#dustess

DEATHLESS.

halloween prompts!

He smiled smugly in reply, as if the answer should be OBVIOUS. “Can’t you tell?” Sun spread his arms out and did a little spin for her, coat tails fanning out dramatically. “I’m Ozpin! See, I’ve got the cane, the glasses, the– well.” He smiled a little. “The COAT isn’t right, but! It’s all I could find on short notice.”

(  intimacy.  )  it’s quiet, save for the soft music coming from yang’s scroll. the others are asleep in the room over, leaving just the two of them alone in the living area. they’ve been catching up, mostly  ———  what happened after you left beacon? did you manage to contact anyone? how have you been? how are you doing now?  ———  idle chatter filling the space in-between songs. it’s so familiar it makes her chest ache, and for a moment she can forget that they’re different people than they were when they parted ways  (  the more things change, the more they stay the same: she heard that somewhere before, and she thinks that it might apply now  ).

weiss’ fingers trace the area where steel meets flesh, and it elicits a shiver from yang. the wounds have since mended, the scars beginning to fade into soft pink lines against tanned skin  (  it’s intimate in a way she’s unfamiliar with, to let someone in so close and see something she thinks of as her greatest weakness  )  and she’s thankful that the prosthetic covers the worst of the damage, just so weiss doesn’t have to see it. she almost pulls away, tries to direct the touch elsewhere  ———  she manages to remain still, however, and lets the former heiress do as she pleases. fingers touch steel, and weiss rambles questions: how does it fit? is the grip satisfactory? can it withstand your punches? she’s thankful when the cool touch is slowly moved up, fingers tracing along the curve of her jaw, and she turns her head, hand coming up to capture weiss’ own. a kiss is placed to each fingertip, feather-light, fleeting as a fire’s last dying embers. 

there’s a shift in the air, a shift between them, and yang feels her mouth run dry. she thinks about speaking, breaking the heaviness in the air, when the song changes. ❝  dance with me, ❞  she manages to grind out, loud in the silence of the room. weiss blinks, but nods, a soft smile touching the corners of her mouth and yang’s overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her. she doesn’t, but only because she’s too busy hauling them both to their feet, and leading them a few steps away from the sofa.

she settles her steel hand in the curve of weiss’ waist, lifts her free hand so weiss can lace their fingers together as her other falls against yang’s shoulder. it’s second nature to fall into step to the rhythm, to let weiss take the lead despite their positioning  (  she thinks of the school dance, of the closeness of their bodies and the scent of weiss’ perfume and she wonders how a year can feel like a lifetime  ). she lets her hand wander, slide around to rest against the small of weiss’ back and press, bringing her in closer, and ignores the fluttering in her chest when weiss willingly steps in. 

they’re doing little more than just swaying to the music now, having dropped any formalities that come along with dancing  (  as if it’s a formal occasion anyway  ———  pajamas and slightly distorted music and a house that’s too far away from home  ). it’s fine by yang, though; she’s content with the closeness, with having someone she loves nearby. weiss’ head is tucked under her chin, arms wrapped around yang’s waist: yang’s own arm has settled around weiss’ shoulders, hand still placed firmly at the small of her back. if she’s being honest with herself, this is the most at peace she’s felt in months.