Looking back on the first time that Jaune had met Pyrrha, he liked to think that he had charmed her away, when it had obviously been the other way around. Pyrrha, standing six foot two, ten pounds of armor laced on her waist, talking to Weiss with her hips swung out, muscle and strength braided into every fiber of her being, was so far out of Jaune's league that he was light years away, waving at her from a miniscule star. She was exotic, all tanned thighs and gold armor and emerald eyes that glimmered with interest when Jaune had not so smooth talked his way over. Pyrrha liked the way Jaune stumbled over his words and had none of the confidence that the boys back in Sanctum possessed.

And she especially loved that he didn't know who she was; wasn't fawning after her every movement or unashamedly studying the slope of her hips like some men she knew or asking if she'd show her Pumpkins to Pete. Jaune had this endearing quality about him, blissfully dorky and attractive in a weird way.

No, he wasn't good with weapons. He was clumsy compared to Pyrrha, (but then again, who wasn't?), and his hand-eye coordination was once the subject of a thesis titled: Developmental Coordination Disorder and its Victims. When he had asked Weiss to fence with him after lunch, the Dust heiress had stared at him blankly for a few long moments before laughing and walking away. His excitability could rival Nora's at times, and the blush that colored the tips of his ears when Pyrrha held his hand was even darker than the Amazon's hair. Yet, Pyrrha found him loveable and clumsily amusing. He was a dedicated student when Pyrrha taught him how to fight, and soon, muscle began to creep up under his stomach, sneak its way into his arms, and his fighting skills were commended by his teachers.

When Pyrrha had kissed him for the first time after he won a battle in the Tournament, Jaune had almost combusted, a flush creeping up his neck and turning his pale cheeks the color of Ruby's cape. But Pyrrha had taught him how to love her, guide his hands so that they sat on the dip of her waist, or show him how she liked a special spot on her neck kissed. It wasn't long before he had gained confidence, as he'd always done, his lips working love letters into her calloused palms and hands mapping out the Kingdoms along her spine. Pyrrha loved how he was still bashful about kissing her, how he stared wide-eyed at her when she pulled away.

And when Pyrrha feels his warm arms loop around her waist and his lips press to her temple, she can't give a damn about who charmed whom first, because they're here now. And that's all that matters.