AN: Warning: There are a few areas where the flashbacks and present day stuff are alternating back and forth so if it's in italics, it's a flashback. I wrote this so fast and only beta'd certain areas so hopefully it's good! Please comment and critique! I always like suggestions so I can improve the quality of my work!

Chapter 3: If you seem

"So you like Pink Floyd, huh?"

Yang, at this point, had given up on stopping his teasing. "Will you shut up already?"

"I'm just trying to bond over shared music tastes, blondie. I love prog rock, and you do too! Why else would you be wearing that shirt, huh?"

To be honest, Yang had completely forgotten about the clothes she'd changed into, and who they'd belonged to, until Mercury woke up. Her and Junior had found him passed out on the couch after they'd finished their conversation. She was all for shaking him awake and figuring out what his plan was for their little road trip— but Junior pulled her away and whisked her to the kitchen, preparing her a cup of hot chocolate to occupy herself with as they waited for Mercury's nap to end.

A crash had resonated throughout the house, and they found Mercury, grabbing his head after he'd fallen off the couch. His eyes kept darting around, but he was otherwise catatonic. Eventually he perked up, noticing Yang and Junior's presence, and immediately recomposed himself.

"I guess I've outgrown the couch," he stated, smirk plastering onto his face. It looked like he was trying really hard to keep it there. It sounded like he was defending himself. From who? Yang didn't know.

Junior gave him a look and Mercury refused to acknowledge it.

They left soon after, despite Junior's invitation to stay the night. Yang would've been fine with it, really, over going home— but Mercury evidently wasn't. He just grabbed some old Hot-Topic-pin-studded backpack from the other room and lead her out. And then they were off.

The second they'd gotten to the car, he gave her a once over and chuckled. "So you like Pink Floyd, huh?"

And that's how they got there.

"I wasn't going to wear whatever the twins called clothes!" Her voice cracked a little in her embarrassment by the end. "It's not like you don't have too many dumb band shirts and skinny jeans anyways."

"One can never have too many band shirts, Yang." He nodded down to his own Nirvana tee, and Yang rolled her eyes. "It's easy and fun."

"Everything is, with you."

He clenches his jaw and speeds up. How could he be offended? He was a psycho, she couldn't forget that. He did things for himself— his own entertainment over anything else.

"I'd rather die than be bored, blondie."

She couldn't look away from the pair of bloody scissors in his hand, or the cold stare that was reflected in them. Her hands shook, her mind spun, and her legs raced to the trashcan.

"You're still on about that?" He cocked his head at her, bangs shifting with the movement. "The time in freshman year?"

"You're a psychopath!" Yang screeched, wiping away the trails of vomit that had dribbled down her chin, refusing to look at the mess Mercury had made.

"How can I not be? You mutilated the class pet! For fun."

"And you're overreacting," Mercury shrugged, released his grip on the scissors and let them crash limply onto the floor. The blood, still wet on the blades, ended up splattering around, leaving small freckles of red on the white tile. His eyebrow twitched at the additional blood he'd have to clean up.

She'd always hated him, she knew. First it was the smirk, then it was the wit, and then it was the apathy. But this was different; this was insanity. The reptile's smooth underside was slashed open with jagged tears, some organs folding out, but unrecognizable in the swamp of viscera.

This was the kind of thing you'd see on news stories analyzing school shooters. The kind of thing they'd skip calling home for, in favor of the police. But she never told anyone. She could've— should've told someone. She wouldn't get in trouble— it was well known that she'd never go along with any of Mercury's antics, good or bad. Especially bad. But as he went to wipe up the blood, shifting his jaw to the right in concentration, she just shut down and ran off.

"I guess it's our little secret."

He never said it, but he would've if she'd stuck around. The next time she walked through that hallway, the blood was gone and some disgusting couple had claimed the spot for an 'impromptu makeout' that would last two hours. Yang couldn't get the bad taste out of her mouth for another four.

"I just didn't like it," he reasoned. As if it were enough.

"Sure, and the second you get bored of me you'll rip my entrails out with kiddie scissors." Yang scoffed, "why did I ever think that this 'road trip' was a good idea?!" She fell back into her seat, crossing her arms forcefully.

"You didn't. It was just better than the alternative."

"Right."

The silence wasn't comfortable. It wasn't even silence. Her head was so full of noise that it was hard to focus on the road ahead, or Mercury next to her. It wasn't even his fault this time. Memories of why she'd come along with him on this little adventure in the first place clouded her consciousness with confusion.

"Your dad is opposed to it, but I thought, only if you wanted it— you could get in contact with my sister."

Her Uncle Qrow was, for lack of a better term, different. He gave off that demeanor of the fun, drunk uncle who had yet to settle down because he was high on life or something. Right then, he had his feet perched on the headboard of her bed, and a flask perched on his lips.

"You mean… my mom?" She wasn't used to talking about her mom. She was used to thinking about her, to wishing she'd just show up one day and bake cookies or give her boy advice or anything but this radio silence. "You're letting me see her?"

"It's your choice in the end, Yang. You're already 14 years old, starting high school in a week! You should be able to have this."

And that's how she ended up with that slip of paper. An address, an email, and a number. All memorized by the next day.

She didn't send the first letter until two years later.

"Is anywhere still on the table?" Yang asked it quickly, trying to rip the desperate band-aid off before she had any second thoughts.

"It always is."

The red flag on the mailbox had never felt so daunting until then. She watched it from her window, antsy and scared of what would happen when the letter was finally collected by the post-man at 3:00. Sure, there wouldn't be an explosion or anything, but would that clenched feeling in her throat go away? Or would she regret it. Whatever it was, there were no takebacks once the clock ticked 3:00.

The truck bumbled to a stop, the engine sputtering pathetically before the man cramped inside between stacks of packages yanked open the mailbox's lid lazily. He had all of it under his elbow, switching it out for the incoming bills and college letters.

"Can you take me to somewhere? No questions asked?" If she bit down any harder on her bottom lip, the bucktooth-shaped dents would be permanent.

He exhaled, head bobbing slightly as he thought through what to say next. Whether he'd agree to her plea.

"You'll have to pay for gas."

Yang exhaled slowly, but the pressure in her lungs never dissipated.

And her mother never wrote back.

"Okay," she whispered, relieved that he'd agreed (if not a bit curious as to why). His finger lifts from the steering wheel to motion at the GPS on the screen above the radio. "Okay," she repeated, louder this time. Ready.

She shakily entered the coordinates onto the screen, remembering each character she had written onto crisp envelopes so many times before. If Mercury noticed her struggle, he didn't express it— not surprising, but she was thankful.

"Brawnwen Law Firm?" he scrunched his face up a bit, though his expression was still as blank as ever. "Whatcha need a lawyer for?"

He looked mildly concerned. It was the kind of concern where his eyes would move to meet hers, and his eyebrows would furrow slightly, as the rest of his body remained static, turned to the road.

"I just need the one," Yang replied curtly, somehow unable to move her gaze away from his. "You agreed not to ask any questions."

"We'll miss school, until Friday, if we plan to sleep or do anything at this place."

"Does it look like I care?" And she didn't. Her eyes held something that Mercury had never seen in them before. They still reflected her anger, her determination in the glare of the car's headlights, but it was something about the way her irises vibrated ever so quietly. She needed this. More than school, more than proving she hated him, more than the air she was breathing.

"I meant it when I said you'd pay for gas," he eventually said. She smirked; he had nothing to attack her statement with, he gave in just like that. He sped up again, leaning into the gas pedal after looking up and down the stretch of highway for other vehicles.

"If you have enough money for this car," Yang motioned to their residence, slowing down as she pointed out the GPS, leather seats and fancy logo that had been enameled onto the dashboard. "I doubt gas is a problem."

"You think this is my car?" Mercury laughed, his shoulders moving with his chest. It wasn't even that funny. "You're hilarious."

"Who's is it then?"

Yang regretted asking the question immediately, as Mercury's mouth slithered into a Cheshire grin. "You really wanna know?"

Hesitantly, she nodded. Why the fuck did she nod?

"Cardin Winchester."

Because it was always Cardin fucking Winchester.

Yang's eyes bulged and she jumped so suddenly in her seat that her head grazed the ceiling. She rubbed it as she exclaimed, "you swiped Cardin Winchester's fucking Ferrari!?"

"It's not like he needed it," Mercury shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Yang laughed, actually laughed as she imagined Cardin waking up in the morning to an empty driveway. His hands pulling at overly gelled hair, pants ripping as he squatted down in disbelief. When she voiced her vision, Mercury snorted, clicking his tongue afterwards, preparing to say something else.

"And then he'll have to ask Penny's dad for a ride, since they live next door, and he'll have to deal with that shit."

"Even when you're being petty, you're still smart about it," she muttered in exasperation, shaking her head slightly and looking downwards.

Mercury gave her a look of disbelief. It wasn't the real kind of disbelief that wormed its way onto faces with frozen expressions, twitching eyebrows, and dilating pupils. It was more of a mocking, jaw dropping, hyperbole sort of thing. "Did Yang Xiao Long, my mortal enemy, just compliment me? I better just get my camera because pigs are flying right now— look out the window, you're bound to see one!"

"But it was also an insult, dick-bag," she justified, looking down at her hands as she gestured franticly to spaces that one could only assume were pieces of her apparent 'insult'. "I called you petty!"

"I'll take that," he shrugged, smirk on his face.

"No but seriously," she said it in between giggles, trying to re-compose herself. She wished he weren't so goddamn funny. "Why'd you steal the car? It's a sweet ride, yeah, but…"

She trailed off, not sure whether it was to imply a statement she was too scared to say, or if it was because she didn't know what to say.

"Are you asking why I stole something? How I stole it? Or why I did it now?" His eyes kept switching from her to the road. "You can only choose one."

"Why only one?"

"Because it'll tell me a lot more about you," he rolled his shoulders, bracing himself for the wind that wouldn't hit him. "How you think."

Yang quirked an eyebrow, hair shifting over her shoulder as she moved with her question. "I thought you already knew everything about me. Because you like psychoanalyzing people or some shit."

"Reading people is like reading books, Ms. Peach," he drawled, trying to tilt his chair back, and failing since it was attached to the desk by a big iron bar. In 10th grade, Mercury hadn't grown into his frame yet— all angles and edges that could only be softened by the large jacket he wore. His smirk was worse, only sharpened by his pale complexion and prominent cheekbones.

The teacher in front of him frowned at his nonchalant demeanor, tapping her heeled foot on the floor in frustration.

"How so, Mr. Black?" She pestered, taking a step closer to him. He flinched at the sudden action in disgust or reflex.

"The interesting stuff is between the lines, and," he paused, smirking as he continued. "And they're hit or miss."

Ms. Peach stiffened, not expecting such insolence on the first day of school. She started the class with introductions, asking for names and the reasons for taking the class; whether it be "to learn the intricacies of the human mind" like a nerd, or "for the AP credit." She didn't expect this lanky menace, sitting in the 2nd seat to the front (because his last name started with B) to say that he took the class because it was easy. As if he didn't get the memo about how difficult her assignments were when he signed up.

"Mr. Black, I don't think you understand what this class is about. It's not about whatever crime TV show featured an all knowing behaviorist told you— it's a science." Her mannerisms didn't fit the words pouring out of her mouth. She was trying to defend herself, instead of attacking him.

"Bullshit terms like 'amygdala' and 'socialization' are useless if you can't apply them, Ms. Peach. Your classes may get 500% more work than any other AP Psychology class out there, but you still have a laughable passing rate."

Yang's name was practically last on the list, and so she watched from the opposite end of the classroom. She hoped Ms. Peach would put the asshole in his place, but knew she wouldn't. Couldn't. He wasn't Cardin Winchester, who's red rimmed mouth spewed unintelligible nonsense whenever he tried to be a delinquent. Who didn't understand the difference between 'your,' 'you're,' and 'I'm,' he was that selfishly stupid.

"So yeah, according to your syllabus, if we get a 5 on the final exam— you'll change our final grade to an A. So I'll just refrain from the ridiculous workload in favor of a sleep filled sophomore year."

"As if you could get a 5 on the AP exam, Mr. Black," her voice moved into a condescending tone. She sounded like a monarch, squishing a peasant under her dainty shoe, disgusted that her foot got dirty. "I remember going to school with your father. He was far from a passing score, let alone an exemplary one."

"My father?" Mercury's voice seemed curious on the outside. But there was something else underneath it.

"Don't think I didn't recognize Marcus in you the moment you strode in," She chuckled. "You're just like him."

The whole class could feel the glare that Mercury now wore. They could feel his fist clenching the air in the room and ripping it out of their lungs. Dead silence. If Yang looked closely, she would've seen the quick breaths he took, the crescent shaped wounds where fingernails dug into the flesh of his palm. But it took seconds for that to stop, for him to recompose whatever chaos was whirling behind his eyes.

"Don't think I don't notice the hand sanitizer decorating each corner of the room," he rebutted, not even pausing when he saw Ms. Peach's expression darken in both confusion and… fear. "Or the mathematically organized desk, or how you've straightened out your already-straight shirt at least..." he tilted his head in brief thought, "20 times in the first ten minutes of class. It's not necessarily OCD, people keep saying it's OCD."

Ms. Peach looked ready to either slap him, or bolt right then and there. Her puce-colored lip was folding under her front teeth, as if she wanted to correct him. She knew she couldn't though, since she went to straighten her blouse again, unconsciously.

"OCD isn't so obvious, it's more quirky. So I think they're all wrong when they say that. I think that calling you OCD would be an insult to people who are actually OCD— since the scarf on your neck is most definitely covering up a hickey. I think you're stuck in a purely sexual relationship with someone you're in love with. Someone who sees you every day. You're trying to prove to them that you've gotten your life together, seeing how organized you are. Why would you need to get your life together? Why haven't you tried a relationship first? That's usually what people do at your age." He smirked, looking her dead in the eyes. "So did you sleep around in your prime or something?"

When he opened his mouth, it didn't close until Peach was in tears and out the door.

"And that's a miss!" He shouted, voice still low and apathetic. He wanted it to carry. For everyone to hear.

"Why did you do that, anyways?" Yang asked, because even though he was a sassy shit, he hadn't gone that far with any other teacher. Not even Ms. Peach herself throughout the rest of that year (she sort of avoided mentioning his name outside of attendance.)

"What, psychoanalyze Peach?"

"Yeah."

"She had a stick up her ass. She treated everyone like shit, acted superior to them— she deserved it."

Yang flopped down into her seat, not able to combat that. He was right, Ms. Peach was a bitch.

"But," she perked up, not expecting a continuation. He always said things as if to end the conversation. "If you really wanna know why I went that far, it was 'cause of what she said. About my dad."

"What'd she say?" The memory was fuzzy in her mind, and she only clearly remembered the smirk on his face.

"That I was just like him," he sighed, turning to face her. "I hated that."

If it were said in any other way, it would've prompted a response from Yang, a question maybe. But the look in his eyes, the white-ness of his knuckles, gripping the steering wheel— it prompted silence. And he got it.

The rain had ceased a long while back, but the car's windows still had remnants of raindrop trails that would warp along with the speed. She had nothing else to stare at, as she leaned her head against the door. The car's headlights were blinding, but only illuminated the studs along the lane markers. Any other light was swallowed by the thicket surrounding the road, they were alone.

The radio was unnoticeable until they stopped talking, cranked onto one of the lowest settings, music mixing with static as they moved along the highway. But now she could hear every word, every guitar riff, every crackle of white noise that emitted from the speakers flanking the dashboard. It was tamer than Nirvana, more ambient, and she couldn't tell who it was from, not that she would know of them if she was told.

There were long periods of synth riffs, drum machines and random dialogue guiding them into moments of intense musicality. There were times where she felt utterly alone, but not lonely— and others where it was the other way around. Where she felt like the world could fit in her palm, like she could clench her fist and end it— and it would mean nothing.

Her breathing slowed down, and her heartbeat mirrored the music echoing through her ears. Closing her eyes, inhaling the harmonies, forgetting everything— it seemed really easy right there. She didn't know how long she listened, how long she was in limbo— floating between sleep and awareness, nowhere near struggle.

When the music stopped, quietly aboard the soft pounding of a heartbeat, she was disappointed. It ended perfectly. It had no unnecessary moments, or rushed areas— but she couldn't help but want to go back. To that void. To that warmth.

"Dark Side of the Moon," Mercury said suddenly, voice gravely after not speaking for so long. "Considered one of the best albums of all time. It's also the album on shirt you're wearing."

She looked down at her shirt— his shirt, at the light fragmenting off a prism. She'd seen the design before, associated it with Pink Floyd, thought it looked pretty cool. But she'd never heard the actual album.

"It was an album? Felt more like one song."

"It's supposed to. It's the passage of life; time, money, brain damage. Flows together. But it all starts and ends with a heartbeat. Just a heartbeat."

Now it was actually silent.

x

x

x

x

It was about 4:30 AM when they arrived at a motel for the night. Yang offered to drive the rest of the way, but he loudly proclaimed that he trusted no one behind the wheel of such a beautiful car. She didn't fail to mention that it was Cardin's beautiful car, so it wouldn't be missed.

The woman at the front desk gave them a key begrudgingly, pissed off that a couple of teenagers strode in at ass 'o clock in the morning. Ones who shook their head profusely at a single bed and darted to their room without a single kind word. Her face ballooned in certain places, so her glare was absolutely hilarious.

"Did you see how she literally threw the keys at your face? As if she was doing anything better." Yang guffawed, leaning into her laugh and against the wall as Mercury unlocked the door. He struggled with the key for a few seconds, since the door's handle was evidently old and rusted over.

"Probably watching porn," he chuckled, tossing his jacket onto the first bed, leaving the second for Yang. "Did you see all the boxes of tissues? I can bet you she was using that pen she just signed us in with."

Yang shivered, "I don't even want to think about that right now. Or ever."

"Damn straight."

Yang plopped onto the bed horizontally, hair billowing around her, legs dangling off the side as she stared at the ceiling.

"I've never stayed in one of these before."

"Really?" Mercury asked, completely taken aback. "I thought you were the 'have sex with every person in the school by graduation' girl."

If he weren't right, she would've slapped him.

"Yeah but I've never done it in a motel. I usually went over to their house, or if I was feeling risky they'd come to mine…" She just hadn't seen the need to use a motel, but it felt like she was scared of being labeled as a slut with the way she was talking. She wasn't ashamed of it, though, because the shoe most definitely fit. "God, I sound so vanilla, don't I?"

"Nah. I always took you for the rough sex kind of chick," he said pointedly, both changing the topic and continuing the conversation. "Like, you don't need all that kinky shit, but could still leave wicked marks, be all dominant or whatever."

"Really? You've thought about me in bed?" She rolled her eyes, "I should be flattered."

He finally sat down on his bed, brushing lint off of the grainy bedspread. "It's just the vibe you give off."

"What about you?" Yang shifted the conversation onto him. Beat that. "What are you like in bed?"

"Depends," he shrugged, leaning onto his palm, which rested on the bed beside him. It pressed down hard into the springy mattress. "On the person. The atmosphere."

"The person? Not girl?" She asked suddenly, surprised at his wording.

"Proud bisexual," he opened his arms wide to gesture at himself, "what's it to you, Ms. Pansexual-stereotype?"

"You just seem really… Straight, to be completely honest." Yang couldn't explain it in words, so she fumbled the most basic ones around to get the concept across. "Like sure you don't mind gay people, but you're completely against the idea of putting your dick inside some dude's ass."

Mercury was silent for a moment, nervously looking at the wall behind her. She didn't get what was the big deal, he just admitted he'd done it with guys, what else was there?

"I've bottomed too, you know."

No she didn't know. "What!? Are you serious? You, Mercury Black, sass-master and rebel without a cause— are a bottom?"

"If you want technicalities? I'm a switch, top or bottom, depends. So, the more you know."

"The more I know," she repeated, staring at him in complete disbelief.

They burst out into laughter after two seconds of staring at each other. Maybe it was because of their mutual sleep deprivation, mutual secrets, or mutual appreciation of motel-lady's atrocious haircut— but any tension from their car ride, was absent then. It was freeing, to laugh so hard in a situation so shitty. To forget about the Cardin Winchesters, the unanswered letters, and the mud outside.

Their guffawing faded out eventually, leaving a less-blatant series of snorts in its wake. Yang tried to continue their conversation, to get that feeling back.

"Okay so say you're at a motel for a quick fuck," she clarified, "what're you like then?"

He thought long and hard, at least Yang thinks he did since he was silent for awhile. She studied his face, underneath the yellow light of the lamp between them. It pooled over his cheekbones, highlighting the bridge of his nose. He never wore make-up, but his eyelashes were thick and dark, and his almond shaped eyes could pierce the air with how sharp they were— stare only intensified by his dark eyebrows. Maybe it was just the atmosphere.

He sighed, running a hand through his silver shock of hair.

"I guess I like surprises."

So she leaned in and kissed him.