyes drifted downwards to the glyph lighting up the floor beneath her feet.
Yang tested each foot, one after the other, finding both rooted solidly to the ground. What on Remnant was Weiss trying to do, holding her in place like this, effectively blocking her own exit? She tested a foot again, with a little more effort this time. The glyph held fast. She met the heiress's eyes, not bothering to hide her weariness.
"I thought... you wanted me to stay away?"
Weiss searched Yang's face, scowling. The lack of red eyes was a good sign. She spoke slowly, not trusting her voice to remain steady after she'd been not-crying in the corner of the laundry room for the past half hour.
"I do want you to stay away. Hence this," she lifted her hand, and the glyph pulsed slightly, burning bright against the concrete flooring as she maintained it.
Yang's eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch at the barest hint of a hitch in Weiss's voice. Her eyes raked over the smaller girl, searching for the telltale signs - red, puffy eyes, damp cheeks. It was glaringly obvious.
"You've been crying," she scowled fiercely, "Did someone mess with you?" For a brief moment, heat poured through her, and she envisioned punching right through a nameless aggressor's face⦠only for things to suddenly click into place. She saw her own face.
She was the aggressor. Yang's eyes widened.
"It was me, wasn't it?" She gave in to the glyph's pull and sat heavily on the floor, face buried in her hands. "It was me."
For a second the only sound was the hum of the lights overhead and the trickle of water from the busted washing machine. Weiss's lips twisted into a snarl and she scrubbed her eyes in a futile attempt to erase the evidence Yang had already seen. She bit her words out, "You realized that just now?"
The sharp sting of the heiress's cynical tone stabbed straight through the brawler's sorrow, sparking a flicker of defiance at being kicked while she was down. "Yes, actually, I did." Yang lifted her head, looking Weiss straight in the eye. "But did you ever stop to think that maybe I was just trying to be nice? Maybe I just wanted to help you relax? And maybe, just maybe, I'm not constantly out to kill you?"
"The only times I'm even remotely concerned about you killing me are when you're holding onto me while you're literally on fire," the heiress shot back, meeting Yang's glare. She held her glyph hard in the shape of her hand.
"Don't even bring my semblance into this," Yang snarled, feeling the very heat of which they were speaking begin to course through her veins. She knew she wasn't helping, but sometimes Weiss could just be so infuriating. "If you're so afraid of fire, maybe you should stop trying so hard to invoke it with all those lovely kicks and punches you seem to love to shower me with whenever I so much as brush your sleeve with a fingertip."
"Excuse me?" Weiss's color rose. The cabinets overhead didn't leave room for her to stand, "Lifting me bodily off the ground hardly counts as 'brushing my sleeve', though it's good to know that activating your semblance doesn't activate brain cells. Next time I need to get through to you I'll be sure to try something else."
Small flames began to flicker about as Yang struggled to her feet. "Try something else, huh? You mean like trying to yank out a fistful of my hair?" Her eyes darkened, "Oh, that got through to me all right," she all but growled, fists clenching at her sides.
"That's the one time you've let go of me when I've asked," Weiss's hand shook with the effort of maintaining her glyph. Her voice was dangerously near breaking, "Every other instance you've ignored me, or pretended not to hear- I don't even know- you just won't listen."
"I do listen," Yang shot back, nearly stumbling forward when she tried and failed to stamp her foot for emphasis. She righted herself, cursing the glyph beneath her feet as she crossed her arms. "I mean, I know I can get a little carried away when I'm excited, but... Why didn't you come talk to me about this? You know, pull me aside, calmly and rationally, maybe even without all the anger and shouting? Maybe let me know that I've been bothering you? I'm not psychic Weiss."
Weiss looked as if she'd been struck. She had never met anyone who failed to cease and desist when she let loose her temper. Her vicious words and icy demeanor generally got the message across, and that message was consistently 'Look, don't touch'.
There was Ruby, of course, but the dark-haired girl was quick to shy off when Weiss was done with a hug. Yang, however, didn't seem to possess the same empathetic streak, nor did she seem to possess the common sense that connected 'Weiss shrieking and struggling' to 'Weiss being bothered'. To top it all off, the blonde brawler was calling her irrational- a descriptor the heiress abhorred to her very core.
Her expression went cold. Stone cold. Glacier cold. She released the glyph trapping Yang's boots to the floor and said nothing.
Yang blinked, loosening her stance a bit as she her gaze bounced from Weiss to her own feet and back again. A cautious shuffle of one foot confirmed it - she could move. Was Weiss asking her to leave? No - assumptions would just lead to more confusion. And yet, Weiss was currently doing her best imitation of a statue; cold, unmoving, and utterly silent. The brawler scowled, "OK, so, I ask you to talk to me, and I get the silent treatment, awesome. You know, we really need to work on our communication skills." Normally, this was where she would step forward to emphasize her point, but with Weiss physically backed into a corner, she settled for opening her arms in a pleading gesture. "Talk to me."
"And say what?" the heiress's tone was bitter and clipped. "That I'm sorry you somehow failed to understand that I don't appreciate your rough treatment, and that everything's fine and we should be best friends now?"
"Oh for the love of-" this time, Yang did stamp her foot, a small eruption of flame reflecting in her furious glare. "Weiss, are you trying to start a fight? For your information yes I would actually like us to be friends, but right now you are making that dream an absolute nightmare."
"Oh, so this is my fault," Weiss abandoned the folding chair, shoulders square, ignoring the bits of dust and web clinging to her jacket sleeves. Her mouth twisted into a snarl, "It's my fault that I'm not 'calm and rational' when you walk in on me in the shower, is that it? Maybe shutting up while you drag me out from under tables in the library would solve everything? You're deranged. You're psychotic. I put up with you on a regular basis because we're teammates and you- you-"
Weiss reigned herself in. Still blocked in her corner by the bigger girl, she announced, "I can't talk to you like this. You need to leave."
With each venomous word tossed her way, Yang felt her self control slip bit by bit, bleeding from her fingertips in flickering flames. It wasn't like she couldn't see the logic in what Weiss was saying, but the accusatory tone was completely unnecessary, and the personal attacks were simply uncalled for. It was one thing when an enemy insulted her - all the more reason to beat them senseless with a smile - but when it came from Weiss, someone she thought was a friend... Even if... maybe she was right... The harsh delivery was too much.
The brawler squared her shoulders and drew herself to her full height, but refused to meet the smaller girl's eyes. "You're right. I do."
Without another word, she pivoted on her heel and stormed away, trailing fire.
The icy heiress waited till Yang was out of earshot. Her fists were clenched so hard they shook as she resisted the urge to throw her folding chair into the pile of scrap metal that had once been a washing machine.
Mastering herself, Weiss turned, stalking to the narrow windows in the far wall. The stars outside were lost to the harsh glare of the laundry room lights.
She white-knuckled her scroll. The four symbols of her team gleamed in metal along the back of the device.
