"…James?"

My voice, tiny as a whisper, gets lost in the immensity of the empty office. The moon reflects on the polished floor and shelved walls, enlightening the room with a faint, pale white light that, even though it seemed magical before, feels different this time – almost ghostly, now that I'm all alone yet once again.

What the hell just happened?

I blink, twice. The door remains half open, for James didn't close it when he left at the speed of light – his lips, muttering something that I have heard him say hundreds of times:

"I'm sorry."

He sounded… defeated.

I sigh, deeply, and I rub my eyes until they hurt and I all I see in the middle of the darkness are twinkling lights. I feel dizzy, and I don't understand anything at all. What exactly is he sorry for? It's not his fault that I kissed him – it's nobody's, because it wasn't even a mistake. Not for me, at least. I just… It's been months, and I couldn't keep going without him knowing how I feel. This fire in my chest, in my skin, in my bones – it's been raging for so long that I was going to burn down to ashes if I didn't do something, and I was sure – I really, really was – that he felt the same way.

Maybe I was wrong…?

But – it can't be. Earlier today, at the infirmary, when he brushed my blood away from my lips, I thought – I thought he was going to kiss me. His voice, whispering my name – the soft touch of his fingertips – gentle, and caring, and doubtful… He was shaking, and so was I.

But – he did nothing. He just apologized and left, leaving me trembling, burning, and alone.

Just like I am now.

I can feel something in my chest – something that wasn't there before. It's subtle, barely noticeable, but still there – a shadow of dismay, of concern, of doubt – a fear of not being loved back. I quickly push the thought away from my mind: I've seen his eyes and I know them well, for they are a reflection of mine: shattered, reforged, and craving for love; and his irises, always honest, I can read like an open book.

I know him.

I know him.

I know him.

Do I?

I sigh again, heavier this time, and turn my head just enough to look out the window from the corner of my eye. Atlas is buzzing, changing, moving – a very different view to the one I was used to see when I was staying at the Schnee manor, for its patio was always empty and silent. My bare palm rests upon the cold glass, and soon enough, vapor condensates and gathers around my fingers, perfectly outlining the shape of my hand. It must be freezing outside. I stay still for a while, with the only sound of my chest going up and down with every breath I take. I look at the stars, searching for the new constellations of whose existence I have learnt about tonight, but I can't find them in the vast of the firmament. I like it up here – it's quiet and calm, but it feels really lonely without company – without James' company.

I… should probably go talk to him.

A third sigh, full of doubts this time, and I turn around to leave the office. My wandering through the empty hallways lasts for what seems an eternity, but I finally make it to James' room – the door, twice as wide as any other, has a little plaque with his name engraved on it. My heart skips a beat, anxious at the thought of seeing his face again, of looking him in the eye – what if all I see in them are ghosts and regret? Would I be able to bear it? I shake my head to push the intrusive thoughts away, take some seconds to gather as much courage as I can, and knock.

No response.

"James?" I ask to a closed door. "Are you okay…?"

Still no response.

"Could we… talk?" My voice breaks halfway through, but I manage to finish the sentence; however, the only answer I receive is a loud and overwhelming silence. Maybe… maybe he has fallen asleep? Yes, that must be it. Because after everything that happened today, he wouldn't just let all of it go without talking it through, would he?

No, of course not. We will speak tomorrow morning, right after…

Oh, Gods.

I had forgotten that I'm supposed to train with Winter tomorrow.

Resigned, I leave his room behind, completely unaware that, at the other side of the door, James' heart and soul are bleeding out.

I hadn't heard the sound of my own walking resonating all over the empty hallways in a long time, for its echo was always intertwined with his; I do, now, and it feels strange – almost foreign, as if my own steps weren't mine at all. When I finally make it to my dorm I flop onto the bed, exhausted, and I let myself sink into the shifting night shadows casted on the ceiling. Before closing my eyes and surrendering to sleep, one single thought crosses my mind: "I just hope he's alright." And I, oblivious of what is to come and wandering the limbo between dreams and waking, don't notice how the shadow in the back of my chest darkens just a little.

It's still dark outside when I walk down the main hallway with the intention of making a brief stop at the cafeteria. Even though it's very early and I'm not really hungry, I think it's better if I eat something before meeting with Winter, mostly because I don't have much of an interest in making it through another of her reprimands in case my stomach starts to growl fifteen minutes into the training session. I don't really have time to make myself some tea, so I guess I'll just pour myself a glass of milk with a couple of cookies; however, when I enter the cafeteria, I spot a steaming cup of tea and two little muffins waiting for me over one of the tables. The aroma of freshly made coffee is still present – James isn't here, but he must have been not much more than ten minutes ago. I smile, and the knot in my chest that had been waking me time and time again last night loosens a little. He can't be angry at me if he has bothered to serve me breakfast, right?

Right?

A little more relieved, I make it to the table and sit on the bench. I never, ever do this – it's gross and I hate it – but I don't want to be late, so I just gobble down my breakfast as fast as I can, silently thankful that nobody's around to watch me do it. James made the muffins a couple of days ago, but they are still truly delicious – the subtle sourness of the blueberries that he carefully minced and added to the muffins is the perfect contrast to the sweetness of the sugar. When I'm done, the first rays of sunlight are filtering through the cafeteria windows - I head to the training room at a rapid pace, and I come in just in time to see James disappearing up the stairs. Winter is just standing in the middle of the empty room – no artificial cubes, no simulations this time –, frowning at me.

"Good morning, Win…"

"You're late." She grunts. "And you have muffin crumbs on your lips." She adds with a hiss once I get to her side.

Oops.

"Sorry." I say, brushing the crumbs away with my fingertips. "I overslept a little."

"Are you rested enough to train?" She asks, and her frown deepens even more.

"Yes, Winter." I respond.

I think so, at least.

She stares at me with critical eye for a few seconds, as if she was trying to divine the truth in my words. Whenever she does that, it almost feels like she could see right through me – I hold back a shiver, thinking about what she would do if she found out what happened last night between James and me. I know her, and I know she would be mad – no, mad falls short. She would be furious.

But as far as I know she still can't read minds, so… I guess we're fine.

"Alright." She sighs once she's convinced. "I have a matter to discuss with the General once we're done here, so it's better if we don't waste more time."

"Oh? What is it about?"

"Classified."

Of course it is.

"Besides, since when are you interested in the military?" Winter asks, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

"I mean… I'm living with the head of the military." I shrug.

"Right." Winter rolls her eyes in dismiss, and with a gesture of her arm she points at Myrtenaster. "Let's begin."

I nod and draw my rapier. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot James' silhouette at the upper lookout. My heartbeat fastens a little at the thought that he will be watching us – watching me fail as I try to summon, because I know for sure that I still can't do it on purpose. The Boarbatusk I managed to invoke at the concert was accidental, just like the summon at the Battle of Beacon, when I put myself between Velvet and one of Atlas' mad robots – one armored hand with a giant sword appeared out of nowhere and stopped its blow. I still don't know what that was. It didn't look like a Grimm, but, weirdly, it had a certain resemblance to… the Arma Gigas. When I was locked away at the Schnee Manor I tried to summon it several times, but to no avail – not even its arm showed up again.

And I don't think it will this time, either.

I kneel down and stick the blade into the ground; then, I close my eyes. I feel the weight of Winter's eyes casted over me, and it almost makes my shoulders bend under the pressure. Her pupils have always been heavy and cold – not in the "I don't love you" way, but more in the "I expect great things from you, so you better not disappoint me" way. It takes a deep, long breath to push my thoughts away and empty my mind, leaving enough room for me to concentrate. There's nothing here. There's nobody around. There's only Myrtenaster's handle; my hands around it; and my summoning semblance, still hidden deep inside me, still waiting for me to master it. I know it's there, somewhere – it's in my blood and in the glyphs that I cast, in the pride of the family that once was more than what it has become. My semblance is one of a kind, and I will do it justice – not for my family's name, but for myself.

I just have to find the way through.

I don't know how long I have my eyes closed for, but it's a while. "Focus, Weiss." Winter's voice sounds like a distant prayer that echoes in the back of my head, waiting. I follow its luminous sound – it enlightens the darkness of my closed eyes with a faint gleam and leads the way through. After chasing her voice for some time, I feel a tingling sensation in my fingertips, and it makes me exhale a loud gasp – this is new. "Keep your posture." She commands. As the light in my head becomes brighter, the tingling turns into a stream – it flows through my hands and into the blade, as if it was an extension of my own body and soul. Soon, the brilliance is such that I can't keep my eyes closed anymore – I open them, only to be blinded again by the giant, white glowing helmet that has appeared before me. I blink twice, astonished.

"Wh…" I babble.

"Very well done." Winter nods in approval, and takes a couple of steps forward to examine the helmet. "It's a curious summon, indeed. It doesn't look like any Grimm I've seen before. Do you know what it is?"

"No. I… I really didn't think I could do that." I admit.

"Nonsense." She dismisses. "Of course you can. It's in your blood, after all." She draws her sword and softly hits the helmet's surface with a low clank. It's a weak summon, so it vanishes quickly – but it's a summon after all, and it's definitely much more than what I was expecting, mostly because I wasn't expecting anything at all. "You just have to practice." Winter declares.

I smile, pleased by my achievement, and I admire how the shiny particles drift into the air, reflecting the blue light that comes from the walls – before the last glowing fragment disappears, it quickly crosses my mind that the helmet looked, indeed, like the Arma Gigas'.

Hm.

Winter bends slightly and offers me a hand to help me get up – with a gentle tug of her arm, I'm standing face to face to her. "You've grown a lot, Weiss." She says, looking me in the eye. Her pupils are a little softer than what I am used to, and her voice – it's subtle, but I still can sense it – sounds, somehow… moved. "But don't get confident – there's still a long way to go. You have great potential, but you will waste it if you don't keep training, so don't – laze – around." She hisses – each dragged word, a tap on my shoulder with her index finger. "I'm looking forward to finding out what your summon was."

Okay. Now this looks more like Winter I know.

"I will." I declare. "Thank you, Winter." I say, leaning my head a bit. "For everything. Will you come back soon?"

I never really realize how much I miss her until I see her again.

"I'll try. Things are getting… busier at the military. But it's –"

"Classified. I know."

Winter nods.

"Well, I have to go speak to the General. Until next time, Weiss."

"Goodbye, Winter."

It's only when she turns and disappears at the back of the room that I dare to look up again. James' shape, still in the middle of the lookout, hasn't moved a bit. I can't see his face from down here, but I hope that he's glad of what I've accomplished, especially since he knows that summons aren't my strongest point – yet. Soon, Winter's silhouette joins to his, and they disappear from my sight. I really, really can't wait to talk to him about last night, but I guess I'll have to kill time until their conversation is over. And, honestly? I could use a nap. I didn't sleep more than two hours straight last night, and all that aura flowing through me and into Myrtenaster's blade and the excitement of having finally been able to summon something at my own will – even if it's just a helmet – have left me drained.

Resolved and fulfilled, I head to my room – the soft mattress cradles me as if I was laying on a cloud, and my weariness is such that it doesn't take long until I fall asleep. In one of my dreams, I meet him again – his soothing voice, whispering my name; the soft brush of his human fingertips on my skin, tracing the shape of my scar and running down to my parted lips. I shiver under his touch when he places his index finger under my chin, making me look up and into his eyes.

And… he kisses me.

I wake up all of a sudden, with my heart rapidly pouncing in my chest. I look around, confused, but there's nobody else in this room besides me, and I curse a "Drat" under my breath before snorting a soft laugh. It seems that even one imaginary kiss from James has the power to make me stupidly dizzy. But Gods, it felt so real. I decide to step into the shower now, since I didn't have the time this morning – under the steaming water, my drowsiness slowly fades away. Not long after, I leave my room again, wondering if Winter and James' meeting is already over – the training room is empty when I enter, and the lights from the upper room are all off.

Okay. Where might he be?

Thinking about what I'll say to him when I find him, I start my wandering through the Academy. Since it's the most likely option I decide to begin with his office, but when I try to enter, I realize that the door is locked. Just like I did last night, I continue my pace and head to his room, but, again, there's only silence when I knock on its surface. I frown, slightly annoyed. Where the hell did he go? It's unlikely that he's there, since all the books I've seen him read he took from his office, but I decide to check the Academy library anyway – it's empty, too. I make my way down the stairs checking every floor.

"James?"

But he's nowhere to be seen. Maybe he accompanied Winter to the military?

Frowning, I step into the main hallway – a delicious smell is filling the air. I sigh, deeply.

Of course he's cooking.

At a rapid pace, and happy to have finally found him, I enter the cafeteria – it's empty, and so is the kitchen; but lunch for one is in a pot over the stoves, still warm and ready to be served, and the dishes on the draining rack are still dripping.

Did he really have lunch without me?

I sigh again, resigned, and I serve myself a plate.

The same scene repeats at dinnertime, and so does the next day, and the day after that. Soon, almost week has passed when there's always food for one ready, but James remains missing. Not a note under the doorstep; not a scroll text; not even a knock on my bedroom door to inform that he's leaving – although I doubt he goes out at all, anyway. It has become clear that he doesn't want to speak to me – his reasons for such decision, I ignore them. I don't dare text him either, for I fear whatever it is that I might find in his eyes. The shadow at the back of my chest grows with each passing day, but I try to ignore it by spending as much time in the training room as I can. It helps, somehow, and at least it's beginning to give its fruits – on the fourth day of his absence, I managed to summon a sword – the same I casted at the Battle of Beacon, but smaller; and on the sixth, the sword already reached two meters in height.

The seventh day of waiting, the lump in my throat becomes so unbearably asphyxiating that I decide that it's been enough, that I have to face him once and for all. I fear for the outcome of the conversation, but I'm drowning in doubts and questions and I refuse to go on like this. I leave the training room and step into the cafeteria an hour before lunch, and I wait.

It doesn't take long for him to appear over the doorway, but he suddenly stops in his tracks when he realizes that I, too, am here. I stare at him in silence, and he does the same. He looks… troubled. He's letting his stubble grow again, and I've noticed how he hid his hands behind his back the moment he noticed he was not alone. He doesn't say a word – instead, he resumes his pace, completely ignoring my presence and heading to the kitchen door. Every step he takes, a crack that grows in my heart. I follow him with my eyes, and when he walks behind me, I finally gather the courage to part my lips, and with a hushed voice, muffled by my own worries, I murmur:

"James?"

He freezes in place. His own words, cold and hard like metal when he turns around, looks me in the eye with dead and clouded pupils, and says:

"Miss Schnee."

Thoughtlessly, I get up and run away from his presence.

I hate him.

Lonely hallways

I hate him.

Lonely room

I hate him.

Lonely chest

Those two words, spoken with such indifference, with such apathy, as if I was an stranger whose presence he doesn't care about – it feels like his metal arm had sent a blow through my stomach that broke all my ribs. Their shattered fragments pierce into my lungs, into my flesh, into my heart, and tear everything apart – I'm bleeding, I'm bleeding and I can't breathe, and I choke with blood that isn't there, I choke with all the loving words that I was keeping for him – they die, forever unspoken, and gather deep inside my throat. Did he ever care about me? The storm, visceral and sudden, makes me forget everything I learned throughout these months about the tints in his voice, and I, spinning in the middle of a hurricane, remain oblivious to the sadness that was hidden deep below the steel. I fall to my knees and stick the rapier into the ground, holding onto its handle like it was the world's last bastion – defeated, I place my forehead on my trembling hands, and I cry. I cry, and I sob, and my tears are rivers, and I don't know how to stop them – they crash into my fingers and slide down my skin, down the metal, down the blade – its surface turns whiter and whiter the wilder the storm rages. It takes a while, but little by little, my breathing seems to calm down. When the tempest is over and I open my eyes again –

There's a giant glowing armor kneeling before me.