Blake's had her turn, so it only made sense that Yang could have hers.
She shifts, eyes fluttering closed; a whisper and a sigh and the whole world falls away around them. Yang's thumb traced its way along the edge of Blake's jaw, up to the shell of her ear, to the soft locks of black hair that she intertwined her fingers into.
It was just last night when they'd shared their first kiss - so monumental, yet, so ordinary at the same time. It felt so familiar to lean in, so practiced, so right .
Yang's strength flooded out of her muscles as soon as Blake's lips were on hers, softly and sweetly and whatever existed in the infinity in between. What she would give to collapse into her embrace, to hold on so tight that she could never disappear.
Blake kisses her under the moonlight and the world goes silent, every piece falls into place. It was the two of them, the stars, and a long winding road with endless road lights. They were on the edge of a cliff, at the beginning of their stories
Last night felt centuries away.
Yang kisses her, bathed in the afterglow of the sunset, and the world collapses around them. It falls out of order, out of sense, into chaos - and maybe it was okay. They'd survive, through hell if they had to, and Yang kisses her like the seal of that promise.
They had woken up at the break of dawn, Blake rising first at the sound of birds chirping in the trees. Turning around groggily, Yang's heavy arm over her waist was confirmation enough that yesterday did happen.
Blake had already disappeared from under the blankets when Yang finally stirred, arms feeling disappointingly empty as she reached around. She pushes herself upright, yawning lazily and stretching out the sore muscles of her back.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon through the trees as Yang jumped out of the truck's bed, suspensions creaking with the bounce. She spotted Blake a few paces away with a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.
"You're up early," Yang says as she nears, pulling open the truck's back seat door. She rummaged around in her bag and produced her own toothbrush. The rough canvas of its fabric was rough on sensitive morning skin and sent a small shiver down her spine.
"You snore when you sleep on your back," Blake says around her toothbrush, spitting the foam out into a cup. "And your arm weighs at least a hundred pounds
"I'll take that last bit as a compliment," Yang says with a laugh. She squeezed some toothpaste onto the bristles and stuck it in her mouth, pacing around absently as she brushed.
After a hasty breakfast consisting of whatever food was left from yesterday, the tires of the truck finally returned to asphalt by five past 8. They merge onto the country freeway where mountains start to appear on the horizon; just past them was their ticket out of here, Lower Cairn.
And then something happened.
Or rather, something didn't happen - nothing happened.
The two of them drove in awkward silence for an hour, the stillness so palpable it felt impossible to break. Every bump in the road felt obtrusive, the gentle blow of the wind that rocked the truck's body, the chirps of birds that whizzed by as they went along the road.
It's like Blake was waiting, Yang was waiting too - for something they both didn't know. The quiet had tension, carrying suspense as if a story was about to take a turn.
All it took was a kiss; one world-shattering, life-changing, incredible kiss to change everything - and now silence stretched on for miles.
They have never been like this. Yang would make a bad joke, Blake would bite back with a snarky reply, and they'd do their usual digression into whatever they bantered about. Conversation was something that always came with ease, should it be about the best filling combinations for burritos or the current political climate - as if they both cared in the slightest.
And maybe they're both full of shit.
Maybe the cover of the night gave them confidence, enough to make courageous decisions and even bolder confessions.
Yang's racing mind stops, and everything clicks into place.
Confessions - that's what was missing.
One kiss could be excused - it was the heat of the moment, it was a turning point in their lives, and whatever bullshit they'd ever want to make up about it. One kiss could be a mistake, if they wanted to spin that tale.
But two times, there's no excuse for that. Not when Yang looked Blake straight in the eyes and found a piece of herself in them, a piece she never knew was missing until it was found.
And maybe Blake will always hide in the dark, where you see with your hands, trace your fingers across bare skin.
And maybe Yang will always be found in forests, where rivers flow and the sun drips through leaves and bark and boulders. It breaths along with you, it teems with life - everything and anything happens around you, but maybe your world is already in your arms. And your thumb brushes her cheek and your chest swells and you take a moment to realize, this is what living is all about .
Yang's pulse starts to race, grip tightening and loosening on the leather of the steering wheel over and over. Trying to muster the courage to say something, say anything , has never felt this impossible before.
She glances over at Blake, who was sitting quietly in the passenger seat and staring out the window. Her hands were fidgeting in her lap restlessly, tugging at the strings of her hoodie with two fingers. She takes a deep breath and Yang watches as her chest rises and falls gently with the movement.
God, why does it have to be now that words can't come? Yang opens her mouth, looks over to Blake with as much courage as she could muster - the air in her lungs stops short, no sound comes out. She closes her mouth and looks back to the road with her cheeks burning.
This is the one thing you can't fuck up. Please, please , don't fuck this up.
Yang's heart pounds in her chest so hard it feels like her entire body's shaking with the movement, like it was about to jump out of her chest and say fuck it, I'll do it myself.
Her thoughts are passing a mile a minute like the cars around them, trucks that throttle past and shake the truck with its vacuum. A thousand pictures play and each one is of Blake.
Her long black hair that she pretends not to play with on whims, the books that stacked up on her desks, the late fees never paid, the blouse she wore that one time when they were forced to go to church.
God, the way she smiles when they get out of class, when her shoulder brushes hers when they're walking out a door, the look in her eye when the ice cream shop opens for the first time that summer. She gets a vanilla chocolate twist but doesn't like a waffle cone, so she lets Yang eat it, wiping at the drips running down her lips with a thumb and a laugh and licking it clean.
Fourteen years led up to this moment, three small words that could tear apart everything they had built, everything they have left. It tumbles around in Yang's head over and over, daring her to pass it past her lips, an arch of her tongue, a whisper, a cry.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love-
"I like you."
Yang slowly turns her head and looks at Blake blankly.
The mindless buzz of her thoughts stop dead.
"What?" Yang says, voice hoarse from prolonged silence. She glances back to the empty straight roads ahead of them and back at Blake; she stared away from Yang, gaze fixed out the passenger window.
"I like you," Blake repeats again.
Yang doesn't say a word and stares blankly ahead. The silence solidifies, the sound of the tire's tread of the road disappearing and halting to a stop. Blake shifts in her seat and pulls her legs up into her arms and Yang's overbearingly aware of every rustle of fabric, the slide of her skin on the leather.
Maybe Blake was expecting silence, or maybe she's accepted that sometimes, things can't be explained with words. She speaks again, voice low and quiet.
"From the first time I saw you, I can't think of a moment in my life where I didn't want to be yours."
And that's everything Yang had ever wanted to hear.
Two fingers flick the turn signal and a foot eases onto the brake; the truck slowly comes to a stop on the road's gravel shoulder and rumbles to a stop. Yang wordlessly kills the engine and looks over to meet Blake's gaze.
Hands grabbing at the seat roughly, Yang reaches over the seats' dividers - Blake meets her halfway, like she always does.
Her lips are on hers and Blake doesn't need Yang to say anything - this was her answer, exactly the one she wanted, what she's been waiting for.
Blake might be the singer, but Yang was an actor - one who knew her way with her hands, when to push and when to pull, when to give, and give, and give, so much that she starts to believe that maybe she just isn't able to receive.
But hands find their way desperately to the back of her neck and pull her so strongly she nearly falls into the passenger seat.
Blake was always the one better with words, so Yang was one to speak with actions - with touch, with whispers across her skin, with two strong fingers on her chin that let a tongue run itself across her lip.
A whimper escapes from Blake at the sensation and Yang feels the prickle of tears and kisses her harder than she's ever done. Hands tangle themselves in blonde hair and pull her closer, impossibly closer.
Maybe Yang thinks she isn't deserving of love; a fundamental fear that rooted itself so deeply within her being that it was unrecognizable. You think leaving behind everything, your life, your stories, your family, is hard? Try being the one being left behind.
Truthfully, walls can be put up without you knowing. Barriers are hard to see if your backs turned, if you refuse to turn. People won't hurt you if you don't let them in, people won't disappoint you if you don't let them near.
"I love you," Yang whispers between kisses, raw and vulnerable and a single touch away from shattering. "I love you more than you could imagine."
Tears roll down her cheeks as Blake holds her close against her body, a hand tucking a strand of Yang's hair behind her ear. She wipes her tears away with her palm and hopes that she kisses her with as much love as she can give, enough to fill the hole that Yang had always hid.
It wasn't enough - one kiss could never be enough.
Kissing Yang on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere wasn't a fix-all, it was an assurance that she would be there for her. Forever - now that could be enough.
I'll never leave you
They pull away gasping for air quietly, foreheads pressed together.
I'll always be here for you
Words were overrated, looks like they're both on the same page. Yang looks to their side as Blake traces her hand down her forearm and finds her hand, fingers sliding across her palm and intertwining with hers.
You don't need to act tough anymore, Yang. You can be a monster; you can scream, you can yell, you can cry, and I'll cry with you - then maybe you'll finally start to realize that you deserve everything the world can give you
A touch can say a thousand words, and even then, it wouldn't be enough to say all the words Blake wants to say. She looks back and wipes at the tears at the corner of Yang's eyes again, sliding her hand to her cheek. Yang doesn't say a word, closing her eyes and leaning into the touch.
Let go, Yang. It's okay to be afraid. It's a great big abyss you're jumping into and I know it seems bottomless, but just take my hand, I'll guide you through the movements. If you open your eyes and all you see is black, just squeeze my hand and know that you'll never have to do this alone, never again
Yang unravels like taking the first deep breath in years, like a weight has been lifted and there's nothing but freedom she never knew she was missing. Collapsing into her embrace in exhaustion spanning decades, Blake holds her as tightly as she can.
A story can be eternal if we live it with each other, so don't ever dare think I'm done with you. If you think you're lost, I'll find you again. Over and over, every lifetime I have to, every lifetime I need to
Nothing makes sense, but they've learned to accept it. You do what feels good, what feels right, and Yang's exactly where she wants to be - where she needs to be. There's nothing to hide from here in this small corner of the world they've created for themselves, where time will stop whenever you need it to, where things last forever and on and on and without a bitter end.
Because forever is a promise, and the sweetest con - if it finally gives you peace, we can play the fool together.
The engine continues its familiar rumble as they drive down the streets, the sun rising with the temperature as it gains a comfortable few degrees.
It was warm enough now that they could put down the windows, an arm hanging out to catch the breeze, a chin resting on the door to feel the cool blow of the air.
The silence reforms as they start moving again, staring in their respective directions in a comfortable separation. Cairn was only two more hours away and the mountains were growing closer and closer.
Quiet wasn't the usual atmosphere, the lack of music or conversation being scarce between the two. But today it was different, and silence takes on a different meaning.
Yang smiles to herself as she watches the road, and Blake stares at the towns that come and go with her own smile.
Relief - the collectively shared emotion between the two. Maybe luck was in their favour, the script was particularly forgiving- no disasters were planned for today.
And thank god she feels the same way.
Lower Cairn is an auto train city that thrives off of travellers passing through. Built around the largest train station in Mantle, it boasts of cheap thrills and as much fun as you can cram into a three-hour layover.
Traffic picks up tenfold as they arrive near the city limits, slowing to a bare crawl as large buildings start to appear on either side of the highway. They loom much taller than any building from their hometown and they both stare at them in wonder as they pass.
"They have a parking lot near the loading platform," Yang says as they finally enter the city. "It's right next to their urban district so we can get right out,"
It was approaching noon when they pulled into the busy parking lot, finding a spot near the train's platform in the shade. Built right next to the vehicle loading ramp and parking lot, the train track was a long strip that ran straight through the city; one side went straight north-east to Nomad Bay while the other fed straight into the large stone building of the central train station.
Blake pulls a baseball hat on as they get out of the car, silently grateful for the feeling of solid ground below her feet after so many hours of driving. The hoodie she wore was good at hiding her identity well, with the cap for an added precaution.
"Man, I love the city!" Yang says with a sigh, taking in the grandiosity of the sight before them. "I can't believe we've never left Patch until now."
She really wasn't kidding when she said that the train platform was right next to the urban district of the city. Just across the street were cafés, restaurants, bars, stores, anything you could ever dream of was crammed into three old-city streets.
"Put on a hat, Yang," Blake says, walking over to her side of the car and plopping a hat onto her head. "Cities mean more faces and more cameras, so keep that on whenever you can."
"Oh come on, lighten up," Yang replies, fixing the cap on her head. "Everyone here is too busy missing their train or getting drunk to ever remember our faces. Who's going to notice us when a thousand people are moving in and out a day?"
She brushed a few stray strands of her blonde hair behind her ears, looking into the window of the truck until she was satisfied with her appearance.
"Fair," Blake concedes. "But we're picking up new clothes today no matter what."
"Can we do that after lunch?" Yang asks. Her stomach growls in confirmation and they both laugh at the irony. "I'm starving, you up for pizza?"
The heavy wooden door scrapes open as they push into the small restaurant, immediately hit with the smell of fresh dough. Sitting in that car for so long in the same position made it hard to realize you were starving, but the hunger came back in a wave as soon as they looked at the menu.
"I'll get us a table, you know what to get me," Yang says as they near the counter.
The restaurant is small and narrow, holding a sparse handful of diners eating their slices alone with a pair of earbuds in or with a book open. Yang pulled the metal chair out from a two-seater near the front and collapsed onto the table less than gracefully - driving for a combined 28 hours straight in two days was not as forgiving as it seemed.
"Tarren Pizzas, what can I get you?" a man asks Blake as she approaches the storefront.
"Two slices of Hawaiin please, one large and one medium," she replies without ever having to glance at the menu.
"Any drinks?"
"Just an orange soda, thanks."
Digging through her pocket and pulling out a leather wallet, Blake counted out some bills and handed them to him. Handing over some coins in change, the man turned around and shouted something indistinguishable before walking into the back.
Yang stirs from an apparent power nap she was taking while lying facedown on the wooden table as Blake approaches, dragging out her own metal chair across from her.
"What did you get me?" she asks with a yawn, setting her chin on her crossed arms. The temperature had risen quite a bit, evident in the way Yang was enjoying the cool surface on her skin.
"You act like you order anything other than Hawaiian," Blake says with a snort, relaxing into the hardback of the chair as best as she could.
"I know what I like. I have a type, you know?" Yang says languidly, looking at her face in amusement and cocking her head to the side. "Tall and gorgeous," she starts with a growing smile. "That can bite back."
It was so out of pocket that Blake had to take a moment to look away, Yang's soft and playful gaze on her too innocent. She can't keep letting her get away with this, all these cheesy lines that are poorly disguised - they work, of course. That's the bad thing.
"Did you just imply that pineapple is spicy?" Blake cuts back, trying to steer their way clear of Yang's usual innuendos.
"Don't they do their little funky thing, like they digest your tongue or something?" she tries to explain, making vague and incomprehensible gestures with her hands and fingers. "Is it masochistic to eat Hawaiian pizza if the pizza eats me back?"
Thank god for the man arriving at their table with their food - Blake genuinely had no idea how to answer whatever the hell Yang just said.
"We have sixty bucks to burn on a new set of clothes for both of us," Blake says between bites. Since when did pizza taste this good? The fact that she was nearly starved to death was definitely helping.
"Nomad Bay is warm, so we don't need to buy coats or anything. That saves up a lot of cash," Yang replies, already scoffed down half her pizza. She takes a drink of the soda and passes it over to Blake who follows suit.
"Then all we need is a jacket and pants," Blake says. "We'll probably have enough to pick up a new pair of shoes too, those are also identifiers."
So engrossed in going through her internal list of whatever items they need to pick up for their trip, Blake didn't notice Yang sneak her hand over to her plate and eat the pineapple off her pizza.
"Do you want to go swimming?" Yang asks out of the blue, having eaten all the pineapple.
Blake snapped out of her internal monologue. "What?"
"At Nomad Bay there's a ton of beaches on the coast, do you want to go swimming when we get there?" she repeats, finishing the last of her crust.
It caught her off guard; swimming, Blake hadn't even considered it this entire time. So occupied in trying to lay low and out of sight, actually enjoying themselves had been an afterthought.
"I haven't been to the ocean in forever," Blake says wistfully and smiles at the idea. "I've only seen it once during the-"
"Middle school overnight trip," Yang finishes her sentence for her. "I was there too. I was literally sitting next to you on the bus the entire time."
"And that was when Bolin snuck a joint onto the bus, remember?"
Yang laughs at the thought, remembering exactly what happened. "God, the entire bus smelled like shit after that. I swear he must have packed like four grams or something into that spliff, hotboxed the entire class."
"When Jaune stared at the bus driver's bald spot for two hours without blinking while high off his ass, best night ever."
Yang teaches her how to have fun again, that sometimes, doubts are allowed to be forgotten. She comes with a happiness that could never be replicated - Blake was sure that people spent their entire lives searching.
So I'll be thankful, Blake thinks to herself as they laugh together quietly in that small hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Never take each smile or laugh or cry for granted, they won't last forever - but she has this feeling, a gut feeling that can't be explained. This will be forever; as long as they have each other, and even if everything turns to shit, maybe things would be okay.
Clothes shopping was next on the agenda, the one that Yang looked forward to the most.
Walking through the bustling roads shoulder to shoulder with each other, they spent nearly an hour simply watching the no-name faces that passed by, the trinkets in the store windows, the trains as they passed through the city just meters away.
Carefree, the first time Blake had felt this way since they had left that one fateful night.
And then that peace disappears as she's yanked away by an arm.
"Bingo!" Yang says, leading Blake quickly through the crowd.
She had spotted a small department store a ways ahead, likely selling everything they needed. The door chimes open with Blake in tow to a busy store. Customers milled around the tightly packed aisles in their own little worlds, with soft radio songs streaming through the old speaker system near the cashier.
"Jackets and pants first, then other things, got it?" Blake says, looking at Yang skeptically because she knows that she's going straight to the graphic tees section; they've played that game way too many times.
("What about this one? This one looks cool."
"No, it looks exactly the same as the other one."
"They're totally different, but okay. What about this?"
"That's a picture of a boat, you want to wear a picture of a boat?"
"It's a cool boat."
"Okay, fine, you can get that one. But only that one.
"Thanks, mom."
"I'd rather be called benefactor."
"Sugar daddy?"
"That's worse, so much worse."
"Okay, okay, how about this. Thank you for the money my dear cherished incredible talented beautiful best friend. Good?"
"You're so lucky I have a job.")
"What about this one!"
Blake turns around and automatically dreads whatever strange piece of apparel Yang was now holding up with a smile. The doubt seemed to be well placed; the bikini she held up was in many ways atrocious.
"I don't think your chest would fit in that, sorry," Blake says sarcastically, giving the two-piecer a skeptical look-over. "The burden of being busty, I'll never understand your suffering."
"Please, I wouldn't give you the luxury of seeing me, for free, at least.," Yang bites back with a grin. "It's for you." She held out the black bikini further towards her, the hanger hanging on a finger.
"And what makes you think I'll wear that?"
"For my viewing pleasure?"
So that's how Yang's playing it - maybe Blake has been letting her get her way too much lately, inflating that already impossibly large ego of hers. She grew that tall to fit all that audacity in her.
Blake thinks it over for a moment and comes to what was likely the wrong decision. "Fine."
Yang stares at her blankly. "Woah," she says, hand holding the hanger lowering. "I wasn't prepared to actually succeed, maybe I should have picked a skimpier one."
It's too simple, too one-dimensional to justify reading into it. Yang was just a goof and that was it - no need to get flustered.
Yet Blake turns away and occupies herself in the trousers section, face burning so hot she could feel herself die a little inside. You can't stop those intrusive thoughts that vocalize exactly what you want to say, but that doesn't necessarily mean it will be exactly what you want to hear.
Maybe you should have.
But that was something to deal with another day; things could be simple if she made them simple. It was a state of mind, and being turned on in a department store was not simple.
Thirty minutes pass and they've both picked out a single change of clothes, two cheap pairs of shoes hanging off one of the trouser's hangers. The store seemed to double as a thrift shop so they spent more time looking for discounts than actual articles of clothing.
They were well dug into the jackets section when Blake pulled out some vintage bomber jacket. Buried in behind several layers of racks, it took some effort to drag out, but it seemed like a catch.
"This would look good on you," Blake says, running her hand along the dark brown fabric. "Can you try it on?"
Yang looks over from where she was casually browsing, giving the jacket a look over. "It looks like the right size, comfortable too."
She pulls it on over her shirt and tugs its collar into place. The inside was lined with wool, you didn't find many jackets made like that anymore. Holding out her arms and moving around her shoulders, the jacket seemed to be a perfect fit.
"I like it," Yang says after zipping it up. "It's not too warm, either."
"Let's get it then, I think it's on clearance too," Blake says as she steps closer, examining the seams and zippers for any broken parts.
Her face was too close, her hands too gentle as they ran themselves over the fabric of her chest, fixing the lapels and collar - Yang swallows loudly and prays that Blake didn't hear it. Since when did it get this hard to breathe around her?
The moment passes and Blake takes a step away, returning to whatever else she was browsing through. It felt like eyes were staring at her, watching as she stood frozen in the aisle; but no one paid any attention to anyone else, and the radio's music played on.
Jokes were an easy thing to hide behind, sarcasm painless to distract with; but it takes a single look, a single touch, and the façade is blown away. Blake takes a single breath and Yang is left defenceless, for better or worse.
Then it repeats in her head again. Blake's voice cuts through her thoughts like it always has.
I like you, I always have.
And Yang can't believe it actually happened, no, she won't believe it happened - because if it didn't, this false hope would crush the world more than disappointment could ever do.
So what if they've kissed three times, maybe that's Blake's way of being a good friend.
Yang felt her eye twitch after realizing what she was thinking, nearly laughing at the irony of it. She forced herself to move and stare blankly at a random price tag, hands running along the hung clothing and feeling each of their textures.
I sound so fucking stupid right now.
With one more hour to burn, Blake goes straight to the bookstore with Yang in tow.
The small bell of the door rings as they enter the large space, much bigger than everywhere else they had gone. Located on a street's corner, the ceilings opened up straight to the third floor with winding staircases, ladders, and various shelves scattered around.
While Yang occupied herself with trying to collect as much dust as possible on a finger, Blake went searching through the aisles. Browsing without a certain thing to look for was what she enjoyed the most.
The texture of the books' spines could be enjoyed by running a hand across the shelves, the rough texture of their papyrus pages between two fingers, the smell of chestnut bookcases and their well-preserved surfaces with a deep breath.
It was quiet, peaceful; time could stop if you open to the first chapter and end in a heartbeat when you close it for the last time. Blake sets a leather-bound book onto the front counter and the man smiles when he sees the title on its spine.
"Norwegian Wood, I haven't seen someone pick up one of Murakami's in a while," he says, voice gravelly and playful. The register lets out a beep as he scans the barcode.
"I read Kafka on the Shore a while ago and the 1Q84 series as well," she replies.
He seemed amused and slipped the book into a small paper bag. "And who's your companion?" he asks, gesturing behind her.
Blake turns to see Yang loitering around a few feet behind her, hands clasped behind her back and rocking on her heels. She smiles when Blake finally turns around to notice her.
"Oh, that's my-" she starts, but hesitates.
Friend? Is that what Yang is, is that what she still is?
"Friend." Blake finishes. "Yang."
It didn't feel right, but nothing else would have either; there was too much unspoken between the two of them for labels that would suffocate it out. The man seemed to pick up on the hesitation from Blake, the way Yang watched her silently from behind.
"Just a friend?" he asks gently, but doesn't wait for a reply. "Does this friend read contemporary fiction?"
Yang perks up at the mention and takes the chance to walk up next to Blake. "What's contemporary fiction?" she asks, setting an arm over Blake's shoulders and pulling her close.
The man laughs quietly at the two of them, to Yang who was oblivious of his surprisingly accurate speculation and Blake's burning face. He ducks down under the desk and pulls out a book; the handsome dark blue of its hardcover was of stark contrast to the emerald green of Blake's choice.
"History is All You Left Me, Adam Silvera," he says, tucking the book into the bag from earlier. "Maybe you two can learn a little something out of it. On the house."
"Oh, I can't possibly take it," Blake says quickly, watching helplessly as he closes the bag and sets it upright. "I'll pay for it, I don't mind."
She turns at the sound of Yang swearing while glancing up at a clock on the wall. "Shit, the train," she whispers. "We've got to run if we want to get tickets."
"I won't keep you ladies waiting, you better hurry then," the man says with an amused smile. "The central station can get busy so watch over each other." He held out the bag, Blake hesitating for a few moments before giving in and taking it.
"Thank you, I really mean it," Blake says, the man just nodding in response.
He turns to Yang who seemed a little taken back by the attention. "You don't keep her waiting too long, okay?" he says, to Yang's confusion.
She glances over to Blake, who couldn't form a single word of explanation. Years and years of being a librarian meant reading every person's story as they walked into his store - he saw right through them the second Blake stepped up to his counter.
They make their way to the entrance and the bell chimes again, but his voice carries through like the slip of wind through the closing door.
"Time won't wait forever."