Gym, class, homework, projects. Dinner, RWBY/JNPR sleepover, lunch, breakfast-for-lunch, showers, books.

Everything was back to normal between Blake and I, but nothing felt the same.

"Why?"

It was Blake. Just Blake.

Whenever she was around I just couldn't think straight.

No, that's not a fucking pun!

I wasn't sure what it was about her that'd changed. Or maybe nothing had changed at all?

"What is it?"

I couldn't figure it out. I just couldn't put my finger on it. This feeling that just kept bothering me…

I couldn't get to sleep most nights because I was thinking about what it was. I honestly wasn't even sure if I felt differently about Blake. Just that whatever feelings I'd had were stronger. Not being able to figure it out totally sucked. It was like taking a test and totally blanking on all of the answers.

I didn't end up piecing it together for another week.

I was at the gym, venting the best way I knew how- beating up a defenseless punching bag. I'd been going to the gym often that week, sometimes three or four a day. I'd destroyed every punching bag in the gym and even dialed up a few course rooms. I didn't care if my knuckles bled afterwards, I just needed to hit something.

"Maybe it's her ears? No way it was just her ears. I'd stopped playing that stupid game weeks ago. They wiggled. So what? Now they're just…"

I sent a right hook into the bag and sand sprayed out like a geyser. I didn't stop hitting it. I'd clean up later.

"Maybe it's the way she laughs with Velvet now?"

No, I wasn't jealous of her and Velvet… That was stupid. Blake was allowed to have friends.

"Maybe it's the way she reads to Ruby?"

She'd started reading to her a lot more often. Fairy tales and fables and short little stories that always ended in 'happily ever after.' It was just really nice and sweet of her to do that when I didn't have the time to.

I punched the bag again, knocking it clear off the chains.

"Fuck!" I could feel everyone staring at me. I'd gone through seven bags in less than an hour and everyone could tell there was something wrong. I could hear the whispers and the under-the-breath giggles as people made jokes about what could possibly be upsetting me.

I took a break to breathe. I was just so pissed that I couldn't figure out why I was feeling so crummy.

"Is it her hair?" No, she'd kept the same hairstyle all year.

"Is it her eyes?" No, they were obviously the same eyes I'd met her with.

"Is it the way she walks in her heels?" Dust, she looks great in those heels. The way her hips swayed and the way they made her posture so freaking perfect. But it was more than the heels, because her leggings shaped her already perfect legs just so damn beautifully. But it was more than her heels and the leggings. More than her clothes. More than even the little black ribbon that I'd been seeing less and less of wrapped around furry black ears. It was more than even her butt-

"Wait what?"

Ooooooooooooh.

I guess it was a pun.