Jaune Arc had faced death.

He had fought monsters made of nightmares. Faced creatures without fear or limit. Carved a path through a thousand Grimm with nothing but a sword, grit, and the desperate need to protect what little light remained in the world he cared about.

But even that hadn't prepared him for this.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then very slowly, he realized he had been pinned.

Not by a Grimm. Not by some monstrous mutation crawling out of the desert.

But by Pyrrha Nikos who dragged him here after he told the Headmaster of Shade what he could do for them.

Jaune barely got a word out.

As one hand slapped against the sandstone wall beside his head. The other curled along his jawline, soft fingers trailing upward, palm cupping his cheek. Her thumb brushed the edge of his stubble. Her breath, short and warm, mingled with his.

She was flushed, red hair loose and tangled from battle. Sand still clung to her skin. Her aura still shimmered faintly beneath her collar, flickering like a dying flame that refused to give out. She was tired, beautiful, and so close he could see the flecks in her green eyes.

And Jaune, for all his battle

Felt something very close to fear.

"So…" he managed, voice hoarse. "Uh?"

Pyrrha didn't answer immediately. Her expression remained gentle, but unreadable. A mixture of emotions warred beneath the calm surface from relief, frustration, joy, exhaustion. She studied his face like it was something she had dreamed of for too long and was finally allowed to touch.

Her fingers drifted up into his hair, slowly brushing back the sweat-damp locks from his forehead. The gesture was intimate. Thoughtless.

Dangerous.

"I'm glad you're alive," she said softly.

Her voice was quieter than usual. Not the commanding voice of a leader. Not the sharp, clear tones of a Huntress on the battlefield. Just… Pyrrha. Woman. Friend. Something more.

"I'm glad I finally get to thank you."

"For what?" Jaune asked, barely breathing.

"For coming back. For putting your life in danger for me. That fall… you saved me."

He blinked again.

Jaune had survived the fall of Atlas. He had fallen through the voice. He had bled out in the sand of the Everafter. And yet her words somehow hit harder than anything else. His heart stuttered in his chest. He swallowed.

"You saved me once," he said, voice low. "It only feels right that I returned the favor."

Her smile widened, but only a little. Her hand never left his face.

"I was very worried," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry."

And that was it.

They didn't say anything more for a moment.

The world outside the room still burned. The alarms still blared faintly in the background. Somewhere, soldiers barked orders. Distant Mantas still cut through the sky. The war hadn't stopped.

But here, between them, there was only stillness.

Their eyes locked.

Her forehead leaned gently into his. Her arms slowly slipped around the back of his head, drawing him closer. Her body pressed into his, not urgently, not seductively. Just firmly. Certainly. As if to say You're here. You're real. And I'm not letting go.

Jaune stood frozen. Not because he didn't want to move, but because every part of him was overwhelmed. Her presence, her scent, the warmth of her skin. The pressure of her touch. Her lips were so close he could almost taste the heat between them.

And then—

Pyrrha kissed him.

Just a soft peck. A whisper of a thing. But deliberate. Undeniable.

She leaned back only an inch. Her eyes searched his, expectant. Hoping he felt the same.

"Understand?" she asked.

Jaune blinked.

Then, slowly, he nodded. "That's… bold of you."

Her lips quirked upward. "The world might end," she said, voice calm, but serious. "We could all lose to Grimm. I don't want to risk regret. I'm laying down my cards."

Jaune exhaled. "Heh, you'd be the type to kiss me and then shove me onto a rocket to safety if that happens."

Pyrrha laughed. "Maybe."

Gods. It was real. That laugh, he hadn't thought he'd hear it after that fall.

And at that moment, Jaune couldn't help himself.

He stared.

Like an idiot.

Like a man who hadn't dared to believe this would happen.

And then, he moved.

He stepped forward, hands reaching. One found her waist. The other curled behind her neck.

And then he kissed her.

This time, it wasn't a question.

It wasn't a whisper.

It was a statement. A reply to her gamble.

Their mouths met, firm and full, heat rising between them. She gasped, and he took advantage, tilting his head and deepening the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue. Her hands clenched against his chest, uncertain, as if she hadn't expected the shift. Then they tangled into the collar of his armor.

Jaune leaned her into the wall. Gently. His hand slid to the curve of her hip. He pressed against her, not to overwhelm, but to remind her that he was here. That he was real. That this wasn't a dream she had to lose again.

When they finally pulled apart, a strand of saliva clung between them, catching in the sunlight.

Pyrrha's face was red.

Deep red.

She wasn't just flushed. She was flustered. Breathless. Her lips parted, unsure. Her chest rose and fell with short, uncertain gasps.

And she looked at him like she had just realized something dangerous.

That she wanted this.

That she had wanted it for a long time.

But the reality of it had caught up with her, and now she was—

Shy.

It was adorable.

Jaune tilted his head, a slow grin tugging at the edge of his mouth.

"You asked for this," he said, teasing.

She groaned, but it was more of a whimper. She looked away, trying to hide her face in the crook of his shoulder. "I didn't mean like that—"

"Yes, you did."

"Maybe I did."

"I knew it."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I wouldn't dare."

She peeked up at him through her lashes.

"You're making fun of me."

"A little," he admitted.

She smacked him gently on the chest. Then rested her hand there. Her fingers curled against the warm armor, nails pressing faintly into the metal.

He didn't move away.

Instead, he leaned forward again, brushing her cheek with his knuckles.

And when he kissed her again, slower this time, gentler, he felt her melt.

This wasn't the kiss of battlefield desperation. This wasn't stolen warmth before a last stand.

This was Pyrrha Nikos finally allowing herself to stop waiting. To stop doubting. To choose.

And Jaune kissed her like he was making a vow.

That no matter what came next—

He'd stay.

When they finally parted again, she was quiet.

And he was too.

Pyrrha leaned her head against his chest, her arms looped loosely around his back. His hand stroked along her hair, slow and steady.

"I didn't know if I'd see you again," she murmured.

"I didn't know if I'd be me again," he replied. "The place I was in… I could have gone out of that… different."

She looked up at him. "But you are."

"Thanks to you."

"No." She shook her head. "You did that yourself. Let's move from here?"

Jaune nodded.

They found the nearest place to was an old sitting room near the dorms, dim and half-abandoned sand clung to the corners, the cushions were worn, but the door latched behind them with a solid click. Quiet fell. Just enough.

Jaune dropped into the couch, his armor groaning with him, exhaustion heavy but forgotten.

Pyrrha followed a second later.

She didn't sit next to him.

She climbed into his lap.

One leg curled across his thigh. Her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, as if anchoring herself. Her weight settled on him slowly, cautiously, like she couldn't believe she was allowed to do this. Her body curled close, her forehead tucked briefly against his collar.

And then her lips found his again.

Softer this time. Less heat. More want.

Like she was memorizing the shape of him, his mouth, the scrape of stubble along her cheek, the low hitch in his breath when she leaned in just a bit more.

Jaune didn't question it.

He didn't joke.

He just kissed her back. One hand rose to her lower back, the other drifting along the side of her thigh. Not possessive. Not rushed.

It was reverent.

Pyrrha pulled back a hair's breadth. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and dazed. Her voice cracked around the edges, soft and uneven. "I missed you."

"I'm here," Jaune said simply.

"I can tell." Her lips quirked. "You're very warm. And you're letting me sit on you like I'm some overgrown cat."

"You're not that heavy."

"That wasn't a denial."

He smiled. "Nope."

She huffed, burying her nose against the side of his neck. "You're not helping."

"I'm trying not to laugh."

"Don't. You'll ruin the moment."

"I thought I was the moment."

Her fingers tightened around his collar. "Shut up."

He kissed the side of her head.

And then Pyrrha did something dangerous again.

She looked up at him, and for the first time, Jaune realized she wasn't just flustered or affectionate.

She was starved.

For touch. For clarity. For answers she'd never gotten because the war never stopped long enough to give them to her.

"You know," she whispered, voice trembling just a bit, "I thought I fell in love with a fierce, sweet Mistral farmer."

Jaune blinked. "Uh…"

"But then you turned out to be… this." Her hands slid along the edges of his armor, fingertips brushing where steel met cloth. "A knight. A fairy tale. Everyone's been telling stories about the Rusted Knight for generations, and somehow, it's you."

Her fingers toyed with a loose buckle near his shoulder. She wasn't letting go. Not even a little.

"That's terrifying," she said, mock-somber. "Do you realize what that does to a girl's self-esteem?"

Jaune opened his mouth.

She kissed him again, just once, to shut him up.

"You were good," she murmured. "I thought you just worked hard. But now it makes sense. The way you move. How you fight. That wasn't just training. That was time, wasn't it?"

Jaune swallowed. "Yeah."

Pyrrha nodded. Her lips brushed his jaw as she spoke, a slow smile creeping into her voice. "So what are you, then? Were you ever just a farmer? Or have you always been the Rusted Knight?"

"I think…" Jaune started, then paused. "Both."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Very mysterious."

"Seriously. I—I was him before I even knew what that meant. I only became the Rusted Knight because I had to. I didn't ask for it."

Pyrrha tilted her head, cheek still pressed to his. "You're not… like Oz, are you?"

He shook his head slowly. "I don't think so. I don't feel like him. It's not… cycles, or visions, or weird reincarnation nonsense. It's still me."

Pyrrha touched his jaw.

"Rougher, wiser, hotter?" she teased, voice light and sing-song.

"You said it. Not me."

"Don't get cocky," she warned, poking him in the chest. "I'm still debating if I'm mad at you."

"Why?"

"For coming back in a cool moutn."

Jaune laughed quietly, and for a moment they just held each other.

Her hand stroked through his hair again, slow and deliberate.

"Do you care?" he asked finally. "About the time stuff. The Knight stuff."

Pyrrha was quiet for a moment. Then she shrugged, curling against him more tightly.

"No. Not really."

She lifted her head again to look at him. Her cheeks were still red, her hair messy from her own hands tangling through it.

"I care that you came back," she said softly. "That's enough. I prefer the Jaune Arc that I fought with… not the fairy tale."

And then—

She kissed him again.

This time with all the affection she didn't know how to say. A deep, earnest press of her mouth against his. Her arms pulled him closer, legs drawing in, torso flush against his chest.

Like she was trying to mark him.

To stake a claim.

Jaune responded in kind, hands sliding to her waist, thumbs brushing the edges of her tunic. He kissed her deeper this time, let himself melt into the moment, let her breath become his, let the weight of battle and armor and the troubles coming fall away.

Her hips shifted slightly in his lap, pressing into him without thinking. The motion sent a bolt of heat through him—real, grounded, raw.

Pyrrha didn't stop.

She seemed shy at first, yes, but each kiss came with a little more confidence. A teasing tilt of her head. A slow pull of his lower lip. A little hum in her throat when his hands slid beneath the hem of her shirt and found skin.

She pulled back just long enough to whisper, breathless, "Still not making fun of me?"

"Never."

"Liar."

He kissed the corner of her mouth. "I like this side of you."

She blinked. "What side?"

"The clingy one."

"I'm not clingy."

"You're wrapped around me."

"I am asserting dominance."

"You're sitting on me."

"That's a power move."

Jaune chuckled. "I missed you."

"I know."

And still, she didn't move. Didn't retreat. If anything, she held him closer. Her lips brushed his neck this time, leaving slow, uncertain kisses just beneath his ear.

He shivered.

She grinned.

"Pyrrha," he murmured, half a warning, half a prayer.

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're doing everything."

She tilted her head, eyes bright and playful and entirely in love. "Well," she said. "You did promise to stay."

"I don't think so."

"You allowed it. Then deal with it."

Pyrrha's breath hitched slightly as she leaned in again, her lips brushing Jaune's just once, then trailing to his cheek. Her fingers flexed against his chest, a familiar shiver running through her.

Then—

He felt it.

A subtle hum in the air.

Metal creaked.

The soft snick of tension releasing rang through the room.

The lock on the door behind them twisted. Not loudly. Not roughly. Just… enough.

Jaune blinked, startled, but Pyrrha didn't even glance back.

Her Semblance glowed faintly around her fingertips as she let her arms fall to his sides. The clasps on her armor stirred, then unlatched one by one with quiet clicks. The bronze and red of her gear shifted, separated, and floated just slightly before settling gently to the floor beside them.

Jaune opened his mouth to speak, but then felt his own armor loosening.

His shoulders shifted involuntarily as the plating peeled back, lifted in pieces by that same pull of polarity and precision. She wasn't forceful about it.

Just deliberate.

Only their undershirts remained now, soft fabric, damp with the heat of the room and their own rising heartbeats.

Pyrrha's eyes never left his. Her expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between nervous and determined.

But she wasn't trembling.

She wanted this.

Still… Jaune breathed carefully, not pulling her closer just yet.

"Are you sure?"

It was barely a whisper. A genuine question, even now. One more chance for her to say no.

Pyrrha's response wasn't words.

She kissed him.

Harder than before. Less graceful. Clumsy, almost—mouth tilted too far, breath short, her hand tangling in his hair. It wasn't practiced or polished.

But it was real.

She kissed him like she meant it. Like she'd been holding that kiss back since the moment she first saw him on the battlefield again. Like she was afraid he'd vanish if she didn't.

And Jaune…

Jaune stopped thinking.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and let the rest of the world slip away as he pushed her down.

Everything else, the war, the weight, the noise, it all faded.

There was only this.

Only her.