Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow, though thou be black as night and she made all of light, follow thy fair sun.

IND.PRIV.SEL. RWBY MULTIMUSE FT. CONNECTED OC'S & CANON MUSES | EST APRIL 2021

AS LOVED BY GRACIE (follows for @honeyedstxrlight & @goldandcinders)

heavily affiliated with: @wintereign, @th-nocturne, @th-aubade, @th-meridian, @th-sunnyside and @fatepowered

The Love That Never Asked to Be Seen

Laleh tilted her head slowly as she watched the other girl. The motion was subtle, played off as curiosity, but there was something instinctive behind it. Something silent and unforgiving that rushed through her blood like adrenaline. Everything about Andante seemed to pull her in even more. Behind her, her tail gave a single flick, then stilled, like a hunter settling into the brush.

She kept quiet, like she usually did. Why bother with words? At Haven, she’d learned quickly that too much talking just handed people even stronger weapons. They’d twist her words, poke and prod, push until she was cornered. But if she stayed quiet, she could watch. She could listen. She could wait for her moment.

And Andante was…interesting, to say the least. She seemed nervous, skittish even. Like prey that didn’t yet realize it had already been chosen by the predator. Laleh’s gaze locked onto her, dark and intense, weighing on Andante like a hand pressing between her shoulder blades. Dark eyes tracked her every movement; the way her shoulders tensed, the way her eyes refused to meet hers, the subtle shifts of her body that betrayed an itch to run away. It was almost endearing. Almost.

Laleh’s lips curled into a faint, razor-edged smile, with a glint of teeth, like a predator just before they lunged for the kill. She took a step forward. It wasn’t rushed and not aggressive. Just slow enough to make it clear it was intentional. To close the distance by a fraction, the way a wolf might circle its catch rather than chase, confident the outcome had already been decided.

“Is that truly all?”

Vermillion couldn’t help the teasing smirk that spread across his lips, tossing it Qrow’s way like a challenge for later. Unfortunately, it only bought him half a second of a distraction before instinct snapped in and he had to twist sharply to the side, barely avoiding the strike that would have clipped his shoulder.

“Now that,” he shot back between breaths, pushing himself a step out of range, “I know I’ll be victorious in. This?” He gestured vaguely between them, already shifting his stance again. “Less confident.”

His lungs burned and it had only been fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes. How in the world did Aurelia and Qrow do this for hours on end, year after year, like it was nothing? And they were still at it at what, nearly forty? Either they were built different or he had severely overestimated his own endurance. Still, he ducked another swing, boots skidding slightly against the ground as he tried to regain footing, his grin straining as he tried to keep up.

Then there was the other problem. What exactly was he supposed to do with his semblance here? It seemed everyone else had semblances that helped in a match. Him? He was half focused trying to keep his sunglasses on his face.

“Genuine question,” Vermillion huffed, trying to buy himself another precious second to catch his breath. “How exactly am I supposed to utilize my semblance in a fight? Can Grimm even get drunk? Because if so, I’ve been underutilizing a very important skill set.”

unprompted asks | not accepting for meloraan | @th-meridian

Vermillion’s gaze dropped the moment the words left her lips. He looked away from Robin, shoulders tightening slightly as though he had been caught doing something he could not quite defend. Whether the feeling twisting in his chest was shame, embarrassment, or the lingering heat of jealousy he himself could not have said. Perhaps it was all three.

His jaw clenched for a moment before he spoke, and even then the words did not come easily. It wasn’t that he doubted her. Robin had never given him reason to. But he had seen the way people in the camp looked at her. The lingering glances, the quiet smiles, the sort of attention she drew without even trying. She was strong, a leader, confident, and Vermillion knew well enough that she could have chosen someone far easier to love than him.

His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling as though resisting the urge to reach for her.

“I know,” he muttered at last, voice lower than usual, roughened by the emotions he was trying and failing to hide. “It’s not that I don’t believe you.”

He hesitated, glancing briefly outside their tent toward the edge of the camp where a few figures moved about their evening routines before quickly looking away again.

“I just don’t like the way they look at you,” he admitted quietly. “Like they’re waiting for you to realize you deserve better.”

A faint, self-conscious huff escaped him then, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.