So far, Blake Belladonna has redefined her definition of happiness a total of four times.

Her first definition forms at six years old.

She comes home from school, finishes her homework in ten minutes and immediately plays with her Barbie and Bratz dolls. Like a good deity, she makes them suffer problem after problem, puts them through several breakups and lots of crying. Sometimes she's nice and lets them hang out with their friends without much happening, maybe put on some makeup using pen markers, but that's only on very very rare occasions.

Sometimes they even get married (though she doesn't admit it's usually between dolls she doesn't want to play with anymore) and she makes wedding bouquets out of Kleenex.

When her dad comes home, she abandons her creations on the living room floor and bullets to him, her arms already reaching up. She lets out a woohoo! when he hoists her up to his shoulders. She's not tall enough for her head to reach the ceiling yet, but she's getting there just you wait. She noisily kisses the top of his head and plays with his hair.

"Good evening, Blake." Ghira lowers her onto his arm and smiles. "How was your day?"

"Good." She plays with his tie, loosening it. "Trisha and Paul broke up, but Jack and Hayden are still good."

"Oh?"

"Yup. And maybe tomorrow Trisha and Paul can talk and make up, but I have to make sure Trisha apologises first."

"Why did they break up?"

She rolls her eyes as if the answer should've been obvious. "She wouldn't share her lunch at school."

"That ought to do it."

"Yup. But Anna and Alex are okay. They're just talking."

"That's good. Are they dating?"

"Mmm, no. Not yet. Anna knows that Alex and Hayden like her, but she doesn't want to choose."

"Maybe she doesn't have to."

Blake considers this. "Maybe. She can be alone."

"Everybody needs somebody important," Ghira tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "but it doesn't have to be a relationship."

"Anna doesn't even know Alex and Hayden that good."

"Maybe they'll be better off as friends."

"Maybe." Blake files this for later. Ghira sets down his briefcase on the couch as they pass the living room. She pretends not to see the wince when he sees her dolls strewn all over.

"Which one's Trisha?"

She points. "That one. The black hair one. See? She's talking to her mom because she's sad."

"Because she and Paul broke up."

"Yup. Paul's over there," she points again, "with his friends. He's trying not to look sad."

Ghira chuckles. "Okay. Where's your mom?"

"Mom's in the kitchen making dinner. We're having baked salmon." She makes sure to enunciate.

"Your favourite."

Ghira heads for the kitchen and winks at Blake. Immediately knowing the cue, she grins and nods vigorously, tucking her elbows in position. He walks up to his wife, who's looking out the open window above the stove, and Blake claps her hands over her mom's eyes from behind.

Kali's voice is full of smiles and mirth. "Blake, is that you?"

"Yup!"

"You couldn't even reach my elbow when I picked you up from school today."

"I drank milk!"

"And you grew up that fast?"

"Yup!"

"We can make a fortune with that milk."

"No, no. Just for us."

"Us?"

Her mom may have meant her and Blake, but Blake's already bursting with giggles and she exclaims, "Busted! Dad's home!"

Kali turns with a smile as wide as Blake's. "Welcome home, Ghira."

Ghira laughs and kisses the top of his wife's head. He sets Blake down on a chair, and she swings her legs as Ghira sets the table.

It's like this almost every night, but there's something happening in Blake's mind. She catalogues everything happening right now, right this second. How her dad places down plates and forks and knives, giving her a soft smile and telling her dinner should be ready any minute. How he goes to her mom, brushes a hand down her back before whispering something in her ear. How her mom throws her head back laughing and he grins proudly, his eyes crinkling on the sides.

She didn't know what it was then, not really.

But all six year old Blake knew is that she really really wanted that for herself one day.

Winter in Los Angeles can either mean two things: rain or no rain. Obviously, she would prefer the latter because that means people were more willing to go outside which means more customers which means more flowers for her to play with which means more green lining her pockets.

Right now though, as she stares out the window, Blake isn't even sure if she's supposed to call this rain.

It's a biblical, torrential downpour that makes Noah's measly world-ending flood look like a puddle. The accompanying thunder sounds like a whip cracked on concrete, the rip of lightning spider-webbing across the graphite sky. The water droplets don't even look like rain; it's like someone just took a bottomless bucket of water, went up to the sky and tipped it.

Blake sighs and goes to the shop door, turning the small wooden sign over to Open. She's opening alone this morning, but her mom would be coming over to help with what she hopes would be an existent lunch rush.

She heads for the backroom, deciding to get a start on chores. Habitually, she turns on the radio connected to the speakers around the shop. She barely registers the first song as she rummages through drawers for clean brushes, finds them, and begins her attack on the small clay pots covered in soil and debris. It's actually an easy fight won, so she turns to the larger pots soon after.

It's a routine that she doesn't let become a routine. That would suggest monotony, and her business was anything but monotonous. Beauty's Roses and Gardens wasn't big enough to warrant an everyday trip, but her weekend and midweek adventure to the flower markets are something out of a dream. She allows herself to enjoy the myriad of scents from the fresh-cut flowers, just gardens and centrepieces waiting to happen. She lets herself laugh at some of the prices vendors put out, before settling in to haggle.

After pots and vases of all sizes practically outsparkled the sun, she moves on to mixing gallons of flower food and water, storing them in wide, glass containers. She's just finishing her second container when the bell above the front door rings. She glances at the security monitor and hurries to seal the container when she sees a customer.

She doesn't rush out — that would be unprofessional — but her long strides gets her to the counter. She smiles easily when she recognises who had come in.

"Mr. Rogers." Bordering seventy five (or sixty if you ask him), George Rogers is a sweet soul with a knack of getting into trouble with his grandkids. The last Blake's heard, the old man had been on a stepladder fixing a lightbulb, which apparently he should not be doing with his deteriorating joints. With that in mind, she flashes a grin, "Been playing with lightbulbs lately?"

George guffaws, sliding his umbrella into one of the holders by the door. "They took my stepladder, my lightbulbs and the lawnmower. Now I have to wait for one of them to remember to cut the grass. Darn kids."

Blake doesn't miss the wholehearted affection behind the words. "Do they forget often?"

"No, but only because I tell Lucy to call them about it," he says, referring to his equally sweet wife. "Which brings me to why I'm here."

Blake offers a chair and George thumps down in relief. "Thank you. So, Lucy and I will be reaching our golden anniversary in two weeks."

Blake pushes through the moment of shock and obediently says, "Wow."

"Absolutely. I don't know how I put up with her this long." He winks when she chuckles. "Anyway. I'd like to ask if you..." he pulls out a photograph from inside his jacket, "can replicate this."

Leaning against the counter, she takes the photo and her mind went to goo. It's George and Lucy, looking like the luckiest couple on earth. It's obvious that this was on their wedding day with the way they stood stiffly on the church stairs in a tux and gown, though their smiles remained genuine and unprovoked. After a quick glance at the boutonnière and everything else, Blake's attention zeroes in on Lucy's wedding bouquet. The posy is on the simpler side, apt considering the time period, and it looked perfect for the small woman. The photograph is in black and white, but she can make out the centre flower just by their size and bloom.

"You two look beautiful," she says finally.

"Yes, she does."

"You want me to replicate the bouquet?"

"Yes. I want to surprise her with it, you see. She doesn't think I'm doing anything, so—"

"I can keep a secret, Mr. Rogers," she says with a small smile.

"Yes," George repeats and smiles back. "So will you do it?"

"I would be honoured. I'll take a picture of the photo on my phone so you can take it back." As she grabs her phone from her back pocket, she asks for basic details. It's to be picked up the day of the anniversary, along with a vase and some flower food. It's to be spared no expenses, though she's certain this wouldn't cost much. And, to her relief, she is allowed to take some creative liberties.

"I'll get you the invoice when it's finished, Mr. Rogers," she tells him as she hands him his umbrella at the door.

"Yes. Thank you, Blake. And you'll keep this a secret between us?"

"My lips are sealed."

"Good."

Filled with excitement from a new project, Blake all but skips back to the backroom. She finishes mixing and storing the rest of the flower food, handles the small group that had come to peruse, rings up a small arrangement of red and white roses. She is sitting on a stool stripping stems when Kali comes in through the door wearing a raincoat.

"Hey!" Blake beams at her.

"Hi, honey." Kali sheds the raincoat and hooks it onto the back of the door. The storm continues to batter against the windows, demanding entry. "It is pouring out there. Did you bring an umbrella?"

"Yes, thank God. It started just as I got out of the house. How's Dad?"

"He's fine. He was a bit grouchy this morning, but that's mainly because his new interns aren't very... well-trained. You know, the kind that excelled in the classroom but couldn't apply it in a real workplace. He'll deal with them. How was your morning?"

"It was good. We have a new order."

It always earns Kali a thrill when her daughter says we. This time is no different. "What is it?"

"Mr. Rogers has asked us to replicate his wife's bouquet for their golden anniversary."

"Lucy's wedding bouquet?" Kali's eyes dances. "It was a pretty one, if I recall. Small."

"It was." Blake stops stripping long enough to show her the picture. "See?"

Kali studies the photo. She doesn't have Blake's intuition and adoration for flowers, so she's not entirely sure what the bouquet includes. She asks.

"Hm," Blake looks at the photo, upside down from her position, "The ones in her hair are daisies, definitely. Isn't that clever? Using daisies as a veil. Then it flows down to here, see, to her sleeves and the bouquet itself. I might fluff it out, maybe lily of the valleys, definitely baby's breath. Even Mr. Rogers has daisies for his boutonnière."

She realises she's completely hunched over her phone, fingers absently combing through her bob and looks up to see Kali writing down the flowers she'd mentioned. "Just for tomorrow's trip down to the flower markets," Kali says.

She smiles, "Thanks, Mom."

They both look up when the bell rings, sees another group wandering the floral walls through the security monitor. Blake's about to stand when Kali waves her off. "You finish those off. I can handle them."

"Okay. Thanks."

As Kali sails out, the phone on the wall rings in a probable customer. Blake looks back at the monitor to see more people come in. The rain apparently deterred nobody; she should've expected it from Los Angeles. She allows herself a small grin, nothing else, before she picks up the phone.

By closing, geraniums of all shades, marigolds, chrysanthemums, Rosa mutabilis and a boatload of poinsettias were added to the list for tomorrow's market. Amongst other things.

She'd told Kali to go home after two hours of no customers, so she's closing on her own. The sun is just setting when she shuts the shop's small safe. The rain had dialled back to a sprinkle, to her surprise, and it makes the sunset look washed out through the window. As she turns off the lights, preparing to head home, she answers her phone on its second ring.

"Hello?"

"Blake!"

She smiles. "Hi, Sun."

"Where've you been, dude? I've been trying to call you all damn week."

"I—"

"Doesn't matter, doesn't matter. What matters now is you coming to Neptune's place tonight."

She vaguely remembers getting an invitation to a Christmas party at Neptune's. "I didn't know that was today."

"It's in a few hours. You'll come, right? I'll be there. I mean, obviously I'll be there or I wouldn't have asked. Anyway, it'll be hella cool I promise."

"Sun," she begins, but there's already a sort of defeated acceptance in her tone because it's Sun, "it's been a really long day. I—"

"Just for a few hours," he insists. "Please? I'll even pick you up and drop you home. Come on, where's your Christmas spirit?"

"Christmas isn't until a week away," she tries with no real conviction.

"Aw, come on, Blakey. Just for a few hours. I won't leave your side the whoooole time."

Blake sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I'll have dinner, I guess."

"Great!" Sun seems all too happy. "What time should I—"

"No, no. I'll get there myself, just text me the address."

"Yeah yeah yeah, no problem. I'll be at the front steps."

Blake reminds herself that it's a good thing she's going out, that she's hanging out with friends.

But as the noise increases in volume — undoubtedly from the house with the bright lights and cars spilling from the driveway — it's getting harder to not turn tail and run.

"Just at that house," she tells her Uber driver.

"Some party, huh?"

"Mm-hmm." Some party.

When the driver rolls to a stop in front of Neptune's front porch, she juts out her umbrella first; it's still sprinkling. She thanks her driver, slides out of the car and stiffens when she's immediately engulfed in a bear hug, then relaxes when her senses are overloaded with Axe body spray. Having a tradition to uphold, she wrestles away, careful to keep the umbrella upright, "Sun, you're suffocating me."

"You came!" Sun, with his boyish and affable grin, studies her under his own umbrella. "Lookin' good, Blakey."

She supposes the plum oversized turtleneck sweater she paired with black jeans and boots of matching colour with the sweater makes quite the picture.

"Thanks."

Sun jerks a thumb towards the party. "Come on, let's get out of the rain. How was work?"

"Busy," is all she says. "It's Christmas season."

"Damn right it is!" He opens the door to a remix of Jingle Bell Rock that makes her ribcage thud with the bass. Her vision is a flurry of dangling Christmas lights, champagne-filled glasses and neon spotlights over the living-room-turned-dance floor. Already, far too many people come and greet Sun, like he hasn't been inside the past hour. It's like an intervention, but he finally gets a chance to introduce her to a girl sober — or nice — enough to ask who he was with.

"This is Blake Belladonna, florist extraordinaire!"

This is what she likes about Sun. He's either all bravado, brandishing every word he says like it's a bunny out of a hat or he's quiet, listening earnestly to what she had to say. He's usually good (usually. there has been mishaps.) at figuring out which Sun she needs at a given point in time, even if she didn't know it.

He knows parts of her past, the parts she's allowed him to know. It isn't any more than anybody else's knowledge of her, but she feels Sun is intuitive enough to figure out the rest. She doesn't correct him, doesn't add more to the story. She nods along, because it helps her separate that Blake from this Blake.

"Nice to meet you."

Blake belatedly realises she tuned out on the girl's name. They shake hands. "Ah, yeah. You, too."

"We need to get you a drink," Sun is already herding Blake to the kitchen before she can say anything.

"I just wanted dinner—"

"Dinner and a drink. You didn't even drive here. I could've spare you the forty bucks you'll spend on Uber tonight."

"But then I wouldn't be able to leave if you wanted to stay."

"You could've ordered the Uber from here. That's still twenty bucks saved."

"You wouldn't let me."

"Yes, I would!"

"Sun," she says his name fondly, "no, you wouldn't have."

He sighs. "Yeah, okay, I wouldn't have."

He hands her a flute of champagne, clinks it with his and they both take a sip. "Food station's just over there," he points towards the long table with silver chafing dishes lined up, "plates are over there. Fork and stuff are at the end of the table, but I'd just use hands. It's finger food."

"Okay."

"And don't get the potato wedges. They're a bit cold. Definitely some of the sliders. Maybe the calamari."

Blake lifts an eyebrow. "You want me to get you a plate."

The answering grin and head scratching gives her the answer before he says, "Yes, please."

They find a spot to sit by the stairs. They tried sitting next to each other, but for reasons Blake would rather not know, people went up and down the stairs in alarming frequency. Sun ends up having to sit two steps above her, and she has to lean against the wall to talk to him properly.

She pauses in the act of eating a nugget when Neptune rushes up to them. "Hey! Finally. Blake, you look great."

"Thanks, Neptune. Great party."

"Thank you," he says with a bow. "Um. What're you guys doing on the stairs?"

Sun pointedly waves the slider in his hand. "Eating. Duh."

"There's heaps of chairs around. Why not just grab some?"

"There weren't any when we looked. Besides, it's comfortable here."

As Sun claims that, two guys murmur excuse me's and sorry's as they tiptoe down the stairs.

"Yeah," Neptune deadpans. "So comfortable."

Blake hides her smile in a calamari and cuts in before Sun could initiate a full-scale banter. "So, Neptune, how's the book going?"

"It's going good!" He drops down on the step between Blake and Sun, laying across it. "I actually just came back from Colorado two days ago, from a much needed sabbatical. It gave me enough writing juice to finish the second last chapter."

"He found a girl," Sun clarifies.

"I had to leave her, the poor thing. I hope she wasn't as devastated as I am."

"You forgot her name."

"That does not mean I didn't care for her," Neptune feigns hurt. "She was quite the muse."

Blake rolls her eyes. Neptune goes through muses like bags of chips, never really settling for one. She'd called him out on it before, but all he said was that he had a writer's heart, whatever the hell that meant.

"Oh, yeah," Neptune sits up. "Do you guys remember Pyrrha and Jaune?"

Sun snorts before popping his last chicken nugget in his mouth. "The most unlikely couple in the history of ever? Yeah."

"I caught up with them while I was there. They're engaged. Woah." Alarmed, Neptune moves out of the line of fire as Sun chokes on the nugget.

"What?"

Blake's eyes widen. "Really?"

"I know, right? It's only been a few months since Pyrrha's moved there, but I guess Jaune wanted to tie her down."

"I can see that," Blake considers it, nibbling on the last macaron. "Yeah, I can see that. Good for them."

Neptune gives Sun one hard slap on the back that sends the undigested nugget out of his throat and onto the floor. "Disgusting," Neptune rolls his eyes. "Clean that up, bro. Anyway, they seemed happy. They were looking for a wedding planner when we caught up."

She nods. "Ah."

"You're from there, right? Know anyone?"

"I haven't been there in years, Neptune. I don't know anyone."

Neptune shrugs. "Figured I'd ask. They told me they'll be asking you for florals."

"Me?" Blake blinks. "From all the way here?"

"I mean, if anybody can make it happen, you can. They wanted to include as many friends as possible. They already got Nora and Ren for catering."

"Oh."

"I'm sure they'll call you," Neptune tells her as Sun grumbles and picks up the nugget with a napkin.

"But—"

Two guys run up to them, slightly red from effort or alcohol. "Hey man," one pants out, "They're using your trident for Pin The Santa. We swear, we told them not to."

"Jesus!" Neptune scrambles to his feet. "That trident is important."

He stomps off and Sun finally regains the power of coherent speech. He washes the rest of his coughs down with champagne. Clearing his throat, he ventures, "Pyrrha and Jaune, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I'm happy for them."

Blake looks up at Sun, searching. "You are? I thought you had a crush on Pyrrha."

"An obligatory one, I think. You can't not have a crush on her. No matter which team you swing for."

She silently agrees with that statement.

"But she was always so lonely. You can see it whenever we see her at a party. People always liked watching her from a distance."

"Being a local celebrity can have its downsides," Blake supposes.

"I guess. Jaune was the first one to really see her. It probably helped that he had no idea who she was."

Blake was there when they met, and she had no problem pulling out a mental image of Jaune blubbering through his introduction. He probably didn't see it as blubbering, she muses. His style of suave isn't really on par with Sun or Neptune's.

"Anyway. It's kinda awesome they're getting friends to help out. It'll be a team effort kind of thing. You'll do the flowers, right?"

"I mean, of course I'll try." Blake gives a noncommittal shrug. "I can spare a few days to help, but they haven't exactly called me yet. I'll wait until they do before I plan anything."

Sun nods, sensing the end of the conversation. He glances at the time, hauls himself and Blake up to their feet. "Come on. I can feel you wanting to head out. One dance before you go."

Because she'd been called out and knew refusal would lead to begging, Blake admits defeat, "Fine."

The call comes a few days into the new year, right after she'd send off a very happy, nearly crying, Mr. Rogers to his golden anniversary.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Blake! It's Pyrrha. Pyrrha Nikos."

Blake lets herself grin as she leans against her kitchen counter, looking out at a sunny Los Angeles morning. "I've heard it's about to be Pyrrha Arc."

"You heard!" Pyrrha's laughter comes through like flowing velvet. "You heard right. I'm sorry I haven't told you sooner. It's all been really, really busy."

"How's the new job?"

"Wonderful. I'm just an editor for now, but they said I could have a column whenever I submit one. I've tried to write, but nothing's scarier than a blank page. But that's neither here nor there. I'm getting married!"

Blake chuckles, "I'm happy for you two."

"Thank you. There's so much I have to do. You probably already know what I'm going to ask. There's ten months left."

She does the math. "So you're getting married in October?"

"October 17, actually. We got the venue and the date thanks to the goddess of wedding planners."

"You found one? Neptune said you were looking for one while he was there."

Pyrrha laughs again. "I should've known Neptune was the one who told you. Yes, we were. Then we got invited to a wedding at this place called the Schnee Estate. The owners were apparently this pretty big law firm here in Denver. But anyway, I couldn't go because I had an assignment, but Jaune sent me pictures and we both just fell in love with the place so I told him to ask for a consult. Oh, Blake, we had no idea where to start but Weiss — she's the wedding planner, by the way, Weiss Schnee, she mentioned you guys know each other — helped us out so much. She sent us home with packets to study. To see if we'd rather a DJ or a band or plated meals or a buffet. What do you think? Hello? Blake?"

Blake has an errant thought that she's never heard Pyrrha say this much in one go. But that thought disintegrated like every other thought that came after she'd heard 'Schnee Estate'.

Her heart rate slows at first, which is weird because she once read that shock (which she guesses is what's happening) is suppose to increase your heart rate. But no, it slows down, a dull thud in her ears. Everything else is muted, even Pyrrha's increasingly worrying tone. Her nerves suddenly go numb, like she's suddenly in an ice bath. Her eyes are open but she can't actually see anything around her and her mind starts tangling and warping together incoherent sentences struggling to find a foothold as she careens down a hole of

Pyrrha and Jaune found Weiss and Pyrrha and Jaune found Fables which means Pyrrha and Jaune found—

"Yang!"

The second time she redefines happiness

"Watch out, Blake!"

is during a dodgeball game

"Yes! Nice one, Ruby!"

where she and her friends are facing off against a more 'athletically inclined' group of boys.

They're freshmen, and it's gym, which is the only class all four of them have together. They usually don't take it too seriously (except Weiss still tries hard enough for an A) so they use the time to catch up or plan what they'll be doing after school. They're not exactly girly girls who run away from the balls — Blake wrinkles her nose at the thought — but they're not exactly gunning for participation credit either.

Except today, the boys hit a nerve.

Cardin the Meathead hadn't really addressed them directly, more the general female population. He whines, "Coach B, can't the boys play their own gams? Girls throw balls like little kids throw Barbie dolls."

"Yeah!" Russel the Sheep yells. "They throw so bad!"

The first thing Blake did was roll her eyes; she never threw her dolls. It would break them. The second thing she did was look at her friends, fully intending to quietly make fun of Cardin and his minions, but Yang had a gleam in her eye that intrigued her.

Which is how she finds herself in a four v ersus seven scenario, determination flowing through her blood.

Weiss takes the lead. "Okay. If we can just get Russel and Adam out, then—"

"No, no," Yang interrupts, palming a ball, eyeing the enemy, "we need to go for whoever we can right now. There's seven of them and four of us. We'll chip away at them, just don't get hit."

"Alright, team." Ruby tosses a ball in Blake's hands. "Let's do this."

They step towards the line as a unit. On the other side, Cardin and the most of the boys sneer at them, exuding typical teenage male bravado. The rest of the class are watching them eagerly from the sidelines. Blake narrows her eyes, calculating her options, then Ruby heaves the first ball.

She misses, but Yang follows it up with her own and hits one of the boys at the front.

A shrill whistle blows through the gymnasium as Coach Bottalico yells, "Out!"

Blake throws a curveball, barely missing Russel's calf.

Weiss gets two out through sheer luck, as her ball hits one and ricochets off to another like some sixth sense wizardry.

"Tommy, Adam, out! Good work, Weiss!"

"Thank you!"

It's an even fight now, and they don't have any balls left on their side of the court. They don't have to wait long before the boys start launching.

Cardin hurls his ball, and Yang easily avoids it with a sidestep. She sees a second ball coming from Russel, plants her feet down and catches it, stumbling back just a little.

"Out!"

Russel kicks the floor in frustration before storming off to the sidelines.

Blake grabs the second ball, locks eyes with Ruby, who'd just gotten a ball of her own, and they nod. They aim for the boy on the left, and both balls hit leg and foot. They whoop as the whistle sounds.

It's Cardin and a boy left; the latter looks like he'd rather just take his ball and hit his own leg with it and call himself out. He doesn't though, and weakly throws it in Weiss' general direction. She catches it with ease.

Blake laughs loudly when Cardin snarls. "Is that suppose to intimidate us?"

"You watch yourself you lowly—"

Yang fires a ball and hits his calf. "Sorry," she grins, a hand on her cocked hip as a long whistle blows, "sounds like what you were going to say wasn't gonna be nice."

A smattering of applause starts from the sidelines, and Coach Bottalico yells out, "Good job , girls. Alright, we have time for one more. One more game! Same teams, come on, let's go!"

The final round begins with everyone's spirits high and dancing with energy. Ruby and Weiss are near the middle, and Blake and Yang strategically situate themselves at the back.

Blake can't stop looking at Yang. She has never seen Yang like this, entirely focused and actually enjoying it. She doesn't know what It is, but it makes her look like she's glowing and Blake thinks she's really really pretty it's a little ridiculous. That's actually a lie because what Blake really means is that she's beautiful no actually drop dead gorgeous no actually—

Her thoughts derail as the first whistle blows and those at the front run for the balls lined up in the middle of the court.

Blake shakes her head. What the hell was that? Yang is her best friend it's completely inappropriate to think those kind of thoughts.

But she really is pretty, though.

Balls whizz by, but not close enough for Blake to jump out of the way, just kind of side step. Those at the front were the first to go, and their numbers start to dwindle.

Yang jogs back from behind Blake and hands her a ball. "Come on, let's see if we can get Russel out."

The game progresses quite quickly. Ruby had been hit out, though she doesn't seem to mind, laughing with some of the other students on the sidelines. It's a five versus five; their team is kind of in an awkward triangle, with two at the front and three at the back. The other team are in a line, out of balls and waiting.

One of the boys in Blake's team sends a ball an inch short of Cardin's leg. Cardin grabs the ball, hurls it back immediately and Blake ducks to avoid the red blur that whizzes past her head.

"Cardin!" Coach Bottalico barks, voice breaking in anger. "Aim! BELOW! The! Waist!"

"It slipped ."

"Asshole," Yang mutters and looks at Blake, who nods. They step towards the front, looking at their target. With a silent countdown that comes with the best friends title, they heave their balls in unison. To his credit, Russel nearly catches Yang's ball, but fumbles when he realises there's another one hurling his way. Like a deer in headlights, he freezes and the balls hit his thigh and calf. The whistle blows.

"Out! Nice job, girls."

Yang and Blake grin at each other, exchanging a high five before jogging backwards back to the base line.

Weiss is the next to go — "Drat!" — followed by another one from their team and two from the opposition. It's a two versus two.

"Woo!" Ruby whoops from the sidelines, starting a crescendo of cheers. "Go Bumblebee!"

Bumblebee is the name Ruby dubbed Yang and Blake's best friendship. It's cute harmless whatever, but pride spears through Blake every time she hears it.

It's Bumblebee versus Cardin and Tommy, and each side has two balls. They eye each other, almost comically serious for a gym class, before Yang lobs her ball. It whizzes between the boys, and Cardin takes aim. He launches a ball towards Blake, who narrowly dodges it with a jump. The back and forth continues, neither side having much luck hitting the other. Cardin's obviously getting angrier by the minute, his throws starting to lean towards fast rather than accurate.

Blake sees it first: Cardin's wielding two balls, looking at Yang with blood in his eye. He wings a ball right at her, and Tommy follows it with his own. They're well placed balls and Yang's caught — nobody without ninja skills would be able to catch or dodge them. Totally unconsciously, Blake's body catapults her forward and even she doesn't know what happened next.

So when the sound of a rubber ball hitting solid matter reverberates through the gym, Blake slowly notices a dull ache on her arm and the back of her leg, which had bent in what she assumes was instinct. Yang looks at her with a kind of stupefied shock before she grins and laughs.

"Holy sh—" Yang cuts herself off and holds her hand up for a high five. "Blake, you're insane."

Ya ng opens her mouth to say more but is cut off when the sound of ball hitting matter rings again and Blake stumbles forward. Yang's hands reach out and holds her steady — "woah woah woah" — before she looks above Blake's head. She barely registers Bottalico screaming from the sidelines, when she realises Cardin had thrown his second ball right at the back of Blake's head.

Tommy looks sympathetic and inches away when Bottalico charges up to Cardin and drags him off court. Yang would've yelled at him, demanded suspension, but then Blake in her arms says, "Ow," and her concern dwarfs her anger, simple as that.

She eases back to look at Blake. Her eyes are a bit dazed, but she looks at Yang with a lop-sided smile.

"Ow," she repeats.

Yang's shoulders jerk in a quickly suppressed laughter. "Damn right, ow. You okay? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Twelve."

Yang 's mouth furl into a grin and she slings an arm around her shoulders. "Okay."

Ruby and Weiss rushes up to them. Ruby asks first. "Are you okay?!"

"I'm fine, guys. It was a rubber ball."

"What an absolute waste of space," Weiss decrees as she stares at Cardin's back.

Shaking her head, Blake tries to change the subject, "But we had fun, right? We won. We kicked ass."

"We kicked major ass," Yang corrects. "And we definitely won that last game."

"We should still kick Cardin's butt," Weiss tells them. "Nobody hurts my friends and gets away with it."

"Feisty," Yang says. "But I like it better when it's Blake being feisty, so if she says it's fine then it's fine."

"Besides," Ruby snickers. "Coach B got so red in the face Cardin probably got detention for the month."

"That'll do," Weiss allows.

As they amble back to the changing rooms, Blake has a fleeting thought that she really really loves her friends.

"Hello, this is Pyrrha speaking."

"Pyrrha," Blake starts. "I'm sorry I cut off. Connection must be bad...or something."

"Oh, it's alright. Is everything okay?"

No. "Yeah," she clears her throat. "Um, so. October?"

"Yes, October 17. I've always wanted a fall wedding."

"That's...a bit early for fall."

"Weiss said that too, but she and I think you'll be able to work with it. Please do my flowers, Blake." Pyrrha's voice takes on a pout. "I've never seen more beautiful bouquets than the ones you make. And I want my friends to be there with me every step of the way."

"I'll...I'll have to talk to Weiss—"

"Of course, of course. I can give you her number? She said you two email."

"Yeah, um. Sure. Give me her number. I'll call her. I'll call her right now."

Weiss is working on the Steele-Dawson timetable when she gets the text. Calmly, she closes her laptop, stands out of her chair and shuts her office door. It's a low probability that Ruby or Yang would bust in at this time of the day, but she can never be too sure. Right on schedule, her phone rings.

"Weiss Schnee of Fables," she answers.

"Weiss?"

It hits her just how long it's been since she's heard this voice. "Blake?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. It's really you. What—why—" She clears her throat. "How are you?"

"I'm good, um. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year. Blake, the rules."

"No, no," Weiss' brows hike up. "It's okay now."

"It's...okay?"

"Yeah. It's okay. I'm okay."

"That's good. I'm glad. It's nice to hear you."

"Yeah," Weiss catches the hitch in Blake's voice. "You too. I...heard you're planning Pyrrha's wedding."

"Yes," Weiss replies. "Full service, October 17. She mentioned you for florals."

"I'm not sure...I have my shop, I need to—"

"How about this?" Weiss interrupts. "Come here just for a few days. It's been a while since you've seen the estate. I've changed a few things. Just come here and have a look around and decide. If you don't — can't — help, if you'll be too busy, then at least talk to one of our florists. You know what Pyrrha would want. You can direct one of our florists, give some pointers. But..." she trowels some more, "Pyrrha seemed to really want you for her wedding. As her wedding planner, I'm going to do everything I can to make her happy."

She knows she'd hit the spot when Blake sighs, "I'll come for a few days. I'm still not sure, Weiss. And do you even think—"

"Don't worry about a thing. They'll be fine. I can also offer you a room in the estate, save you some money for accommodation. I can get Klein to pick you up from the airport as well. It's practical," Weiss insists as she hears the first noise of hesitation. "That way, it'll give you more time to look at the venue. For Jaune and Pyrrha."

Blake sighs again and Weiss silently chalks up a victory. "I'll book a flight for next week. I'll email you my flight details when I get it."

"Perfect."

"Bye, Weiss."

"Blake?"

"...Yeah?"

"I missed you."

A pause, then two. When she finally speaks, Blake's voice comes out small, "I missed you, too."

A/N: So this one's more or less a setting up chapter, to see what Blake's been upto and who she has in her life right now. Next chapter is obviously the big Reunion. Would love to hear what you think!