Blake crosses off a square in her calendar, her grasp on the pen very feeble. How long has it been since she last had a full night of sleep…? That should be, uh, around a few days… three or four, maybe?
From the way Weiss stares at her from the corner of her eyes, it seems like she might be a bit off the mark. But what are numbers, after all, if not elaborate drawings created to represent and control the completely man-made concept of "time"? Time isn't real, Blake concludes as she lets the pen go, and she's not going to buy into yet another stupid ploy of humankind.
What feels very real, though, is the way Yang taps on her shoulder, voice just above a murmur as she asks "wanna get breakfast?". It does wonders to Blake, ears perking up inside her bow — a very uncomfortable feeling, offsetting the warmth irradiating from the hand in her back, firm fingers brushing against Blake's shirt. For a moment, her instincts tell her to take Yang's hand on her own and kiss each of her knuckles, one by one. Instead of giving in to her thoughts, her reply is a mere nod, and she refrains from shaking her head as she gets up.
Speaking of what is real and what isn't, Blake is sure this is a good argument as to why she should get some rest for once. Not enough to counter all the reasons why she shouldn't, but the whole "Yang comes close to me and I short-circuit" deal is starting to become a nuisance. If it was only once in a while that would be bearable, but it seems that the longer she goes without rest, the more alarming her teammate becomes to her, which is the last thing she needs right now. Dealing with the White Fang was already hard enough back when her hormones weren't acting up.
Of course, she has to concede, it's normal to have that kind of thought when you're a teenager surrounded by attractive people; and while Blake had seen her share of pretty faces throughout the years (some leading to discoveries about herself), Yang was the textbook definition of stunning (at least if you take her tastes into consideration). Blonde hair flowing down her back like the sun shining down on Earth. The freckles peppered over her face and arms like a dozen kisses. The outline of muscles under her uniform, the coat from the beginning of the school year getting tighter in a couple of places. Her very flattering training outfit. Blake usually knew better than to get lost in Yang's features, but it was getting harder to snap out of it. And that's not even getting started on how good of a person she is. How nicely she treats everyone, how beautiful her smile is. She's starting to find even the flirt deal kind of cute.
This is how much she needs to sleep. Maybe she should listen to her friends for once.
(She won't. She can't.)
Port's voice isn't the lullaby she had in mind, but it's working, to her despair. The amount of coffee she downed minutes ago feels like air, it amounts to nothing — and she fights against her own closing eyes. Weiss nudges her with the blunt side of her pencil, Ruby kicks her ankle under the table. These bring only momentary effects, the most lasting of them coming from the eraser Nora flings at her head from a row above. It's their very weird way of trying to support her, but it's welcome. Works better than rubbing her eyes until the dark circles become red.
And again, speaking of red eyes, Yang keeps her concerned stare throughout all two and a half hours of class. Blake can feel it coming from Ruby's left, and she's sure that if she was sitting closer, she'd join the other girls in keeping her awake. When the bell rings (finally!), she's the first to get up and ask if they want her to grab a snack. Weiss declines, Ruby and Nora ask for the same odd colored candy, Ren wants canned tea, Jaune thanks her before asking for potato chips, and Pyrrha says she'll have whatever Yang thinks she'll like.
"You're merciless." She sighs, counting the coins in her purse. "That's a lot for one person to carry. Mind helping me, Blake?"
"No problem", she replies.
The vending machines are just outside the building, stretching in a line all the way over to the cafeteria. Yang is mumbling something about having to trek from machine to machine due to the variety of requests, but Blake doesn't catch it, entranced in her own thoughts. Is her body trying to pull pranks on her at such an important time? Is it the influence of her novels, or perhaps withdrawal? It's not like she has the time to read the latest installment of Ninjas of Love, even if it was released last week; she bought it, but can't get in the mood to enjoy it. There are way more important things to keep in mind other than whether Sakura will finally choose one of the main guys as her fianceé (and who will be her choice).
Yet, she keeps catching these weird thoughts about Yang specifically. It's not a matter of "fantasizing about her type", because it doesn't happen when she's with Sun (maybe because they're more focused on White Fang stuff). It's not a "craving female intimacy" thing either, because regardless of how many pretty girls she interacts with on the daily, she never thought about, say, Weiss hugging her from behind, hands hovering over her thighs, or Pyrrha bridal-carrying her. Well, neither Pyrrha nor Weiss are her type, in the end, so maybe there is some logical reasoning behind her random spurts of imagination.
Maybe it's just wistful escapism, and her subconscious has projected into Yang her wishes of a more carefree life, a happier timeline where her Beacon experience is full of fluff, humor, and heart-throbbing moments, no organizations to overthrow in sight. A life where she would bother to care about school dances and might have even accepted Sun's invite. Her brain might be stuck into that, and has latched onto her partner for a source of dopamine, or something along these lines; or in the end, it's just plain old hormones acting up. She's way past puberty to keep having these ridiculous thoughts, but at the same time, it's been so long since she kissed any—
Blake doesn't notice when Yang stops on her tracks, ready to tick off the drink-related requests from her list, and crashes into a mass of yellow curls.
"Whoa, are you okay?" She turns around to hold Blake by her shoulders, seemingly afraid she had fallen asleep while walking. "Sorry, I should have let you take a nap during the break. I thought the exercise would wake you up a little."
"No problem", Blake repeats while fixing her hair in place, a polite smile creeping up her face. "I wouldn't be able to sleep in there anyway. You're right, though, I could use some exercise."
"You wanna practice sparring later?"
The faunus hesitates for a moment, pondering. She'd love to, but the idea of physical proximity with Yang sounds dangerous enough as it is. Besides, she has more important matters to attend to. "I have to do some research, so I'll be in the library. Sorry."
"Oh, it's okay. I should take a page from you and review my classes too." She punches in the numbers to Oolong Iced Tea. "I have to help with the dance decoration, but maybe I could join you after that?"
Once again, Blake is unsure how to react. She doesn't want Yang to see her extensive notes on the White Fang; it feels like a secret she isn't ready to share, despite all of team RWBY knowing about her past. On the other hand, she'll probably be so focused, she won't be able to daydream about Yang's beautiful eyes or whatever stupid romantic buffer her brain tries to feed her with (though they're really beautiful, to be fair).
And Yang will be studying too, or at least will try, so it's not like—
"Hey, Blake." Albeit foggy, Yang's voice sounds closer to a growl than a whisper. "Think you could teach me a few things? Or would you rather get some help from me?"
This is not the library. It's their room, except there's no sign of Weiss or Ruby around. Blake's at her desk, crossed calendar pushed away by Yang when she inches closer. Her fingers are on Blake's chin, drawing her attention to plump lips. What do they taste like?, she wonders, and her face grows warmer at the possible answers.
Suddenly they're up, Blake sitting at the desk, Yang pressing her against the wall.
"I could teach you so many things…" Her hand has moved down from her chin to her right knee, fingers digging into the border of her sock and her skin. "If only you'd give me the chance. Don't you want to learn more about—"
"Hey! Earth to Blake!" The fog dissipates, and they're in front of the vending machines again, except this time Yang has a few more cans in her arms than before. "Are you sure you don't want to go back to the dorms? I can tell Oobleck you're feeling sick, I'm sure he'll understand."
"Sorry, I got distracted." This time, she shakes her head, hands running up and down her face. "No need for that. I can get through this— I have to."
Of course, it doesn't reassure Yang at all. Rather, it seems that her stare has grown even more concerned, but instead of going for a rebuttal or trying to talk Blake out of it, she hands her a large silver can, labeled "iced latte". Blake looks at it for a second, then looks back at Yang, who's grinning at her.
"My treat."
She won't reply by highlighting that, theoretically, all the drinks she's buying are treats for their friends. Instead, she simply opens the can and starts chugging from it.
"When you're done with it, let's share the load." A wink, a giggle, and she starts moving over to the next machine. "Do you remember what brand of chips Jaune likes?"
Blake rushes over to her, assuring herself that the reason why her heart is pounding faster is the caffeine's effect on her body.
As planned, she's able to grab an empty desk at the library right after afternoon classes are over. And there aren't many people around — the student population of Beacon must be more worried about the dance tomorrow — so she loads her scroll up and starts going through what she has collected so far.
For the first dozen minutes or so, she's able to keep her focus on the small letters and screencaps. After that, though, the blue light becomes straining to her eyes, and she fights back the urge to rub them all over. The clicking of pens and keyboards snap her out of her trance every now and then, and the blur of people moving around Blake's table jolts her awake, prompting to change tabs on instinct.
It's awfully annoying, and it's no wonder that a laser pointer, too, is able to steal her attention.
She does her utmost best to ignore it, someone is probably messing around with her, but — the way it bounces up and down, how it lands on her hand, going back and forth, feels like a challenge.
And she has to take it up.
So, doing what any other sensible person would do (in her opinion), Blake tries to catch it, to obvious failure, and the laser lands on the ground, just behind her seat. Therefore, she closes whatever she was reading, puts her scroll back into her pocket, and tries to stomp on the laser. When she steps aside to see if it's still there, it seems like she lost the mark by little: the light is a bit over to her left, leading to the aisle. With every step she takes, it trails a little further, and by this point, she's too consumed by the hunt to follow common sense. When it rushes around a corner, Blake nearly skips after it… and bumps into Yang for the second time today.
With a "hello" and a "we need to talk", her partner grabs her by the wrist and rushes away, leaving little space for Blake to think about what's actually happening. Whatever it is, though, gives a new meaning to Yang's earlier invites — buying snacks together, sparring before dinner, going to the library after class — she just wanted to create a chance to be alone with Blake.
Whatever that means, it's not going to be good for her heart.
In the minutes between running through the hallways and being locked in a classroom, Blake wonders what the hell is this about. Something about her sleep schedule, probably? Or maybe about the dance?, she recalls Yang is helping with setting it up. Maybe she needs extra hands tomorrow, a favor — but then why would they need to be somewhere hidden? Is she going to ask her out to the dance? It's the only option that makes sense. Oh, no, how is she going to reject Yang — but does she really need to? It could be a platonic deal, just so she won't arrive alone at the party… But she doesn't want to go to the dance… if it's with Yang, maybe it could be more enjoyable, but she doesn't feel in the right to do so. It's not the right time for it. She doesn't deserve it.
Or maybe it's something unrelated, maybe Yang is going to ask for help with their exams. What else could they talk about? The White Fang? Torchwick? Blake doesn't want to think about that possibility. Yang had always respected her boundaries so far, but it still stings to push her away, she can't do this anymore—
The door locks with a click, and Yang runs down all the way to the teacher's desk, propping herself on it. Blake leans against the wall with a sigh, crossing her arms.
"Yang, if you're going to tell me to stop", she steps forward, moving closer to her partner. Better get done with it as quickly as possible. "You may as well just save your breath."
"I don't want you to stop. I want you to slow down."
It's almost unnerving how calm Yang looks, despite the subject matter, and despite how Blake herself looks two minutes away from either flinging herself out of the classroom or passing out on one of the desks. She's prepared for this, huh, Blake thinks, sucking a breath in. For a moment, she feels bad about how much worry she is causing. At the same time, a voice in her head replies, she shouldn't need to worry about her, because even worrying is a waste of time.
"We don't have the luxury to slow down", Blake replies, moving around. They settle into a quick discussion about priorities, but when Yang pats the empty spot by her side, voice warm with a calm smile, and invites Blake to listen to her, it's hard to say no.
And so, she finally settles down with a "fine".
From all the possibilities she had in mind, none of them involved Yang opening up and telling stories from her childhood. About her mother, and her lifelong quest. While she appreciates the gesture, it feels a bit demeaning — although it is a touching story, a lost child blindly walking into a Grimm habitat is not a good comparison to Blake's struggle and ambition.
But before she could counter her argument, Yang tells her once more:
"I told you, I'm not telling you to stop." Even if Blake can't see her face, she can guess what kind of expression her partner is wearing. "I haven't. To this day, I still want to know what happened to my mother, and why she left me. But I will never let that search control me."
Blake protests, and steps back when Yang turns around and lets her meet red eyes. It's unexpected, like the literal, physical push she gives her when asking about Torchwick. When she tumbles over the desk, it feels like something is about to fall off a cliff, to tip over the edge. But then, Yang steps closer and hugs her.
And for one moment, she wonders if she's starting to hallucinate.
"I'm not asking you to stop." The way she pleads is much different from the voice in Blake's fantasies. It isn't sugary-sweet, seductive, dominating, or anything her imagination could come up with. When Yang moves back, her eyes are a breathtaking shade of violet again. Still close enough for Blake to feel her breath, the smell of mint filling the air. She's drained and is only able to stare as the other girl leaves the classroom.
"And if you feel like coming out tomorrow, I'll save you a dance."
Yang's wink makes her feel weak in the knees. Maybe it's time to go back to the dorms before she collapses in the middle of the campus.
It's nighttime when she finds her way to the hall, and the sight of Sun is a welcome one. After an estimated fourteen hours of sleep, Blake still doesn't feel completely better, but her mood and appearance have seen a significant improvement since yesterday. Tonight, she's able to hear her own voice, and it tells her that arriving by herself at the dance is, well, a bit lame.
So she reaches out to Sun, who's still struggling with his necktie. It's sort of cute, to be honest, and she can't lose the opportunity to tease him for it. It's recomforting how he doesn't question anything when she takes his arm, and even more reassuring how there are no weird thoughts when he huddles closer to her, trying to be as charming as possible. When she mentions her first dance with Yang, her heart keeps the same rhythm as before — and that seals it: she was not touch-starved, or hormonal, or anything along these lines. She was just sleepy.
… And it feels relieving to acknowledge so. If anyone had told her that taking a break and sleeping would make her stop imagining making out with her best friend, she would have done it a week ago.
Well, that kind of aged poorly, Blake thinks while Yang twirls her around. From the moment they greeted each other at the entrance, to Yang asking Weiss to take over welcoming duties with the biggest smile she'd ever seen, to how beautiful she looked in a simple white dress. Is that the power of beautiful people? She could wear a potato sack and still be turning heads left and right.
Dancing with her made her body feel light. It was the most fun Blake ever felt since who knows how long. When Yang takes her hands and they spin in a circle, she almost feels like flying. It almost feels like exploding, too, and it only gets worse when she pulls Blake closer, mimicking the traditional dance stance everyone around them is following.
"Hands on my shoulders, sweetie", Yang commands while dropping her own hands to Blake's waist. "You can lean your head too if you want. I'm sure no one will notice if you take a nap." She pinches her shoulder, and the reaction she gets is a yelp mixed with a laugh. "Jokes aside, Blake, how are you feeling? We didn't want to wake you up when we came to finish the decoration."
"I'm much better than yesterday, for sure." She rubs circles against Yang's skin, though the pinch wasn't hard enough to hurt her. It feels intimate, it probably is — and she wants it to be like that. "Thanks for that, by the way. I got up a little after one, and Nora and Ren joined me for lunch. Well, breakfast, in my case."
"And then what did you do for the rest of the afternoon?"
"I just stayed back at the dorms, reading this book I got last week. Then a little before you and the girls arrived, Nora dragged me over to her room, insisting she would get Pyrrha and I ready for tonight. Did you know Ren is a great makeup artist?"
Yang laughs at the image. "I wouldn't put it past him. And when did you decide to join Sun?"
"Oh, I ran into him on my way here. Didn't want to arrive by myself, and he looked like he needed some help with his tie."
"I see." The music ends, and so should their dance. Her hands leave Blake, an uncomfortable void forming with the absence of her touch. "Then I should let you fix it now."
"Just a little longer, please." She grabs Yang's hands, a knot growing in her throat. "I'm sure Weiss won't mind entrance duties for another minute or two."
"If you think so." Her smile grows once again, just in time for the next song to start playing. Blake waits for her to take the lead, to show her what direction she should step in, but Yang stays still (except for the way she squeezes her hands). "Thank you for coming, Blake. I'm glad you're here."
That's it. It comes crashing down on her, her heart going into overdrive, and she's sure she can hear it over the beat of the drums. If she had taken the offer of leaning her head on Yang's shoulder, she might have kissed her cheek by this point. Maybe Yang would have turned her head around and kissed her on the lips. Maybe they'd exchange confessions, but this is real life, so she manages to at least give her partner the reply she deserves, while running away from whatever realization just struck her. "Thank you , for saving your first dance for me."
It's like Yang's lips go loose — she can't stop giggling as they start twirling around again, without any care for rhythm or timing. Blake follows her without a thought besides how she might combust at any moment now. When Sun approaches them, it's clear he, too, is happy Yang managed to drag her down to the dance, and it helps calm her down. So does the sight of her teammates smiling at them from the corner of her eye while they dance, and it almost feels like yes, this is where she belongs, and yes, this is where she should be.
She also realizes that while it's okay to think your friends look hot, if you start thinking about kissing them and confessing to each other, maybe you aren't just physically attracted to them, but that's a whole other can of worms to deal with.