It's not that she's scared of Yang's potential reaction. She's pretty sure she knows exactly what it would be if ever she closed that gap completely, right down to the exact adorable shade of rouge that would coat her neck, cheeks and ears, or the way her free hand would reach to scratch at the back of her neck, and she's pretty sure she knows the exact joke that would fall from her sputtering lips. No, Blake's not worried about Yang's reaction, at least not anymore.
Once upon a time, she might have, when things were still raw and unsettled between them, when Yang kept her at a fairly consistent arms length, when Blake stayed up night after night, watching over her team, over Yang, even when they were safe and stronger than any potential enemy if only because they were together again. Then she might have been scared of Yang's reaction had she simply reached over to brush her hand against Yang's, or weaved her fingers into the spaces between Yang's like teeth on a zipper, but not anymore.
She wouldn't even call it a hesitation that stops her from it; it's more of a stalling than anything. Because she does want to hold Yang's hand, to feel the warmth of her skin on hers, even if it's just on her palm because Blake knows that warmth will spread, like wildfire, all the way up her shoulder and straight into her erratically beating heart. Of course that's something she wants, something she's dreamed of.
But is it so bad that she wants to enjoy what they have now? Is it so horrible to not want to rush this? They've had to grow up so quickly, her and Yang most of all, so why when given the choice would she rush into more?
This weightlessness in her heart is so new, so exhilarating in its unfamiliarity, in it's simplistic wants. It wants Yang, that's all she knows. It wants her near, to hear her voice, to feel her presence, the heat of her existence, it wants to observe the strength and joy and life within her.
It's as simple as that.
So why rush into serious conversations, needed reassurances, uncertainties of the future, broken promises and the inevitable inability to know what lies ahead or how either of them fit into it? They can promise each other to be there until the end, but how quickly is that end traveling towards them?
So when she has the chance to take Yang's hand, not in comfort, or support, or fear, but for the simple reason of just wanting to know what it feels like to walk side-by-side, hands intertwined, she doesn't take it.
And it's not a hesitation out of fear, it's a stalling of all the other things that must come after.
It can't be wrong to want to prolong this lightness in her heart. It's freeing, to drop all the expectations, all the fears and need-to-knows. It feels good, and beautiful and like all the flowers in every garden in the world blooming at the same time just for them, and it feels right.
So Blake leans close, enough to count every freckle dotting Yang's nose, and uses puns against her, as Yang's used against her for years. They're a very effective weapon, she finds, but instead of piercing skin and opening wounds, they pierce the responsibilities surrounding their souls and open hopeful hearts to possibilities of the future.
They make Yang groan, and laugh, and smile at Blake in such an endearing way that it's enough. It's more than enough.
It wasn't long ago that Blake thought she'd never lay eyes on Yang ever again, that the shade of her lilac eyes and the sound of her laughter would eventually fade from her memories. The number of regrets she'd carried those short moments until she woke up on a beach realizing there was a chance they weren't all dead, there was a chance Yang was alive, were vast.
She'd regretted the more's and the come-after's of course, the affectionate touches, cuddles, kisses and words of love whispered in quiet reverence between them, just for them. But Blake found, what she regretted more, was watching the frivolity of Yang's character wither and fade, and doing nothing to stop it. She regretted not making her smile more and letting Yang's laughter become a rarity instead of a regularity. Blake regretted not giving back to Yang what she so often gave them… the uplifting breath of levity that chased away the gloom, if even for a singular moment.
Now she has the chance to rectify those regrets and she can see how taken aback Yang is by her actions, how pleased she is. It's in the way Yang presses back when Blake nudges her playfully with her elbow, it's how she leans away in mock exasperation while not quite able to keep the corner of her mouth from curling up, in how the spark of joy and appreciation shine in her eyes, even as she rolls them away from her. It's in how her words ask Blake to stop but their inflection tells her to keep going.
She's happy to make Yang happy, and she can still want more for their future, but with held hands and kisses come words of hurt and confessions of not just love, but heartache and despair.
They've been rushed into adulthood, and gone through more heartache and pain than anyone ought to ever have to go through in their entire lives, so Blake's not keen on rushing this, not when it's so good, and exhilaratingly silly. She's never really been silly with anyone. She's never put herself out there, not like this anyway, but for Yang she would risk anything: the ridicule, the looks, even her heart. She'll put off her heart's want of strong arms wrapped around her and soft lips on hers, to give Yang what she needs.
And if what Yang needs is Blake to make stupidly obnoxious puns to get her to smile and laugh and be happy, she's willing to do it until the end, however far off that may be.