"So, explain to me again why you think this is necessary," Weiss requested.
Ruby was patient with her partner, once again a bit slow on the uptake. "Duh, because we're going to Atlas! Where it's cold? Like, all the time?"
"Ruby..I'm from Atlas, and I tend to wear the same outfits year round," Weiss explained. "I've never really needed to bundle up with anything more than a light jacket..."
"Well that was then and this is now and now is when we're going to Atlas, so let's get you something to keep you warm!" Ruby replied, apparently having heard...none of Weiss's protestations and decided to carry on regardless.
Weiss gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine, if you insist…"
"Great!" Ruby exclaimed. "Now, I really like your skirt, but maybe we can get something longer… or maybe even some pants…"
Weiss was enjoying Ruby complimenting her fashion sense, until she brought up the prospect of putting Weiss in pants. The very thought...!
"How about some leggings instead?" Weiss optimistically suggested. "Something that would complement the outfit rather than… distort it."
Ruby failed to grasp the entirety of Weiss's statement and instead focused on the words she thought she understood. "Why, yes, it was a compliment. Now let's go have a look!"
"Ruby wai-"
Her protests came too late. She was already being dragged off.
Blake would sympathize, but she had expected this. As much as she adored Ruby, her exuberance could be hard to keep up with. Seeing Weiss dragged off to suffer in her place… Blake expected it to be a reprieve.
Instead…
Yang was glancing at a few new shirts. First she reached with her right, prosthetic hand before quickly switching to her left to better get a feel for the pattern of the cloth. Every time Blake saw her do it -which was every time Yang reached out- she had to avert her eyes and try not to think of the impediment Yang had been left with.
A few days ago, when they'd reunited at Haven, Yang had embraced Blake. But she'd done so with her left hand. Her right arm was still detached at that point, the prosthetic lying uselessly on the floor after Yang had briefly scuffled with Mercury. When they broke from their embrace and returned to the rented house her friends had been staying in, Blake hadn't summoned the courage to reach out and take hold of either hand. She hadn't even looked at the prosthetic for anything more than a fleeting glance. The following days she'd had the excuse of seeing off her parents and the citizens of Menagerie and hadn't needed to be sociable and interact with her friends.
It wasn't as though she hadn't wanted to catch up with all of them. When she was alone with Ruby or Weiss (or even Jaune, Nora, or Ren) she felt very much at ease and could talk about the little details of their respective trips for hours. Whenever Yang wandered in, Blake very abruptly kept her thoughts to herself. Whenever Blake wandered about the house and saw Yang in her path her feet felt like clay bonded to the floor.
Now, watching Yang examine a few long-sleeved shirts and clearly seeing the metal bolt on her right arm the prosthetic bonded to as the tall blonde measured herself and adjusted her positioning… to do something entirely ordinary like pick out a t-shirt left Blake frozen in… an emotion she couldn't describe, a cold sensation trickling down her back; a fear without a name, just a frigid grip like…
Metal fingers.
Blake hadn't yet felt the grip of that hand. She… hadn't openly shown this fear in front of Yang, but Blake had undeniably gone out of her way to avoid interacting with Yang very much, so it wasn't as though she'd been presented with many opportunities…
It wasn't as though she was…
...afraid? Running?
Blake kept looking over at Weiss and Ruby as the poor blue-eyed girl was laden with one pair of leggings after another… and stockings -apparently Ruby hadn't quite discerned the difference- and Blake coveted being in that position, because it was preferable to this feeling creeping along her back every time she looked back at Yang.
She tried to look. Yang was shaking her head, going back and forth on a long-sleeved shirt in orange. She already wore a bulky jacket, so she didn't necessarily need anything else to wear, even in a cold climate like Atlas, but she was clearly torn on her decision. She might've been just seconds away from asking for advice… asking her friends for their opinion on a look, trying to strike up a conversation about something ordinary; even mundane.
Blake wanted to help Yang… to do something to make amends for running, for leaving her in such dire straits, and show gratitude for Yang taking her back in spite of all that… but the cold grip wouldn't allow her to move. Not towards Yang, anyway.
Blake turned herself around and searched a nearby rack for something in her size. She had no intention of purchasing anything new -even if she was sure the Atlesian climate wouldn't agree with her- she just needed to not be looking at Yang when Yang turned around. However the winds would howl and the snows would fall when they got to Atlas, no cold would sting like the freezing chill running down her back.
Yang did turn, opening her mouth to start asking something… only to see Blake perusing a different garment. She thought of interrupting, of going over to ask for her old partner's opinion… but stopped herself before any words rolled off her tongue. She abruptly closed her mouth and turned her head before Blake caught on Yang's eye had turned her way.
She tried not to lay any blame on Blake for what she felt, but looking upon her… blame was the furthest thought from Yang's mind. Rather, she felt something altogether more frightening: acceptance.
When she saw Blake return at Haven, Yang had expected to be enraged, to unleash months of pent-up frustration at the girl who left her behind, but when their eyes met in the entrance hall of Haven, that anger evaporated.
At first Yang thought it was exhaustion after having dealt with her mother; that in comparison it had been easier to forgive Blake. Or that she hadn't been willing to nurse a grudge after Mercury had easily exploited it in their rematch, and Yang had only escaped his grip on her by setting her anger aside and choosing not to fight.
When Yang's eye found Blake now, she knew it wasn't just because of those two. It wasn't because Yang had resigned herself to disappointment.
It was because when she saw Blake… nothing mattered but that Blake was there, with her… in some context, at least.
She was there. And nothing else seemed to matter.
It was a terrifying thought, that she could forgive… no, not forgive, that wasn't the right way to describe it… that she could just accept Blake when she was in Yang's sight -in spite of all the resentment she felt the rest of the time, away from her presence. That just having her around somehow made things okay.
That should've been a reassuring feeling. Instead it frightened her, because it meant whatever she felt for Blake was a deeper, stronger feeling than whatever Blake felt for her. After all, if Blake's bond with her had been as strong, she wouldn't have run… and because it wasn't, Yang couldn't help but conclude there was a gap between them… and it would never be filled, because Yang couldn't relate to Blake as an equal, as she had back at Beacon. When Blake was away, Yang was consumed with resentment. When Blake was in her sight, she was content, all feeling ease and comfort.
She knew what that feeling meant.
She knew Blake didn't feel that.
Yang turned her head back to the shirt she'd been toying with and set it back on the rack.
Atlas would be cold, sure, but somehow that didn't seem to matter… and her arm would probably tear the nice new garment up anyway.
Yang returned to looking through her options for something sturdier, trying not to look back, trying not to feel what she knew she would if she did…
