Hello again, and HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

It's not exactly Valentine-themed but I wanted to finally post this chapter, in part as a thank you to the wonderful (continued?!) readership thus far, and also because... well, it's been a while! Too long, you might say! Unfortunately this chapter is not all sunshine and daisies, so...

CONTENT WARNING: Implied past relationship/abuse, anxious/traumatic breakdown, canon-compliant racism.

Blake spends the aftermath of her Thursday "dream" remembering how to breathe.

At first, it is as if her lungs have also filled with butterflies, taking up too much space for normal breathing, and occasionally displacing even more air as they flit around.

Even if it was the briefest of moments, Yang had paused an important personal mission just to ask if she would see Blake at the market this coming weekend. She had taken the time to seek a response from Blake regarding her presence. Whether or not it was a big deal to her , it mattered enough to ask.

The cognitive dissonance with her recently-shattered perception of their acquaintanceship thus far is staggering. Yang is actually… interested? The implications of that particular word aren't lost on Blake but she does her best to ground her expectations. I guess she's at least open to the idea of getting to know each other.

The clouds that had earlier seemed so intent on hiding the sun from the world instead begin to thin as Blake strolls leisurely around the courtyard. Warmth slowly seeps into the air as rays begin to permeate the translucent remnants of the overcast skies. The auspicious atmosphere further encourages Blake's butterflies, and as she rounds the corner towards Fall Hall she finds herself humming a meandering melody that coaxes a shy smile to her lips.

She slows, taking time to admire the spring blooms in the planters in the courtyard and around the surrounding buildings. While many colours of flowers can be seen, the sheer amount of green contrasting against the pale or ruddy stone facades is refreshing, if a bit overwhelming. Green had never appealed to Blake as a colour, but today… witnessing it in nature on this fine day is truly breathtaking.

She steps lightly up towards Fall Hall, savouring one last breath of late spring air for now, before entering the dorm, where her quiet, personal melody echoes to life in the open lobby. The young man at the front desk turns his head to find the source, a confused smile gracing his features as Blake steps purposefully past, blushing at the attention she had drawn to herself as she ducks into the elevator.

Once she is safely back in her dorm room, she rests her satchel on her bed and seats herself in her armchair with expectant poise, fanning herself slowly to deter her embarrassed blush. As she recalls her encounter with Yang, the heat in her cheeks stubbornly persists.

She thinks ahead to the weekend, wondering if Saturday or Sunday would be better for a market visit, or… Why not both?

Then it hits her, and the heat in her face suddenly subsists.

"No…" she murmurs, mourning the reality descending upon her. In a flurry of motion she fumbles her scroll open, searching her calendar.

Though her exams are, for the most part, comfortably spread out, her first two are this coming Saturday at 1:00 PM and Sunday at 9 AM.

Half a dozen less-than-kind versions of Professor Goodwitch's name form in her mind. Of course my most demanding exams would be first , she fumes. This is probably some twisted method to screen for the "serious" students. This thought gives her pause. I am serious about this… right?

She glances at the imposing stack of textbooks neatly piled in the corner of her desk, clearly segregated from the more loosely organized novels leaning precariously against each other on her bookshelf and the odd couple strewn across surfaces between empty mugs and discarded stationery and crumpled papers. It looks about as normal as she would expect of any university student, though her frame of reference is admittedly limited mostly to the stories scattered around her.

Unlike so many of her peers, she does have a clear goal for her university studies. Where others fumble blindly through the open-ended, catch-all Year One program hoping to find their calling, she is already on the path towards a degree in Law, through which she'd enter a career in the field of justice and help make the world a safer, better place for faunus and humans alike.

Of course I'm serious about this. This is exactly what I've always wanted , she insists.

As if to punctuate the thought with greater finality, Blake retrieves her scroll, hoping to find a change of topic there. She taps Facebook open, and after a long two seconds of loading she finds herself staring at a seconds-old selfie of Ruby.

The cheery girl looks immensely relieved as she looks straight into the camera. A stubble-faced man with a dopey grin offers a thumbs-up in her general direction, while the bandages around his head make his short blonde hair stick up at odd angles.

Mr. Rose, I take it?

Blake confirms her hunch via Ruby's caption: "Oops! Dad had an accident but he'll be back to normal in no time!"

The image speaks of the same wholesome, genuine contentment Blake had felt from Ruby's other photos with Yang. Even the way Yang had reprimanded Ruby earlier had felt so… familial; motherly, even.

Obviously, she huffs. They're family. Of course they interact like one. But something about Yang's tone and phrasing with her sister sticks in Blake's mind, and threatens to unearth neglected memories of her own.

Scrolling through her feed in hopes of avoiding an emotional onslaught that could sour the sweetness of this day, she encounters a week-old post from The White Fang of Vale. With a sigh, she again reconsiders her decision to follow the page, but relents, deciding to give it a chance:

"Attention brothers and sisters of The White Fang,
This year's annual general meeting has concluded with the resignation of our long-time president , Sienna Khan. At the suggestion of the board, the young visionary Adam Taurus has been appointed in her place!
Starting next week, local branches of our organization will be hosting President Taurus at a series of exciting rallies planned for his inauguration tour. Be sure to come out and join the fight for equality!
Please refer to the dates listed below for the rallies nearest you."

The calm quiet of Blake's room suddenly feels oppressive. Stunned in disbelief, she looks further down at the dates listed, hoping that even if this nightmare is real, she may not have to worry about confronting it…

"Beacon University, Vale: June 6-7"

Her pulse quickens unsteadily. Her scroll trembles in her hands. "No…" her tiny voice quakes, acting without her consent. What remains of her jaded curiosity is incinerated as she scrolls down to the accompanying image.

It is a dramatic bust shot of a tall, crimson-haired man with lithe, backwards-facing bull horns staring up to the right through a white half-mask resembling an animal skull. The collar of his black blazer is turned up and trimmed with red to match his hair, which would look rather silly if not for the deadly serious smirk gracing his thin lips. To most people, it probably appears to be an expression of passionate confidence befitting a visionary leader pursuing change for the betterment of the faunus.

But Blake knows better than most people, and her body is quick to remind her of this as her shaking hand nearly drops her scroll.

She clings desperately to the device as the world around her shrinks into blackness. The dim backlight of her scroll becomes blinding in the dark, branding the man's image into her retinas. Searing pain erupts from her abdomen, just inches to the left of her stomach, and engulfs her entire body in a sickening, frigid sweat. Countless stinging sensations needle their way through her suffocating consciousness, malevolent memories etched into her arms, her face, her back, her neck…

And for a while, it is dark, and cold, and painful, and nothing else.

Somehow, time passes, but Blake is only sure of this when she realizes her scroll's screen is now off - and the scroll itself is four feet away, on the floor in front of her.

Shivering away the urge to retch, she finds herself on the floor, half-curled on her side and drenched in sweat. Her throat is raw and a messy layer of half-dried tears and traces of running mascara coat one side of her face, acting as a gentle adhesive for batches of dark hair that cling unsteadily to her cheek, unwittingly tickling her eyelashes. Her skin still tingles, echoes of ecstasy and outrage indistinguishable.

She rolls onto her back, gasping for fresh air away from the worn carpet. It takes a few minutes but she finally relaxes her body enough for her mind to take over.

He's coming.

What if he's already here?

I can't risk running into him.

Where is he staying?

I can't risk going anywhere I don't need to.

Who else is coming?

I can't risk being recognized by anyone.

Blake's heartbeat echoes insistently in her ears as she struggles to stay afloat amidst the waves of panic while searching for a solution to the impending issue of getting to and from her exams.

Tunnels!

She spends the better part of a minute in deliberate, deep breathing before slowly gathering herself from the floor. Her insides ache and her head throbs dizzyingly, but she guides herself over to her desk and lowers herself into the simple rolling chair, clinging to the cold metal armrests. Taking another few seconds just to breathe, she opens the middle drawer of the desk and retrieves a stack of brochures and pamphlets from various Beacon University orientations two months prior.

Sifting through them, her eyes are briefly drawn to a "BU White Fang Brotherhood" handout, but she slips it to the bottom of the pile before the tingling in her spine can seize her up.

Finally she locates the campus map, a poster-sized foldout with buildings and faculties clearly labelled. To her relief, the tunnel system connecting the major campus buildings by their basement floors is overlaid on the map. While they had been rather crowded earlier in the spring with the winter chill still lingering, the early summer temperatures and spring blossoms had drawn most students outdoors. Still, Blake eyes her intended route warily, as she would still have to leave Fall Hall outdoors before entering another building to find her way towards her exam rooms.

Blake relaxes against the stiff cushion of the chair, noting that the building next door has a branch of tunnel leading from it all the way to her destinations - in fact, for both this weekend's exams she wouldn't even have to pass through the Campus Center. That just leaves the matter of the few people still using the hallways… I suppose I could go in "disguise," at least until I reach the exam room . It's almost a silly thought, and under normal circumstances she might find the extent of her own actions laughable - but not now.

She sits in silence, permitting her plan to percolate while her body continues to relax. With her breathing normalized, she rotates in her chair to glance forlornly at her discarded scroll.

I... can't go to the market this weekend. She contemplates apologizing somehow, but… She asked if she'd see me there. She didn't invite me. She might not even be there herself if their dad needs attention. It occurs to her that she hasn't even connected with Yang online, and so to seek her out just to apologize… that would be a bit much, no? I could message Ruby, but… no, that's still so… so… "desperate?"

As soon as Blake hears the word in her head she huffs in frustration, rising from her chair. In her window she catches the hint of her own reflection - a frowning, disheveled, tear-streaked woman with a half-unravelled bow atop two nervously twitching cat ears. I'm a mess, she mourns, making for the bathroom. I can't stay like this, even if I'm not going anywhere.

After a furious scrubbing of her face, she stares at her sullen reflection in the bathroom mirror. "I'm going to be fine. He's not going to find me." Mirror-Blake looks back, unfazed by the reassurance. "It's going to be okay," she offers again.

Mirror-Blake raises an eyebrow, frowning. And?

"And… it's probably not a big deal. Yang will understand."

On Saturday, Yang is the only one awake as she leaves the house.

The calm of dawn, while normally one of her favourite sensations, is completely overcome by her jittery eagerness to depart.

She loads the truck with several fresh boxes of jarred honey, and only briefly laments not having processed the first batch of beeswax for this weekend before revving the spluttering engine and beginning the drive to the market.

The drive in is always somewhat frustrating with the sunrise happening all the while right in front of her, slightly to the left, so that even with the sun visor down visibility is either limited or painful. What's more, even for Yang, the light always feels uncomfortably warm inside the cab of the truck, especially in contrast to the morning air.

Today, however, Yang feels as if the sun is welcoming her with open arms, giving her life. She imagines the light washing away her weariness and amplifying her attributes, and the heat melting away her misgivings and stimulating her synapses. Grinning and giddy with anticipation, she nods her head enthusiastically with the varying beats of the pulse-pounding songs crackling over the radio.

Arriving a few minutes earlier than usual, she buys herself a large cinnamon coffee before setting up shop, greeting the other vendors with enthusiasm all the while. Their distant neighbour, Tiana Pine, already has three tables full of spring produce and flowers.

As Yang passes by with a box of honey, Tiana waves her over. The middle-aged woman is wearing her usual olive green overalls over a simple white blouse. "Good morning, dear! Oscar showed me your sister's post about your father! How is he doing?" she inquires, pale green eyes full of concern.

Setting the box down carefully at the edge of the Pines' table, Yang beams with sun-enhanced energy. "G'morning! He's okay. Ruby and Zwei are keeping an eye on him today. He won't be working for a while though," she explains, her smile fading slightly.

"Oh dear. Well it's a good thing he has you girls to look out for him," she consoles, offering a sympathetic smile that highlights the many creases in her worn, tanned skin, then purses cracked lips. "My nephew could learn a thing or two from you," she says under her breath, before brushing a strand of dark, greying hair aside and resurrecting her smile. "You be careful not to overwork yourself."

Yang's chuckle is less sunny, but feels sufficient enough a response to wrap up their conversation. "I'll try," she says, reaching for her box once more.

"Hold it, young lady." Yang freezes in place under the sudden, familiar authority in Tiana's voice - not since she had last visited the Pines' farm with Ruby as children had she been confronted with that tone, after a vase had been found shattered on the floor. A gloved hand reaches across the table, a cloth bag in hand. "On the house," the older woman insists, placing the bag on top of Yang's jars with a serious expression. "You let us know if we can ever do anything more to help."

At a glance, Yang sees the leafy tips of a number of greens sticking out of the overstuffed bag. Overwhelmed at once by surprise and gratitude, she half-nods. "W-wow, uh... " she starts, but her tongue fails to find the right words for a while, so she simply bows her head deeper and smiles. "Okay."

"Good!" Tiana exclaims, leaning back in her wooden chair. "Now run along; I can tell you're eager to get set up for the day, and you should be!" she smiles conspiratorially.

Yang's face flushes mid-hoist, and she nearly drops the box and the bag perched on top. What?! How…?

"I've been raving about your honey to anyone who will listen. You're in for a busy day!" Tiana chuckles, waving Yang away.

...Oh. "Th-thank you so much!" Yang manages, bowing again as best she can before striding away with an anxious energy boost.

As she nears their market stall, she allows herself to slow down and catch her breath. A newer anxiety surfaces amidst her bubbling excitement. The unexpected charity of their neighbours is not unwelcome, but it does help shed a new light on the circumstances. While Taiyang's job isn't entirely jeopardized by his injury, and while they certainly have the means to live comfortably for the near future…

Right now… I'm the only one working to support this family.

The thought isn't particularly affected by any one emotion. It's just… there; a vaguely uncomfortable, immovable fact, floating aimlessly among Yang's various thoughts. It's a fact that, she supposes, she has partially prepared for and anticipated over a long period of time, and so its impact is only notable because of the peculiarity - and hopefully temporary nature - of the situation.

She lets this sink in as she finishes her preparations, seating herself purposefully in one of their two folding chairs. She sets the other one aside at first, but decides to prepare the seat for her expected visitor… just in case . The thought stirs the muted sunlight in her soul, and her giddy smile springs back into place.

I hope Blake comes soon. Even hearing the name in her thoughts gives her goosebumps.

In a matter of minutes, Yang makes half a dozen sales to an early rush of people. If Tiana's right about business, I could probably use a hand, she thinks, smiling at the idea.

Blake leaves her room twice that weekend.

The first time, Saturday at 12:36 PM, she opts for a balance of inconspicuous and concealing attire: a dark purple flannel shirt worn loosely over a plain dark grey shirt, baggy black sweat pants, and unremarkable black flats. Reluctantly (given both the warmer weather and the smothering involved) she pulls her dark purple winter beanie over her head, allowing her hair to spill out the back and sides in a surprisingly convincing "disheveled law student" look.

Having talked herself through her route dozens of times in her study breaks, she finds herself oddly calm given her breakdown two days prior. The tunnels will be sparsely populated. Today's rally is during my exam, on the other end of campus. I'm not going to see or hear him, and no one is going to bother a lone, harried student trying to enjoy a safe, peaceful walk to or from an exam.

The most dangerous part, she figures, is leaving Fall Hall, where she will be exposed to her fellow dorm-mates as well as whoever is passing by outside.

She reaches for the door. I can do this .

Thankfully, despite the growing campus-wide appreciation for the outdoors and the break in classes, she encounters no one who pays her any mind as she slips into a side door of the next building over.

From there she wanders cautiously through a quiet hallway full of professors' offices before finding a stairwell, which she surmises will take her to the tunnels. Again, she is relieved as the basement landing opens out to a locker-lined tunnel that leads off in the anticipated direction. A map next to the doorway indicates her current position, which she only needs to glance at to know the way; she had committed the entire tunnel map to memory, just in case .

As expected, there are very few people using the tunnels: an equally disheveled young man fumbling with the lock on his locker, a weary professor sifting through her bag on her way out to an adjoined stairwell, a pair of students chatting loudly about how well they probably did on their morning exam, and… she stops paying attention after that, choosing to focus inwards to combat the rising tension in her body.

Next left. Take the rightmost branch from there. Make sure you're under Engineering… this thought gives her pause, though her body carries on its purposeful-but-not-too-energetic gait. Does Ruby ever use the tunnels?

Fresh conflict digs itself deeper into her focus. She can't afford a distraction, or being seen by anyone who might know her, especially Ruby, who might ask about her visiting Yang. On the other hand, Ruby is hardly a worrisome presence, and it might be better to have company on this covert journey. Plus, I could apologize to Yang through her, without seeming so… ugh. Weird.

Her contemplation almost keeps her from recognizing the sign for the Engineering stairwell, and she doubles back to make sure. Well, no Ruby, but I'm going the right way.

Checking her scroll for the time, she breathes another faint sigh of relief - 12:49 PM, and almost there. By her calculations she would get there just in time to blend in with the crowd gathered outside the door and then slip in without a word. Then it would just be a matter of actually writing the darn thing - but despite the many anxious distractions from her studies, she feels confident in her coverage of Professor Goodwitch's materials.

I can do this .

Rounding one last corner, she spots the stairwell to her destination. The insulation of the tunnels, combined with her own relatively warm outfit, has her panting slightly as sweat beads uncomfortably all over her body. Almost there .

As she nears a juncture, she hears the obnoxious guffawing of a few students from down the leftmost hallway, and a trio of young men round the bend to walk past her. The smallest of them, a scrawny young man with a shaved head save for a tufty, pale green mohawk, blabs something through their laughter: "Animal rights rally! That's rich. I gotta tell Cardin that one."

Blake forces herself to continue her stride towards the juncture, though every fiber of her being suddenly feels compelled to smack some respect into these boys. She narrows her eyes as they draw near, but they seem content to continue their joking among themselves, ignorant of their surroundings. She considers that without full context she may not fully grasp the true meaning of their words, but… no. She knows racism when she hears it.

She turns her gaze from them just as another individual enters the juncture.

Icy blue eyes follow the trio down the hallway as Weiss Schnee stalks slowly after them, seemingly reluctant to share their path but resigned to the experience given the pace she would likely have to keep to pass them.

Blake looks ahead before Weiss can catch her eye, but as she passes she's pretty sure she sees Weiss turn her head in her direction.

Blake keeps walking, a swarm of concern held back by her insistence on reaching the stairs.

Weiss' heels continue clacking away in the distance.

Throwing the door to her intended destination open, Blake exorcises her thoughts as she begins her ascension. Was she with them? No, she didn't look happy with them. But she didn't say anything about their comments… well, she might not have heard them… no, there's no way she didn't hear them. Does she feel the same way? Even if she doesn't, she let them go on like that… but that's three against one if she provokes them, so, maybe…

At the top of the stairs, Blake scans the hall for her exam room, noting a nearby clock displaying "12:54 PM" above a crowd of people… her classmates.

I made it .

She shelves her misgivings about Weiss for now, and slinks into the crowd.

I can do this.

At 12:59 PM, the doors to the lecture hall open to an expectant Professor Goodwitch, who curtly ushers them inside.

At 1:03 PM, Blake puts pencil to paper, lamenting the sheer quantity of multiple choice bubbles.

At 1:55 PM, Blake wracks her brain for a way to word her short answer that doesn't come across as needlessly snide regarding the Atlesian government.

At 2:34 PM, Blake begins her final long answer, a mini-essay arguing either for or against one of the current legal systems in practice around the world.

At 3:11 PM, Blake approaches Professor Goodwitch's desk, timing her approach with another student, to hand in her exam. "Thank you. See you bright and early tomorrow," responds the professor, addressing them both at once.

At 3:12 PM, Blake leaves her exam room, already struggling to remember exactly what she had written, but more concerned with her return trek.

The return journey is devoid of other people. While relieving at first, this proves to be a different kind of unsettling, and Blake stifles a gasp for fresh air when she opens the side door leading out to Fall Hall.

At 3:31 PM, Blake closes the door to her room in Fall Hall, and shortly thereafter collapses on her bed in relief.

I did it .

Once more she spends many long minutes just breathing as she grasps her momentary victory.

That evening she allows herself a lengthy recreational reading break and a brief nap to combat the hint of oncoming menstrual cramps, before half-enjoying a canned dinner and further review for Sunday's exam. By sunset she feels thoroughly empowered by the day's success, and settles into bed for the night with a weak smile on her face.

Shadows crawl further and further along the ground, climbing trucks and stalls and the central market facility like intangible ivy as the sun slowly descends from its zenithal point.

Yang barely notices the time passing until the crowds begin to thin and the small but constant stream of her own customers dwindles to naught but a few harried latecomers.

Finally, as the afternoon heat begins to subside, she flops back in her chair. The flimsy fabric backing protests the sudden force with a surprised creak, but Yang is determined to sit back and catch her breath.

Downing the last third of her second bottle of water, she cringes slightly as the liquid coats her raw throat. If that's not a new record for customers, it's at least a new record for time spent talking to them. Just as Tiana had said, she had been faced with her busiest day yet, and in hindsight, Yang has trouble distinguishing between the vast quantity of faces and pleasantries exchanged in such a relatively short time.

She double-checks the paths for potential customers, but sees no one approaching. Many of her fellow vendors have already packed up, or are in the midst of doing so. The Pines' tables are empty, having all but sold out about an hour ago. With a sigh of relief, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, giving into her chair's tenuous support.

After a careful minute of focused breathing, she finds her mind wandering. I hope it's not like this tomorrow… The thought is bittersweet, though; the inherent success of her sales, and ultimately what that entails for the family, are of course a source of tremendous encouragement and relief, maybe even pride. But another full morning and afternoon of relentless business?

Yang's stomach groans loudly.

I didn't even have time for a proper lunch , she realizes. She hadn't felt it until now, but slipping samples for herself between customers hardly constitutes a meal. Jolting forward, she reaches into a bag under the table, procuring a slice of bread, which she douses with honey from a sample jar and stuffs into her mouth.

In her desperation, the pleasant flavour is overwhelmed by the simple relief of just eating . This calls to memory an uncomfortable number of days from the past several months in which she had also neglected such a simple necessity, or at least hadn't eaten properly on her own time, for whatever reason. Frowning through the remnants of her snack, she leans back once more in thought, prodding soft belly through her shirt. It's been so long...

BVVVFT.

Yang's eyes dart around the table in front of her, searching for her scroll. From the shelf below she spies the screen, flashing: "4:00 PM! Time to go!"

She sighs again, leaning forward and pocketing the scroll as she makes to stand. Every muscle in her body seems to groan as she reaches up in a dramatic stretch, pushing back against the stiffness and soreness from her sedentary sales position. As if channeling her muscles' protests, she groans audibly as she swivels her arms and leans into one leg, then the other.

"Welp, that's that…" she says to no one in particular, eyeing the remnants of her wares. "Pretty good, if I do say so myself!" Despite her somber musings, the new, false energy in her voice does help to brighten her spirits, and she begins re-packaging her boxes, humming cheerily all the while.

With the truck fully loaded, Yang returns to the stall one last time to tidy up. Only a few stragglers remain, wandering the empty paths with little visible interest in the few vendors toughing out the last afternoon hours. An older couple take turns loading their own truck, sharing affectionate hand and shoulder pats, chuckling at some shared joke or swatting each other teasingly.

Smiling, Yang stretches once more in the gentle warmth of the sunlight, recalling how the sun had seemingly given her so much energy that morning. Good thing , she thinks. I probably wouldn't have been able to keep up otherwise . She begins to fold down the old patio umbrella that had kept her in the shade all day, and eyes the two folding chairs behind the table. Can I keep this up... alone?

She recalls her recent encounter with her mysteriously sort-of friend Blake, and shakes her head as she folds up the chairs. Some date , she scoffs, trudging back to the truck. This is silly. Even if she comes tomorrow, what am I so excited about? I'll be swamped and she no doubt has better things to do than suddenly volunteer her time to help someone she doesn't even know.

She departs the market in the truck, leaving behind a burst of noxious truck fumes, but an equally potent cloud of doubt follows.

Maybe I didn't see that right. Maybe she was just being polite. Maybe she was confused. Heck, I was too.

Maybe I'm thinking too much about this. Maybe she's not even interested in making friends. Maybe she's got a lot on her plate. Ruby has exams next week, so she probably does at some point too.

Maybe I'm coming on way too strong. Maybe I should be focusing on more pressing matters. Maybe I should worry about real things in the present instead of imaginary things in the future. Dad and Ruby need me to keep up, after all.

By the time she arrives back home, Yang's inner monologue has drained and sobered her so completely that she struggles to fulfill her enhanced evening obligations of unloading the truck, tidying the yard, making dinner (grateful for the Pines' fresh greens in her salad) and cleaning the kitchen amidst her family's various moment-to-moment needs and conversations. Thankfully, Zwei gives up hounding her for attention early on, Ruby gives up prying about who was at the market after Yang only ever manages one-word answers, and Taiyang is too groggy and grumpy to do or comment on much of anything, though his condition has improved.

While Ruby eases Taiyang into bed upstairs, Yang departs the kitchen, leaving a glistening collection of dishware to dry on the rack by the sink. The TV mumbles quietly nearby, and Yang eagerly crosses the living room and falls back into worn couch cushions, still warm from her father's presence.

With the remote just out of reach, she resigns to straining to hear Lisa Lavender's report on the Vale News Network channel, squinting at the screen to make out the headline: something about White Fang rallies at Beacon University.

The White Fang… didn't Sun say Blake was a bit of an activist or something? Maybe she was busy with that…

Yang huffs at the haplessly hopeful relapse in her inner monologue, and grunts as she reaches across the table for the remote. She thumbs the power button, and the screen fades back into the projector, allowing silence to permeate the room. A twang of guilt tugs her mouth into a frown. I should be paying more attention to these things in general if I'm ever going to be half the ally, or friend, I intend to be.

She sighs, but returns the remote to the table anyways, inundated by the quiet of the house, the first real aural break she'd had since she revved the truck's engine that morning.

She lays her head back, closing her eyes…

"Yaaang!" a shrill, annoyed voice intones, breaking the silence.

Yang shifts uncomfortably against the cushions, righting herself from a horizontal position on the couch. Her hair sticks to her face, and her limbs offer intense, dull resistance to her commands.

"Bedtime for you too, huh?" the voice asks with a tentative giggle. Yang turns to find her sister behind her, leaning against the couch with a compassionate grin.

"Ruby, what… how long was I…?" Yang croaks, her throat dry. I just closed my eyes...

"I dunno. Maybe an hour? I came down for a, um…" Ruby's composure cracks as she searches for the words. " Study break!" she smiles sheepishly. "I was gonna grab a snack and saw you sleeping there."

Yang smirks, spotting the lie immediately. "How are Jaune and Penny?" she asks, playing down her discomfort as she peels her hair from her face.

"Really good!" Ruby beams, raising her fists triumphantly. "We make a great teeeaaaa-I mean, study group," she catches herself, eyes darting around the room.

With immense effort, Yang manages to stand from the couch without groaning in tandem with the rest of her body, and reaches across to ruffle her sister's hair. "Sounds like fun," she smiles at her sister's token resistance, heading for the stairs. "Don't stay up too late," she says over her shoulder, waving good night.

After a vaguely-too-long shower in which she twice forgets her place in her process of lathering and rinsing, Yang collapses on her bed, and barely has time to entertain any further thoughts before sleep overtakes her.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe next week.

Maybe… nothing.

The next morning, Blake departs in the same outfit, confident in her altered route to her new destination, and with much less tension in her body.

She is halfway down the steps of Fall Hall when someone calls her name.

"Blake!" From the walkway out front, Ilia's voice echoes off the brick facades.

Blake turns away from her destination next door to greet her, insides coiled up in a resurgence of anxiety, and manages a stiff wave.

Ilia bounds over in a hooded black windbreaker, her neutral blue-grey eyes shimmering with excitement, threatening to shift to a brighter colour. "How's it goin'?" she asks.

"I'm… fine. Just on my way to an exam," Blake replies, keeping her tone calm and quiet. Ilia eyes Blake's destination with confusion, so Blake adds, "Taking the tunnels today."

"Oh, gotcha," Ilia nods uncertainly. "I forgot to ask the other day: Are you gonna check out the rally later?" she adds, eyes lightening a shade.

"No." Blake says it with more force than she intends, the tension in her body willing her to leave as soon as possible, and Ilia is taken aback momentarily.

"Oh… okay," she tentatively responds, but she appears to realize something, and her eyes darken. "Is it because… you and Adam?"

"Yes."

"Ah, I'm sorry, I guess I never heard much about the breakup. It was… pretty bad, then?"

Blake fights the urge to scream - not necessarily at Ilia, but just in general. "...Yes." That's… putting it lightly.

Ilia nods sympathetically, rubbing her neck. "Okay, sorry, I should probably let you-"

"Ilia," Blake interrupts, her voice cracking. " Please don't tell him I'm here, or anything about me,... I-if you talk to him at all. But… please, just don't ," she pleads, her eyes stinging.

"Blake… I-I won't, I promise!" Ilia responds, eyes wider, and bluer. She steps closer, raising an arm to Blake's shoulder. "Blake, are you-"

"I have to go," Blake cuts her off, turning and running into the building that would lead her safely away from the outside world and to her stupid, awful, worthless, pointless exam. She's pretty sure Ilia calls out after her, which just makes her want to scream more: Stop saying my name!

Halfway through her intended tunnel route she finally slows and catches her breath, wiping away anguished tears and whispering reassuring words to herself: "It's fine. You'll be okay. He'll never know. You can do this." She doesn't convince herself much, but she does seem to give off a satisfying performance to the odd passersby, who seem to consider her just another pitiable first year crumbling under exam stress, and worth giving as wide a berth as possible.

The rest of the morning drifts by in a state of delirium, in which Blake's hand cramps up several times to match her stomach cramps, which only grow in intensity until she blearily drops her exam in Professor Goodwitch's basket.

She manages to shuffle back to her room undisturbed once more, where she again collapses on her bed. This time, though, she has no need, intention, or desire to rise from it until called upon - perhaps even as late as her Thursday meeting with Ilia and Sun, where she will no doubt have to either explain her outburst or risk dodging prying questions the whole time.

A wisp of morbid curiosity inspires her to open her scroll, finding the White Fang of Vale on Facebook. Making a conscious effort to ignore the bulk of the text, she eyes the rally dates once more.

Sure enough, the next rally is tomorrow in Vacuo. Blake sighs deeply, but it comes out as more of a sob of relief.

He's almost gone. I just have to stay here until tomorrow.

Warm tears begin soaking into her pillow has she sobs through a bittersweet smile.

I did it.

Hello again (again)!

Thankfully I got a good chunk of this done early (as in, last summer)... and then ended up splitting it into two chapters. Why yes, that does mean Chapter 6 is already well underway (albeit in need of significant review)! Pretty good, for me. I might not be able to make up for the ridiculous hiatus but I can at least feel confident about updating before another... 9-ish... months pass.

For the record, I'm pretty new to content warnings and the like, so please let me know if I can indicate something better in the future. I know I promised feels and fluff and so far it's mostly been angsty feels, but I swear to you the good times are coming! This crazy cute idea just keeps growing a plot of its own...

Blake's "disguise" was partially inspired by some of dashingicecream's adorable art. Again, another fabulous RWBY fanartist with a distinct, cute style!

As always, thanks to Reeves3 and elfcow for early beta feedback and support. Additional shout-out to my small but mighty pool of followers on Tumblr who continued to offer encouragement even when I whine and ramble about every writing block and related tangent, at least until I also took a hiatus from Tumblr as well... oh yes, and eternal thanks to my North Star for giving me so much to look forward to 3

And of course, thanks to you for your patience, and reading and (hopefully) leaving some feedback or comments of your own! I make an effort to read and respond to every comment/review I get so you don't have to worry about talking to a wall or shouting into the void.

OH! Almost forgot - some beautiful soul with the username "lo911e" did some adorable artwork inspired by this fic, and when I saw it it made my day! Please check it out at post/182225329834

Cheers,

-kms