A/N: Merry [Insert preferred holiday here] everyone! This here is the final installment of Luce Solus, and I have to say it was pretty fun to write. ...Yeah, writing romance is actually fairly fun (manliness -9001 pts) In any case, enjoy!

RWBY is owned by Rooster Teeth, Christmas Lights is owned by Coldplay. I own nothing, because I am poor and Asian.

Part III

"Those Christmas lights/Light up the street/Maybe they'll bring her back to me…/Then all my troubles will be gone…/Those Christmas lights, keep shining on…"

Him

Why do I have to run away from everything? I keep telling myself that it's for the best; that Pyrrha deserves far better than me. She doesn't deserve to have to put up with all my failures, with all my sorrow and anger at the world. She needs someone who can hold her up, not drag her down. It's all for the best, I tell myself.

So why do I find myself doubting everything?

I hear her call my name from far behind, her protests falling upon deaf ears. No. This is for her own good. It's not her, it's me.

"Jaune! Wait up!"

Why can't she understand why I'm doing this? I run faster, ignoring the pain from my heart and my pounding limbs. Pyrrha, I'm sorry. For everything. Forgive me for this.

"Jaune! Please! Stop!"

I want to, Pyrrha. Believe me, I want to. But I can't.

The dark sky is shrouded by clouds, a light veneer of grey marring the pitch black shadows. I hear her footsteps slow, then stop, even as mine grow louder in volume. Has she finally realized why it's best that we part ways?

I took myself to Oxford Street, trying to right a wrong. But all that I've done is make everything worse, just like I always do. I'm a failure. I always was, and I always will be. All that she needs to do is realize that. I love her. I really do. And so now I'm letting her go.

I halt myself for a moment, a quiet choked-back sob emitting from behind me. No. Do not look back. Her voice wafts over in the still night air, a barely audible whisper that carries overtones of desperation. She speaks the words that I have been waiting a lifetime for, and the walls come crashing down.

"Please, Jaune…I love you…"

That does it. I can't stop myself anymore.

I slowly turn back, even as the words come unbidden to my lips. I hold them back, just barely.

Pyrrha…I love you too.

For the first time in the better part of a day, I finally look upon my beautiful partner. Her yellow beanie clashes with her burgundy peacoat, a black scarf wrapped around her neck and a pair of fuzzy boots on her feet. Her vivid emerald eyes are focused on the ground, her full lips in a slight frown of uncertainty.

It takes every single ounce of my self-restraint not to rush over to her and embrace my teammate, wrapping my arms around her body and planting my lips upon hers. Given half a chance, I would.

As it is, I merely stand there, watching her from across the street. She turns her captivating gaze upon me, a look of sorrow upon her face.

I take a first, cautious step closer. Then another. And another.

Before I know it, I'm within arm's reach of the fiery redhead. Her eyes are fixated on mine, the corners of her mouth tilted slightly downwards. I want to turn her frown into a smile in the only way I know how, to express my love for her and all she stands for. Is it too soon, though? Will she forgive me for my transgressions? There's only one way to find out.

I know many languages, many ways to express myself and my feelings. But where words fail, only actions may suffice.

I take one final step forward, a wry half-smile on my face. I'm about to embrace her, when something even better happens. She hugs me first.

Her arms go around my torso, her face buried in my shoulder. I wrap myself around her, gently stroking her back as she cries.

"There, there. It's alright. …Pyrrha? It's okay. I'm here. No more running."

It's heartbreaking, really, to see the person you look up to in tears. It hurts just to know that the woman I love is in turmoil, even as she sobs into my shoulder. We stand there in the street for what seems like an eternity, holding each other with all that we've got.

Eventually, she speaks. She stumbles upon her words in an uncharacteristic rush, a light dusting of red colouring her cheeks. She chokes back a sob as she opens up to me, her true feelings pouring out for all to see.

"Jaune…you're not the one who should be sorry. I am. I'm sorry for not being a better teammate, for not supporting you better. I should have seen the signs, I should have known better. I should have noticed that you think so lowly of yourself, that you feel that you have such a burden on your shoulders.

"But Jaune...you're perfect just the way you are. It doesn't matter to me that you're not the strongest, that you're not the smartest. I don't care whether or not you're a good fighter, whether you're a good leader. I only care about you and who you are, nothing more.

"When I first met you, I was frankly relieved that you didn't recognize me. Instead of fawning over me like so many others, you valued me for myself, not my actions. You didn't care whether or not I was a champion, only that I was me. But even though you value others for who they are, you bring yourself down because of your perceived lack of actions.

"Nobody cares about that, though. In the end, all that matters is who you are. To me, you're the handsome and cute blond boy who's the greatest leader I've ever set eyes on. You have so much potential; you only need to see that for yourself."

A tear mars her perfect cheek, a dozen of its comrades waiting in her blazing emerald eyes. I fondly brush it away with my finger, revelling in the touch and the feeling of it all. She looks down, pulling back slightly. I let her go, but stop her before she gets too far.

"I…I…I love you, Jaune Arc. And I'm sorry if you don't feel the same way about me."

My hands on her shoulders, I act out of instinct. I lean over and place a gentle kiss on her forehead, bringing her in closer yet again.

She quivers at the touch, but does nothing. Holding my breath, I take another chance. My lips quickly brush her cheek, my own dyed a deep crimson. They taste salty from shed tears, but at the same time I can't help but want more. I pull away far too fast for my liking, but it pays to be cautious.

Her face lights up, a deep blush colouring her flawless features. She gives me a little smile, one that I gladly return.

Hey. I could make this work.

Her

I thought it was all over. I messed up, I failed, and he left me. It's no surprise, really. What have I done to deserve his love? Brought him down? Cast a shadow over him? I was too dumb to realize that he needed a chance to prove himself, too oblivious to recognize his silent pleas for help.

How could he still put up with me, after all that I've dragged him through? I ruined any chance that he ever could have loved me, all because I was too damn stupid to understand him.

But, despite it all, I can't help but hope that there is still a tiny spark of salvation glowing in the darkness. Could I make it up to him? Was there still an opportunity, however small, to repair our tattered friendship and shattered hearts?

I've had my dreams dashed far too many times to count, often enough that I should have learned to lower my expectations. But I can't help it. If not an optimist, then I'm a realist with a better outlook on life. If there's a chance, any chance at all, then I would be willing to take it.

So I find myself in the middle of a street in downtown Vale on this cold, windswept night, pouring out my heart to the man who captured it. All those bottled-up emotions that have been forced down suddenly erupted, venting my frustrations and sorrows to the winter air. Every single hidden apology, every single missed opportunity, all of my feelings came surging forth. I didn't expect anything, especially not from him of all people.

But redemption has to start from somewhere, and what better time than to start now, on the loneliest night of the year? If nothing more, an apology brings a wonderful sense of closure to everything. Maybe they'll bring him back to me, and take all of my troubles away. Maybe not. I don't care, as long as I let this all come out.

I stand in his arms, basking in his warmth. They feel like home, like a thousand little problems fading into nothing but happiness. My voice sounds muted and hollow to my ears, face buried in his shoulder as it is. I choke back a sob as I speak, rushing through the words in an attempt to make him understand.

"…In the end, all that matters is who you are. To me, you're the handsome and cute blond boy who's the greatest leader I've ever set eyes on. You have so much potential; you only need to see that for yourself."

I blink back tears, a single drop escaping and making its way down my cheek. I don't know why, but even after my stammered apologies…it feels as though I have left some things unsaid. And, while it may not always be the best to speak what's on your mind…I know what I have to say, whether I like it or not.

Jaune reaches over and delicately brushes the tear away, his touch gentle yet sparking a light show across my face. For a second, I'm tempted to just let him have his way with me. But no. I have to say it, and not even my love for the man can stand in its path.

I move back a step, his soft touch on my shoulder preventing me from escaping. Not that escaping is currently on my mind right now. Oh, far from it. I stare at the ground, neither willing nor able to look him in his cerulean eyes right now. The final words come forth in a shaky whisper, even as I brace myself for the inevitable rejection.

"I…I…I love you, Jaune Arc. And I'm sorry if you don't feel the same way about me."

I'm no stranger to rejection. I had my first crush when I was thirteen, young and still naïve in my first year at Sanctum. His name was Regen Tropfen, black haired and blue-eyed. I remember that, because it was the first thing I noticed about him. He fought with a rifle and a hunting lance, riding a pure black stallion into battle. He was a year ahead of me, top of his class and fighting for a spot in the Mistral Tournament.

I had admired him from across hallways, too nervous to even speak to him. He never noticed me, shy as I was. I was striving for his attention, though. Every second of my free time was spent training, in the hopes that he would walk by and be impressed. He never did, of course, but as a result of my attempts I had qualified for the Tournament. So had he, obviously, but I saw no sign of his recognition when I gazed at him.

Nonetheless, we both breezed through the competition. We met in the final round, my spear crossed with his. It was a good fight, blades flashing and bullets flying all over. I had managed to disable his horse with a shield-bash, confronting him with Milό in hand.

He lunged at me, lance extended. I had dodged to the side, stepping forward to render his spear useless. I had raised my sword, prepared to end it all and be crowned the victor, when…I hesitated. Maybe I was lost in his blue eyes, or captivated by the way his lips seemed so inviting. Either way, he recovered and knocked me away with a punch to the temple.

Despite that, he had forfeited the match, saying that I had the opportunity and that was all that counted. With that, I was named the champion of the Mistral Tournament. Afterwards, I had come up to him in the locker room and confessed my love for him. I had pleaded, I had apologized, I had poured out all my feelings for the boy, expecting him to sweep me off my feet and kiss me.

Instead, he had gently let me down, explaining why we couldn't be together and instead just be friends. I had accepted his reasoning, but that night I cried myself to sleep.

Oh sure, in my latter years in Sanctum, I could have had any guy I wanted. Gods know that they were falling for me by the dozens. Every single one, except for Regen.

So yes, I am no stranger to rejection. But with Jaune, I feel as if I'm in heaven. Without him, I'm lost and confused. Still, I wouldn't be surprised if he gives me a firm no.

Instead of backing away, however, he does the exact opposite. I feel his chapped lips upon my forehead, one hand brushing away my stray bangs. With his other, he gently tilts my chin up, and I find myself unable to resist him.

I'm still, stunned and uncertain as to what just happened. Perhaps he sees that, as he lightly pecks me on the cheek. He pulls back soon after that, a deep blush colouring both our faces.

There's a moment of silence as we both try to wrap our heads around this. Then he speaks, his voice low but earnest.

"And I love you too, Pyrrha Nikos. I'm sorry for everything, but most of all for not saying this all those months ago. You're the light to my darkness; without you, I'm nothing. I can't live without you, Pyrrha. You're my burning beacon of victory, and I would follow you to the end of Remnant. I'll be yours, if you'll be mine."

And with that, I can't take it any more. I leap forward to embrace him, our lips meeting in a moment that I don't think I will ever forget. His lips are warm, tasting vaguely of hot chocolate and my own sweet lip balm. His warmth surrounds me, threatens to swallow me whole, but I don't care. As long as I have Jaune, nothing else matters. Nothing.

We break off for a breath, admiring each other in the soft glow of the lights. His sapphire eyes are gleaming, messy blond hair poking out from beneath his toque. I can see myself in his sky blue orbs, a wide smile on my face.

"I love you," we say in sync.

And then we kiss again and again, not willing to let this precious time together go to waste.

We stand together in the middle of the street for what seems like an eternity, the night air still and silent. High above us, the Christmas lights keep shining on, even as the fireworks erupt inside me.

Eventually we relent, eyes meeting and cheeks tinged a light red. A single white snowflake, fragile yet intricate, floats down between the both of us, drawing our attention to the skies. The full moon sits just above the horizon, red and green and white lighting our snow-flecked path.

We walk back to Beacon hand-in-hand, simply admiring the beauty of the city on Christmas Eve.

Right before we enter the gates, Jaune's arms go back around my body, pulling me in for a deep embrace. He whispers as I'm warmed by him, a smile of contentment of both our faces.

"Merry Christmas, Pyrrha."

"Merry Christmas, Jaune."

FIN