#stardustednymph

Yang stares at her in response. Her blank gaze and uneasy smile tell Blake everything she needs to know, but she waits. “Um,” Yang starts, dropping her eyes to look at the carpet of Blake’s bedroom. “I’ve been better,” she mumbles, the syllables blurring into each other. For a second, she straightens her spine, seems like she’s about to add on something dumb like but I’m okay! or everything is fine! as if Blake can’t see right through her.

“You don’t need to do that,” Blake says, moving her hand up to rest on her shoulder. Yang glances to meet her gaze. A sort of hesitation flashes through her face. The smile falls, but so does the uneasiness, leaving only the hint of a frown. “It’s just us. You don’t need to act like you’re fine,” she says, her voice gentle. “Do you want a hug?”

Yang nods silently. Blake’s heart flutters in her chest and she wants to stamp it out; instead, she reaches up to wind her arms around Yang’s neck and hold her close. Yang exhales, lets her hands settle on Blake’s waist, rests her blonde head against Blake’s dark hair. It’s about twenty times more intimate than a Platonic Friendship Hug ™ has any right to be. Blake is actively ignoring the stretch in her calves from being on the tips of her toes. She knows she’d ignore so much more to bring Yang any sense of comfort. 

There’s a long, beautiful, peaceful moment where there’s nothing but the steady rhythms of their breath. Yang’s tension begins to dissipate. Blake buries an urge to turn her face and press her lips to Yang’s temple. “You gonna be okay?” she asks, speaking quietly. 

Yang holds her more tightly for just a moment before letting go. Blake lets her hands follow the curve of Yang’s shoulders as she settles her weight firmly on her heels. “I’ll be okay,” Yang says. She offers a small smile; it doesn’t reach her eyes, doesn’t even begin to spread over her face like her usual grins. Blake’s heart twists. 

They fall into their routine: jackets draped on the desk chair Blake never uses, notebooks and folders pulled out of their bags, the two of them settling onto her bedroom floor. It’s easy and familiar. Blake sits a little bit closer to Yang than she normally does and neither of them say anything for a while. Paper rustles and books open and pens click. Blake asks for the textbook pages of their math questions and Yang answers. 

After tapping her pen on her notebook for a while, Yang puts her homework down and settles onto her back to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t want to do homework,” she sighs. She’s so pretty that sometimes Blake has to ignore it. 

 She shifts her notebook in her lap and reaches over to touch her arm. “You’ve been distracted all day. What’s going on, Yang?”

Yang closes her eyes. “Family stuff,” she mumbles. She doesn’t seem like she wants to offer anything else. 

Blake reminds herself of every ounce of patience she’s ever felt from Yang, tries to collect even the smallest part of it. “Anything you want to talk about?” she asks. “I want to be here for you.” She inches closer. Yang pulls the sleeve of her flannel down and rubs the cuff with her thumb and forefinger. Blake wants to reach over, wants to take her hand and take her stress with it, soothe whatever worry she feels.

“Okay. Fine.” Her tone is clipped, but Blake waits. “So… Raven came over and had dinner with us because it was her and Qrow’s birthday and it’s–” she breathes in sharply, “it’s so weird to have her at the house. Dad gets so prickly when she’s there sometimes, when someone says something wrong, and in the weirdest most subdued way because he’s pretending he doesn’t care. Or he’s waiting to chew her out later. I don’t know, I just feel it and she doesn’t, or she ignores it! But it’s just me. Qrow is just happy to see her, Ruby picks up on it but just looks at me, and it’s so– heavy and awkward, Blake.” Yang covers her face when she’s done talking, hiding in a way that puts cracks in Blake’s heart, fabric of her flannel obscuring her eyes and most of her mouth. 

“That sounds difficult,” Blake starts, searching for something to say. “Can I give you a hug? Again?”

There’s a hint of a smile on Yang’s face as she sits up. “Yeah,” she says. “That would be nice.” They move closer to each other, Blake putting an arm around Yang’s waist.

“I’m sorry things are so tense,” she says. “It sounds like it’s hard to ignore, but I don’t think it’s your job to fix it. It’s not your fault.“ 

Yang makes a doubtful sound, her shoulders tightening. There’s a long pause before her reply, before she exhales deeply and allows herself to relax. “Raven shouldn’t have had me in the first place.” Her voice is hushed, her tone carrying defeat and its acceptance. 

“Yang, that’s–”

“No, literally. She was twenty-one. Dad didn’t go any further in school, though he wanted to. Qrow never even pursued a career outside of teaching. Summer must have gone through hell after I was born, trying to keep up with the nursing program. And Raven fucked off to ruin her life for the first six years of mine.” Yang sighs deeply, allowing herself to drop her head to her shoulder. Blake lifts her hand to touch her hair. (She waits for Yang to reject the affection. She doesn’t.) “They would have been so much better off if she hadn’t had me. No one has ever said that to me, or done anything to make me think it, but it’s just true, Blake.” Blake strokes her hair, contemplating a thoughtful reply. Yang adds one last thing, fitting herself more closely to Blake. “I’ve never told that to anyone.” 

This one, at least, is easy. “Thank you for telling me,” Blake answers, her voice low and soft. “It must be hard to carry that around all the time.”

“Where would I put it down?” Yang says, muffled.

Blake looks up at a quote pinned to her wall. It’s carefully written out and apparently, carefully studied; it sits buried in with other quotes about sorrow and other sad emotions. She finds it because it’s familiar, but Yang isn’t even looking.  “Yeah,” she says. “I understand.” Her hand stills on Yang’s shoulder. 

“Thank you for listening. I don’t really… tell anyone. About any of it.” Yang laughs awkwardly. Blake gently works her hand through her hair again. “I said that already.” 

“It’s okay. Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Blake asks, again stifling the urge to kiss her.

“Yeah. Will you keep playing with my hair?” Yang sits up with a shy smile. “It’s really nice.”