The room was still.
Soft morning light filtered in through the high slats of the windows, painting faint lines of gold across the floorboards. Dust danced in the glow. Somewhere outside, birds made cautious chirps beyond the stone walls of Shade Academy.
Under a single, thin blanket, Jaune lay still, one arm slung lazily around the shape curled into him. Pyrrha's breathing was soft against his chest, her hair a gentle mess across his skin. Her fingers rested over his heart, her legs tangled with his beneath the covers.
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Jaune exhaled, long and slow. He glanced down.
And maybe lingered a little too long.
He shamelessly studied the contours beneath the blanket, the warmth pressed against him, the brush of her freckled skin, the gentle rise and fall of her breath.
Then came a voice. Drowsy. Teasing.
"You're still not done?" Pyrrha mumbled, not opening her eyes.
Jaune blinked. His gaze darted to hers just as she opened one eye, amber glinting with mischief.
She grinned just a little.
He didn't reply at first. Just pulled her in tighter.
That earned him a startled little sound, half gasp, half moan as their bodies pressed closer under the sheets.
"Very naughty," she whispered, her voice thick with sleep and something else. Her cheeks pinked as she said it.
He kissed her in reply. Slow, deep, enough to steal what was left of her morning breath.
When he pulled away, she exhaled.
"Really, very naughty," she said again, just to test him.
So he kissed her again.
Pyrrha laughed softly, hiding her face against his chest. "If I say that word again, are you going to keep doing that?"
"Only if you mean it," Jaune said, his voice warm with smug affection.
She rolled her eyes but didn't move away. Instead, she nestled closer, her forehead resting over his heart. Her skin was flushed, warm from the sun and the memories of last night. A little sweat still clung to them both, making the sheets cling in places they probably shouldn't.
But neither moved.
Not for a long time.
There were noises outside, boots clattering down the halls, distant shouting, the hum of Vacuo preparing for another day of battle. But inside this room, wrapped up in the small silence they'd carved for themselves, Pyrrha and Jaune simply stayed still.
Eventually, duty called.
Pyrrha shifted first, pulling the blanket up to her chest as she slowly sat up. She stretched her arms, then winced.
"Oh no…"
She looked down at herself.
Hickies. Plenty of them.
Her neck, her collarbone… even lower.
Even around her thigh.
"Oh no," she whispered again, face heating fast. "You really—Jaune!"
He blinked, then looked sheepish. "I can fix that?"
He raised his hand, letting a soft aura glow build around his fingers.
Pyrrha eyed him with suspicion.
"Don't you dare use that if we're just going to… start again."
"I wasn't planning to," Jaune said innocently. "Unless you ask."
Her blush deepened. She turned away, pulling the blanket over her head for a second before answering, "M-maybe… after we save the world. I'd rather not fight while limping and complaining about my hips."
Jaune chuckled. "Fair."
He glanced over his shoulder. "Though, uh, your bed might not have survived the night…"
Pyrrha followed his gaze, then immediately buried her face in her hands. Sheets everywhere. Pillows on the floor. One of the headboard panels cracked from where someone's armor had hit it—probably his.
She groaned. "I just got that mattress…"
Jaune, wisely, chose not to comment. He slid out from under the blanket and stood, stretching his back with a faint pop. Then he headed to the corner shower, stripped what little remained of his clothes, and turned on the old Vacuan plumbing.
The water sputtered, then rushed down over him, washing away the sweat and sand of battle—and of the night.
By the time he stepped out and began pulling on his armor piece by piece, Pyrrha had already floated her clothes across the room using her Semblance, each piece levitating into her arms like a soft cloud of red and bronze. She rose carefully, wincing once as her feet hit the floor, and padded barefoot to the bathroom.
She looked over her shoulder, her cheeks still red.
"No peeking."
Jaune smirked. "I wouldn't dare."
A minute later, the sound of running water returned, along with the faint clatter of buckles and fasteners being adjusted. She emerged looking fresher, her hair still damp, cheeks flushed but calmer. Her armor clicked into place one piece at a time, restored to its usual immaculate self—if a little looser around the hips than it had been yesterday.
Jaune pulled on his helmet.
Pyrrha stared at the door.
And frowned.
"…Jaune?"
"Yeah?"
"I think… I bent the door last night."
He blinked. "Oh."
She raised a hand, focused her Semblance, and with a gentle flex of magnetic force, the warped lock straightened and the latch unstuck.
The door clicked open.
They both stared at it.
Then, without a word, stepped out together.
Their helmets stayed on.
Just in case someone looked too closely.
Or noticed the limp in Pyrrha's step.
Or the faintest grin tugging at Jaune's lips.
Either way—
They walked down the hall, side by side.
And behind them, the door clicked shut.
The hallway outside was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city stirring to life. Not that Vacuo ever stopped being noisy, especially after the attacks. Pyrrha and Jaune moved carefully, side by side, trying to look as composed as possible despite the very obvious attempt to avoid eye contact with anyone.
They reached a courtyard a few minutes later. The desert sun was still high in the sky, casting a golden wash across the sandstone floor and the breeze carried just enough heat to remind them that this was Vacuo.
And there, near the edge of the platform, they saw her.
Penny.
Hovering just a few inches off the ground, her boots not quite touching the floor, arms draped around the neck of the Jabberwalker, no, the Jackalope, whose radiant white fluff practically glowed in the light. Its massive golden antlers rose like a crown, head low, unmoving. The creature's eyes were shut in what looked like peaceful patience, as if resigned to Penny's full-body hug.
She wasn't squeezing tightly. Just… clinging.
Her cheek rested against its impossibly fluffy fur, her brow furrowed in a mixture of delight and existential frustration. Her expression looked a little like someone stuck at a bakery window, watching cakes they couldn't eat.
"She's been like that for hours," a passing Huntsman whispered, trying not to laugh as he moved on.
Penny didn't react.
She was still in deep, tragic thought.
And then she spoke.
"I have run seven separate diagnostic simulations," she muttered, forehead pressed to the fur. "I've cross-referenced all known reports on animal softness. And yet…"
Her voice cracked slightly.
"I cannot feel it."
Pyrrha blinked. Jaune raised an eyebrow.
Then Penny turned, spotted them approaching, and immediately brightened.
She floated toward them with a cheerful little drift, her arms still spread wide from hugging the Jackalope.
"Good morning, Friends!" she said with chipper enthusiasm.
"Morning," Jaune replied cautiously.
Pyrrha gave a polite, if slightly nervous, wave.
Penny beamed. "I noticed you both left from the same room!"
Pyrrha froze.
Jaune's soul nearly left his body.
"And statistically speaking," Penny continued innocently, "if no contraception was used, the risk of fertilization within a 36-hour window can be as high as—"
Pyrrha let out a tiny, squeaky sound and lunged forward, slapping both hands over Penny's mouth.
"—MMPH?!" Penny blinked, hovering a few inches higher in surprise.
"Not. A. Word," Pyrrha whispered, face flushed crimson under the helm.
There was a pause.
Then Penny slowly reached up and pulled Pyrrha's hands away, her eyes wide.
"Oh," she said softly. "Ohhh. I understand. I am very sorry. I will not mention... that... again."
Pyrrha nodded, flustered beyond recovery.
Jaune, for once in his life, made the wise decision to say absolutely nothing.
He stood completely still, eyes locked straight ahead, as if pretending he were a statue.
Pyrrha, meanwhile, straightened her armor, brushed down her hair, and stared off into the middle distance with the blank expression of someone trying to repress the last ten seconds of their life.
Penny floated between them again, smiling sheepishly.
"I'm happy for you both," she added in a more subdued voice. "Very much so. Even if I ruined the moment."
"You didn't ruin anything," Pyrrha muttered, half-mortified, half-laughing now.
The Jackalope twitched one of its ears.
Then, as if nothing at all had happened, Penny turned back toward it with a dramatic sigh, resuming her hug with renewed intensity.
"I still can't feel the fluff," she whispered solemnly.
Jaune blinked.
Then looked at Pyrrha.
And for a fleeting second, they both nearly burst out laughing.
Nearly.
Because Penny was still hugging the Jackalope with the solemn reverence of a child denied dessert.
And some things were too pure to disturb.
The moment passed.
But not entirely.
Jaune and Pyrrha stood there for a while longer, watching Penny continue her affectionate, mildly tragic embrace of the Jackalope. Her face, so open, so bright. was tinged with the melancholy of a child denied a simple joy, and Jaune felt something in his chest twist.
He looked at Pyrrha.
She looked at him.
And for a split second, they both felt incredibly impure.
There was no judgment in Penny's eyes. No awareness of what she'd accidentally stirred up with her blunt innocence. But somehow, that made it worse. Jaune felt the guilt crawl up the back of his neck like a cold wind. The juxtaposition between the sweetly naïve robot girl cuddling a myth-beast and the memories still warm under his armor made him sit down, a little too heavily, on a nearby bench.
Pyrrha joined him.
Neither spoke.
They just… sat.
A soft breeze stirred the courtyard. Somewhere, an Atlesian drone hummed lazily overhead. Penny remained near the Jackalope, now quietly humming to herself as she patted its thick white fur with exaggerated care, almost pretending she could feel it. Then, with a casual, almost magnanimous wave, she turned back to them.
"You can take the big fluffy bunny now," she said helpfully. "I've decided I shall not keep it. Ah, such a tragedy!"
Jaune opened his mouth. Then closed it.
He wanted to correct her. To explain, technically, that it was a Jackalope, not a bunny—and certainly not just big or fluffy. But he stopped himself. Something in her voice was too earnest to interrupt. Too kind.
"Thanks, Penny," he said instead.
She beamed, hesitated and flew away.
"Let's go before she changes her mind or Nora wants a turn at hugging the Jackalope."
"Okay."
The two then decided to leave before.