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The quiet hum of appliances, mixed with the noise of the outside world, thunders in her ears. The apartment is quiet, but it might very well be filled with screams. Her leg goes up and down, in a futile attempt to release some of the nerves that she is drowning in.
It’s 5:54 PM.
Six minutes to what is usually the happiest part of her day. Not this time. This time she dreads it. She knows what comes next, and her stomach ties itself into a knot so tight, she is not sure if it will ever untangle itself again. Her body tense, waiting for the moment she hears the hum of the bike engine, followed by a rustle of keys at the door. She always waits impatiently for this exact moment. Because everything makes sense then. Because that’s when her whole world comes in.
Not today.
When she hears the engine, she freezes. It’s time.
It’s 5:58 PM and she is not ready, already crushed by the guilt and frustration. The keys rustle in the door, and the woman that comes in takes her breath away. It’s too much. It’s always too much, even though she sees her every day for the past year. The wild blonde mane cascading over her back, toned, muscular body with curves that scream of lust and danger wrapped in tight jeans, black t-shirt and a brown leather jacket. Full of confidence and sex appeal, and her eyes… The gentlest shade of lilac contrasting so much with the wild energy she exudes, the color of gathering storm clouds in the sunset that is like a balm for a tormented soul.
Blake can’t stop staring, because who in their right mind could. Every single time Yang enters through the door to their apartment she feels the same awe, she can’t help but wonder. Why do you keep coming back to me when you are a literal goddess and I’m just me? This time is the same, except there is an added pressure of what Blake knows will happen in few seconds.
„Hey, Blakey, how wa-” Yang says cheerfully as she enters the living room and then stops dead in her tracks. It’s almost comical how she freezes mid step, except it’s not. Her expression falls momentarily as her eyes drop towards a packed bag sitting next to the couch that Blake is perched on.
„Blake… What is going on?” Yang asks after few moments and Blake can already hear how hard she’s trying to sound calm.
„Yang, please… Sit down” The faunus hates how weak she sounds, how small and pathetic. All the things she craves so badly not to be.
„No! Tell me what the fuck is going on.” Yang tries so hard not to let a wave of panic overtake her. Not this… Not again.
„Yang, please. Everything is all right,” Blake pleads. She feels light-headed from how rigid her body is.
„You’re leaving? A-Again?” Yang’s voice quivers and Blake has to stifle a small whimper at her girlfriend’s obvious distress.
„No, I… It’s just for the week. I need to go to Argus with Pyrrha, just for this next week. I promise.” Blake tries, her mouth dry.
Yang gets the control of her limbs back and makes her way to the chair, situated to the side of the couch, at the shorter edge of a rectangular coffee table. She drops on it heavily, propping her elbows on her knees, knotting her fingers together.
„Why?” she asks, dropping her head low, hiding behind her golden locks.
„I have to do… something. I can’t… I don’t know how to tell you. Please, believe me. I will show you all of it once I’m done. I swear.” Blake knows she is probably not helping at all, but she can’t bring herself to explain it. She never can, that’s the problem.
„Just one week. Please.” Blake feels her eyes tearing up, she’s trying hard not to let them spill.
„One week,” Yang says, not rising her head, voice slightly hoarse. „Okay.”
She sits like this, while Blake gathers her bag, just looking at the white knuckles of her left palm, contrasting so hard with the vibrant yellows and blacks of her prosthetic. She can’t bring herself to watch Blake leave. One week, she said, but Yang feels like it’s the beginning of the end. She can’t help herself. They have been through it before. At least this time there is prior notice, she thinks, trying hard not to remember those two previous times.
Blake stops at the entrance to the living room, and looks over her shoulder.
„I’m sorry,” she says, but gets no answer.
She almost changes her mind, closing the door to the apartment, but she doesn’t. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, but she hopes it will all be worth it in the end. She hopes that she will finally be able to give Yang what she deserves. It’s Friday, and she leaves on Sunday with Pyrrha. She still needs to finish up the last one, so she decides to spend the night at her little studio.
***
Ruby trips 5 times, before she gets to the apartment, her standard lack of coordination reinforced by her rising anxiety. When Blake called her a few days ago, and somewhat explained a few things, she asked the young girl to take care of her sister, until the faunus finishes whatever it was that she was doing in Argus. Ruby remembers the train wrecks that Blake leaving Yang were, for both of them, she is worried sick.
As she rushes into the apartment, her stomach drops at the sight of her sister sitting slumped on the couch, with an open but untouched bottle of whiskey, and an empty glass in front of her. Without a word, she strides towards her sister, and swipes the bottle from the table. Yang doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move or acknowledge her sister. Ruby winces, when the sharp smell of alcohol reaches her nose as she spills it all into the sink. It’s bad, she thinks. It was so close for all of her sister’s hard work to be undone with just one sip. They all worked hard with the blonde to put it all behind her, and seeing Yang clinging to the edge as she desperately tries not to fall over is beyond painful.
Ruby goes back to the couch, sitting next to her sister. Still no acknowledgement of her existence from the blonde. She wraps her arms around her shoulders and slowly brings the blonde into her lap. Younger girl’s heart breaks into pieces, when Yang shudders quietly under her hand, as she is gently running with her fingers through the golden locks. She comforts her sister, trying not to let her quiet sorrow overwhelm both of them.
She has never been more grateful to be working in her own company more than she is now. Weiss has no problem with her taking the time off to help Yang, the heiress helps as she can. Notifying Nora of blonde’s absence for the whole week in their workshop, securing groceries and taking care of everything that could potentially bother the sisters. She knows after all. She was there for all of it.
The problem is, this is different than the other times, Ruby knows it. Blake is not disappearing into the unknown. She is just going away for the week. They all know where she is, and she promised to come back. But it’s not enough. Not for Yang. She wants to believe. Wants nothing more than to be OK with it. But she is not. She can’t help herself but think that it’s going to happen all over again. That Blake is going to leave her again. And she knows she can’t survive it for the third time. So she lies there, on Ruby’s lap, tears she can’t stop running down her cheeks, telling herself that it’s going to be all right.
Even if she doesn’t believe it for a second.
Blake stands on the airstrip, watching last of the boxes being secured in the cargo hold of the ship they are going to take to Argus. She cannot describe how grateful she is to Weiss for setting all of this up for her. To Pyrrha for making all of this possible. She doesn’t know how to express it other than with a silent “Thank you” and looking at her feet. So many people did so much for her. She never felt worthy of any of it.
It’s funny, she thinks, how my life in the end comes down to those 13 boxes securely laid down in the cargo hold. She hopes it’s enough, because if it’s not, she has nothing else. It’s her secret, a project that she put all of herself into for this whole year. All the hate, the anger, the frustration. Sadness and despair. Loneliness. But most importantly, love. Love for the one person in her life that means more to her than anything else. As she swallows heavily, she prays to whatever gods are watching, that it’s enough.
Because if it’s not, she doesn’t think she can survive it.
She feels an arm gently falling onto her shoulder as Pyrrha comes next to her.
“They said we can leave in 15 minutes, once they recheck if the cargo is secure.” The redhead smiles and it’s gentle and supporting. Towering over all of them, she is lean and sturdy, her pale alabaster complexion only strengthening the impression of a perfectly sculpted warrior goddess that somehow walks among the mortals. She is a fighter, skilled and renowned. Resilient with fiery passion for what she does and yet, she is the most gentle person Blake has ever known. Always caring, always aware of other people. The emerald eyes, so deep and vibrant, always watching everyone, searching for ways to help. To be there for other people. Pyrrha Nikos is the definition of good, of hope and care, of friendship. And everyone sees it.
Blake nods as she follows the redhead. “Did you talk with your sister?” she asks, throwing one last glance at the boxes.
Pyrrha hums in confirmation. “She arranged for the transport to the gallery, they will wait for us at the airstrip. We will let my sister’s people do their thing, and talk details tomorrow once everything is unpacked and we catch some sleep.”
Blake hesitates before walking onto the steps leading to the ship. Throwing one last look into the distance, towards Yang, she tries to convince herself that she is doing the right thing. With a sigh she steps inside the machine, hoping that the closer she is to the goal, the easier it will be.
She knows she is wrong.
***
Vera (short for Vermilion) Nikos greets them at the gallery the next day and the first word that Blake can think of to describe her is perky, although in a gentle way. Head shorter than Pyrrha, but with the same emerald eyes hidden behind the glasses and the same velvety dark crimson hair in a plumpy bob cut, the faunus can’t imagine anyone else being the redhead’s sister.
“I am so happy you are here! And not just because I missed Pyrrha,” she says in a voice somewhat similar yet deeper than the warrior’s.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.” Blake smiles tightly. She tries really hard to at least appear less tired than she is in reality. She is not on friendly terms with sleep lately.
“So I think my people are done unpacking and setting them up. Did you think about how you want them displayed?” Vera asks, as she starts leading both girls deeper into a giant, mostly open spaced gallery.
“I… Yeah, I was thinking that it would be best to separate them and then show them in order? I don’t know if you have that many spare rooms, so it’s fine however you see fit. I can’t say how much I appreciate what you are doing for me,” Blake says, her smile somewhat wider this time.
“So you want each piece in a different room? I thought it was a series, tough? Let’s see how they look all in one place. I told them to set them in order like you asked, for now in one of the prep rooms in the back.” Vera turns around as she keeps walking, hands knotted behind her back, and smiles towards Blake.
Milo & Akuo Gallery of Fine Arts is a place renowned throughout the whole Remnant that houses a collection of some of the best pieces from mix of different art styles. Paintings, sculptures, installations and busts are neatly spread out over the enormous floor of the gallery, some separated by thin walls, creating little niches. It all seems chaotic at first, but the more Blake looks around, the more it speaks to her. You are never more than 2 meters from a piece of art here, and everything seems to have a sort of a natural flow. She always loved art galleries, watching other people’s masterpieces fills her with awe, and she can spend hours wandering the halls, staring at the art adorning them.
The faunus suddenly feels like an intruder. This is a house of art and talent. What is she even doing here, forcing this unknown woman to do this for her? To display her works amidst this concerto of masterfully crafted pieces? She feels undeserving to be here, embarrassed by how insignificant she is compared to the titans of creation who filled this place with all those treasures.
But there is no other way.
Blake can’t speak about what happened to her, what she went through. Her past is as much off limits to her, as it is to everyone else. Yang tries, always patient, never asking or pushing Blake, always waiting for anything that she would give her. And it’s not enough. The faunus has no idea how to tell her, how to describe it with words, and it hurts both of them. In more ways than one.
She swallows the copper taste of blood, and quiets the screams of anguish coming from her memories as their journey continues.
As they get through the wide door leading to the back of the gallery, Blake can’t help but hope that this is exactly how it is for her and Yang. Dark corridor with a light at the end. Hope.
When they reach another open space, Vera leads them to the left, towards a walled of section of the spacious room that seems to be taking the role of the warehouse, prep room and office all at once.
This is it, Blake thinks. It’s the first time she is going to see them in their entirety. She wipes her clammy palms onto her jeans as they enter through a section with a missing wall. They take two steps in and stop dead in their tracks.
Vera’s mouth falls slightly open and Pyrrha gasps. Blake’s stomach ties itself into dozens of small knots as she sees her life staring back at her. The faunus closes her eyes. It’s hard when it’s all displayed like that, raw and in the open. When it finally makes sense, when you can see it as a whole, rather than pieces of the puzzle she worked on putting together for the last year.
She sets her gaze on every single one of the thirteen pieces she brought to Argus. She knows it’s her best work. Doubts it’s any good, but for her it’s enough. She hopes it will be enough for Yang as well.
Vera closely inspects each painting. She only saw a couple of pictures and those alone were good enough to pique her interest, but this… Seeing them up close, in the flesh like that, is something else entirely. She watches them from a distance and up close, eyeing the details. She cannot comprehend what she’s looking at. She doesn’t know who the dark-haired faunus is, aside from being her sister’s friend, but holy shit, if those are not some of the best works she has ever seen in her entire life. As she takes each of them in, with Pyrrha trotting along with her, a silent movie plays out in her mind. Aside from the technical aspects, what shines the most about all the pieces is how well they tell the story. And it’s as sad and tragic as it is beautiful. When she gets to the last one, she has to wipe her suddenly moist eyes with her finger. Pyrrha doesn’t even try to hide her sniffle, and she backtracks quickly to envelop Blake in a tight hug.
Vera knows art, she knows value and that’s exactly what those paintings are: valuable, in more than just a material way. She is already planning on how to convince Blake to something she knows has to happen with those paintings.
When they gather after an hour of inspecting, Vera doesn’t lose a beat. “Holy shit. Yeah, separate rooms, definitely. Listen, Blake, did you ever consider putting them on public display? I would be honored to show them at my gallery to a broader audience.”
Blake is surprised and she falls quiet for a bit while she ponders. This is her story, her life. This is everything she can’t say and the only person she made this for is Yang. Should she allow other people to see it? They don’t know her, for them it’s going to be just some paintings. She doesn’t feel like she is worthy of being displayed publicly, but it’s Vermilion who is the specialist here.
“We can discuss the shares and other stuff later, if you would like, but just think about it, okay?” Vera asks, trying not to push. She wants so badly for Blake to agree, but knows it’s probably too personal.
“No,” Blake suddenly says, and Vera tries not to sigh with resignation, but the faunus continues. “If you want to display them, make it an open exhibit. That’s my only condition. And the paintings are not for sale.”
“Deal.” Vera agrees without a second of hesitation. It was never about money, that’s not why she does this. It’s all about sharing, showing people something that will elicit emotions in them, a reaction, and she already knows how overwhelming this is going to be.
They go back to the main floor, and they plan the details together. It takes them most of the Monday and Vera assures them it will all be set up for Saturday.
Blake still doesn’t feel ready, but when Vera asks her if she thought of the title for the exhibit, she doesn’t hesitate. This is the one thing she never had any doubts about.
Wednesday is the worst. Yang closes herself in the bedroom and stays there for a whole day. Ruby and Weiss both try to make her talk or at least to eat something, but she ignores them completely. The weekend was hard enough, but it seemed slightly better on Monday and Tuesday. Weiss even managed to get some laughs out of Yang when they were watching some god awful movie in the evening and Weiss’s frustration got a hold of her as she went on a rant with various colorful descriptions of whoever directed the movie.
So when on Thursday Blake calls Weiss, telling them it’s all happening on Saturday, both she and Ruby exhale with relief. On Friday they hit a roadblock as Yang refuses to leave for Argus with them.
“What’s the point…?” Yang says with an empty voice.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Weiss scoffs.
“She left. Again. She did not tell me anything. Again. What’s the point in me going there when it’s probably the end…?” Yang rests her head on her folded arms. They are sitting at the kitchen table.
“Enough!” Both sisters jump when Weiss slams her palms on the table. “I get that you are upset, Yang, but Blake promised you something. She wants you to come and see whatever it is that she worked on and I highly doubt it’s because she wants to break up with you. So pull yourself together and for once expect the best, not the worst.” Neither of the two girls hear the heiress silent prayers that she is right.
Yang says nothing. They have been at it for almost an hour. She nods, tired of it all, just wanting it to end.
They don’t have to pack too much. They are only staying for the weekend, so it doesn’t take them long to get to the ship. Yang is quiet all the way to Argus, staring out the window at the clouds while Weiss and Ruby fall into an easy conversation, at least during the times when Ruby doesn’t stuff her face with snacks.
When they get to the hotel room and order late dinner, they are all tense. Ruby and Weiss out of excitement, while Yang is simply terrified of tomorrow. They don’t talk much aside from Weiss who explains that Blake will be waiting tomorrow at the end of the exhibit in the gallery they are apparently attending.
Yang doesn’t get a wink of sleep that night. She tries to take the heiress’s advice and think of tomorrow with hope. She fails miserably and curls into a small ball in an empty, cold bed as she battles dark thoughts and sorrowful memories.
***
The next morning they are all bundles of nerves. Yang’s foot doesn’t stop jerking, and it irks Weiss beyond measure, but she doesn’t say anything. They take a stroll through the town and that’s when they notice.
It’s everywhere. Banners, holo-screens, flyers.
It’s all black (or dark bluish, when it’s in hologram form), with a singular simplistic golden dragon with spread wings hovering over the title ‘The Dragon that Became My Sun’, the date right below it. At the very bottom of it there is a spear and shield logo of the Milo & Akuo Gallery of Fine Arts. It’s all incredibly simple and basic. Yang just stands rooted to the ground with her mouth agape.
As the evening gets closer, they start to get ready when Ruby and Yang realize they have nothing fancy to wear. Weiss rolls her eyes and brings out two big packs from underneath her bed, because of course she would make sure they looked the part as well. Ruby just whines “Weeeeiiiissss”, clearly touched by the gesture, but when Yang opens her package, the first thing she notices is a note made on a little piece of paper.
‘Dress to impress’.
A sharp inhale makes Yang’s eyes prickle at the inside joke between her and the faunus. It was earlier on in their relationship, when the blonde asked Blake to dress fancily for a romantic dinner date. When the raven-haired girl shown up dressed in a simple black dress reaching mid-thigh and with wide straps on her arms, wearing a full makeup and with her hair done, Yang welcomed her in complete nude, unabashed, with an alluring smirk on her face. When Blake quickly descended into spluttering red-faced mess at the sight, stuttering “What the hell, Yang?!”, she only heard the blonde mutter into her ear “I dress to impress, baby”.
They didn’t eat dinner that night, and Blake never took her dress off. It was to this day one of Yang’s most cherished memories and not just because the sex was mind-blowingly amazing. It was the night they connected on some weird universal level, and seeing the note brings up all kinds of feelings inside her.
She allows herself the tiniest spark of hope to flourish inside of her.
Yang takes a deep breath, clenching hands into fists inside her pockets. She is wearing a plain black, slim fitted, two-piece suit, with smooth, white shirt unbuttoned graciously, somehow without showing too much. Her hair gathered in a high ponytail by a purple bandana, a gift from Blake, finishing the stylization. It’s a simple look, but one that suits Yang so much that even Weiss has to bite her lip, gawking a bit.
The heiress wears a long, sleeveless grey dress that falls into light blue nearing the uneven hem, with a gentle neckline and a slit that goes to her mid-thigh, and matching grey gloves that extend above her elbows. The complex braid, that to the awe of both girls Weiss managed to create out of her hair in few minutes, falls gently on the left side of her neck and down her torso.
“Guyyyyys, let’s go in before I kill myself in those,” Ruby whines, trying to catch balance in her black, open-foot, high heels that Weiss made her wear. Her high-neck, sleeveless black dress falls loosely just above her knees. She pulls it at the fitted waist line, groaning quietly. She hates wearing dresses and she is pretty sure, that the heiress made her wear heels just for her own sadistic enjoyment.
“Yeah… let’s go.” Yang is amazed any sounds manage to leave her dry, wooden mouth, as she slowly heads into the gallery. It’s not exactly a flood of people, but they have to weave between bunches of them, when they notice Pyrrha, standing with another shorter redhead next to the doorway leading into a walled off section of the gallery, waving at them excitedly.
“Hello!” Pyrrha sings a bit loudly to break through the noise of the flock of people behind them. “This is my sister, Vermilion.”
They all say their greetings, and the warrior’s sister waves her hand at them, “It’s Vera and it’s awesome to see you all here. Pyrrha does nothing else whenever she’s home but gush over all of you,” she says with a grin.
As the other two girls fall into easy conversation with her sister, Vera eyes Yang for a few seconds before pointing at the blonde with her chin. “So you are THE dragon,” she says with a knowing albeit sad smile. Yang’s eyes widen a bit, and she stares at the shorter girl as the others fall silent. “Blake asked that you were allowed first, before anyone else, so you can go right in. We will open it officially in like 20-30 minutes, so you can get a head start.”
Yang tries really hard not to show the fact that her ribs are being pulverized by her heart, hammering in her chest, so she only nods and heads in as Vera holds the door open for her.
She finds herself in a barren, white room, the noise of the crowd muted by the door. The only walls that have anything on them is the one in front of her, with a doorway leading further in into the maze and the one to her right, with a painting at least as tall as she is and probably even longer. Her legs take her to it before her brain catches up and registers what exactly is on it.
First Painting – “Beginning”
It’s dawn, the gentle oranges and yellows of the rising sun wraps the scenery in a warm, heartwarming hue. The vibrant greens of low grass contrast sharply with dark grays of the rock in the middle. A group of animals is gathered on top of the cliff, except they are more than just animals, there is something mythical about them, feeling of the beasts from old legends.
The vibrant orange fur of the tiger seems so soft that you may just feel it by running your hand through the painting. It stands proud next to the panther almost the color of the sky between the stars, somewhere on the verge of darkest sapphire and deepest black. The aura of nobility and pride those two contrasting beasts exude is almost visible. Next to the panther is a smaller black cat, carrying itself with such dignity that kings and queens of this world would bow down to it just to be allowed to exist in its presence. And yet there is warmth in its eyes as it looks over the panther and the tiger towards the smallest cat, a little ball of fur and ears, with two amber jewels as eyes.
The little one is perched on top of the biggest of the beasts, a giant black bull. The strength in the beast is enough to make the dark rock on which they stand seem as if it’s nothing more than softest form of charcoal, bending and withering under touch. The bull is as awe-inspiring as it is terrifying and yet the little cat’s eyes hold such reverence for it that they are completely unaware of the bull’s horns and parts of its shadow. It’s subtle, so miniscule that you can barely see it, but it’s there and unmistakable. A smallest amount of dark scarlet liquid adoring the bull’s horns, almost as if a drop settled on them, slowly trickling down and leaving a trail of what was once life. The bull stands tall and proud, gentle even, but the shadow it casts is one of rage and violence.
There are other animals behind, each painted so vividly you could swear they were real, lying in wait to jump out of the painting and into the unknown. There are so many emotions there: love, pride, admiration, strength, fear and longing. They all somehow mix together, raising around the group like a mist, thick and thin, obscuring and emphasizing, all those contradictions flowing perfectly, creating a scene with unmatched dynamic in its stillness.
Yang’s brain finally shakes itself out of shock, and she finds herself with her hand halfway extended towards the small cat perched up on top of the bull. Finally allowed a minute of comprehension, she realizes what this all is, what it means. Blake is finally telling the blonde her story. The thought sends a shiver down her spine because she can’t believe that it is happening.
She spends few more moments admiring the painting, focusing on each of the animals. She almost snarls at the bull, and her prosthetic hand subconsciously clenches. Yang may not know everything, but she can more or less guess who they all represent in Blake’s life.
She takes a quick breath and tears her eyes away from the painting, leaving the room. The next space is an exact copy of the first, and she quickly strides towards the next painting, heart beating in excitement and hands shaky with tension.
Second Painting – “Mistakes”
It’s darker in tone, the colors are more washed out. The most prominent part of it is the Bull, no longer proud and stoic. Its mouth foaming, silhouette sharp, like an edge of a sword. A demon, with a sneer of hatred contorting its snout, showing rows of jagged teeth dripping with blood. Its horns longer and now stained with so much blood it seems to have sunk into them, changing their color forever. The black fur covering it is in clumps, looking more and more like scales.
In the far distance, the slumped silhouettes of the panther and the bigger cat can be seen, as they leave towards the horizon, and the tiger is seemingly missing. Except it’s not. A hint of orange fur lies in a pool of blood behind one of the rocks. It’s a ghost of something horrible, a whisper of a horrid crime that took place a moment ago that is almost invisible to the naked eye.
The small cat is sitting next to the bull this time, it’s fur rough, seemingly lost its silk, amber eyes dulled as they look down to the ground. The little animal is bound to the bull’s leg by thorny veins with dark red roses blooming on them. It seems even smaller than before, like it’s starting to fade away slowly, dissipating into black mist at the edges. And yet, the small animal is the one thing that draws the eyes towards it, with the monster next to it becoming more of a hellish background rather than the focus of it.
The rest of the animals are cowering in fear bellow the bull demon, some of them throwing frightful glances towards a burning village in the distance, some watching with wild eyes, excitement almost palpable. Dancing shadows surround burning houses and silhouettes of people, some running in panic, some lying deadly still on the ground, chaos spreads over the canvas like a pool of liquid, engulfing it whole. The smell of charcoal and sulfur, dancing flames tangled with bellows seem to flow from the painting into the room.
Yang can almost hear the crackling of flames, as her misty eyes lock on the cat. She takes in the thorns and immediately understands the significance. It makes her sick, how such pure and beautiful bond could be so painful, could bring such amount of hurt. She takes in the misty edges of the small animal and swallows heavily, because she knows what it means to slowly lose parts of herself. How it feels to wilt away and be bound by those who are supposed to be closest to you. Prisoner of your own mind, heart, and soul. She exhales shakily as she slowly steps back, throws one last glance at the bull and feels needle pricks at the point where her stump connects to the base of her prosthetic. Not yet. It’s still not the hatred she faced.
She has no idea how much time has passed as she enters the third room. If not for the paintings, she would lose her mind at how identically empty all the rooms are. But as it is she doesn’t even notice. She is witnessing something grand, she has no time for reality surrounding her. She’s only able to focus on Blake’s reality in front of her.
As the blonde nears the next painting, she finally takes it in and stops dead in her tracks.
Anger and Fury.
Those are about the only things she can feel as she stares at the scene in front of her.
Third painting – “Betrayal”
Hurt. Hurt and pain are what fills the painting this time. It’s bare and empty, color of desolation seeping through the edges of the canvas. The cat lies on its side as blood trickles from the wound on its abdomen, its face expressionless. A single tear forms in one of its amber eyes. The detail so unbelievable that you can see the reflection of the cold dark world inside it. Trapped in the transparent globe is all the hurt and pain that seems to overwhelm every single atom in existence. The weak dying ember of life in the cat’s eye seems to be still flickering, on the verge of being extinguished by the shadow that looms over the small animal.
With its hoof on the cat’s side, the bull towers over it, one of its horns drips with fresh blood, but the look on its face is one of affection. Hateful, possessive affection towards the tiny creature underneath. A singular red rose in its teeth, vibrant crimson is what draws the attention. Seemingly flawless and beautiful, lively flower so vivid that you can almost smell it. But it’s not perfect, some petals are wilting away, seemingly hidden by the vibrancy of the flower, and the thorns are elongated and sharp like claws.
Its beauty is an illusion, its thorns – a poison. All of it masquerading, pretending. Its true purpose is to hurt, to sink its claws in and never let go.
Yang wants to scream, to punch and tear the bull apart. She remembers how Blake’s jagged, cross-shaped scar feels under her fingers. She wants to take it all away. She feels bile in her throat rise up when she thinks of what he did to her, because it’s so much worse than what she thought had happened. It’s just the beginning, but she is starting to understand how broken Blake must feel. What kind of despair she has faced for the last few years.
She tries to calm her breathing, quench her anger. She closes her eyes and takes a few breaths to still herself enough to go forward. It’s the third painting, but it’s already overwhelming her. She always knew the faunus was an amazing artist, but this is something else entirely. To tell all of that with few paintings is beyond Yang’s comprehension. She is reading Blake’s biography, written in feelings and emotions. With pictures that somehow convey infinitely more than words, she is being led on a journey she knows she needs to witness, but isn’t sure she can handle where it’s going. She knows how it ends after all.
She doesn’t even notice when she finds herself in the next room, and when she gazes at the next painting, she wishes she never entered it.
Fourth painting – “Cowardice”
The trees are lifeless, dark branches sharp like spikes close over a narrow path. It seemingly chokes the scene, wrapping around a small lonely silhouette walking through it. The cat is limping, even on a still painting that much is clear, the hurt and pain radiating from it in waves. Its head barely hovering over the ground, its eyes hidden. Edges of bones seem to almost prick the sunken skin under matte fur, dirtied with blood and dust. It’s running. The feeling of desperation hits like a hammer, hopelessness like no other, drowning everything.
The inferno blazing in the distance and a demonic silhouette contrasts with the foreground of the painting, raging, as the other, smaller animals try to get away from it. The demon stands on a pile of corpses, and even though it’s no bigger than a mouse in the distance, its fury dominates over everything.
Yang shudders as she hears the furious roar of the demon. She remembers hearing it as he lunged towards her, as they stumbled on the street in a tussle. Her left hand shakes, and she automatically stills it with her prosthetic. It hasn’t happened for a while, but there was a time when anything could trigger her panic attacks. Now it was a shadow of the past. She didn’t fall into the clutches of anxiety, but it made her remember how it was. She knows Blake enough to know why this one was called cowardice. Even if Yang knows that leaving was the bravest thing she has ever done.
She always knew he hurt her, but it’s in this moment that she starts to realize how much trauma he managed to inflict. Both physical and emotional. She feels prickles of tears behind her eyes, but she promises herself not to cry. Not yet. Not till it’s all over.
The promise goes out the window the moment she enters the next room and gazes at the next painting. Tears begin to fall.
Fifth painting – “Alone”
The simplicity of the painting is what conveys the most. It’s empty, pitch black all around. The cat sits alone, surrounded only by darkness. It’s almost skeletal, just skin and bones. The once vibrant and deep amber eyes are dark and hollow. There is no life in them, no hope. They are clouded by the color of loneliness, the cat barely managing to sit straight, crushed by the weight of its past.
There is nothing else. Just hurt.
And yet there seems to be something, in one of the corners, no more than a shallow breath. There seems to be an inkling of a light. Something golden and shining somewhere near, but for now being no more than a pale, barely discernible shimmer. A promise in the darkness.
Yang can’t breathe. She’s sobbing violently, overwhelmed by what was just avowed to her. She remembers meeting Blake for the first time.
It was in some rundown bar that Yang visited while searching for her birth mother. It was instant. One look and the blonde was gone. Nothing mattered anymore, just the faunus sitting at the end of the bar. Unhealthily thin, dark bags under her eyes, accentuated by the pale skin. Yang has never seen anything so hauntingly beautiful. So sad.
When their eyes met, they both knew. Yang silently went to her, and when Blake stood up to face her, it was as if they met after a long break. Yang found it flabbergasting back then that she managed to miss someone she saw for the first time in her life.
“I always ran away from things. My whole life. But when I met you, it all became clear. I wasn’t running from things. I was running towards you the whole time,” Blake would later say to her.
Yang was ignorant. She knew Blake had to go through something traumatic, and she wanted to know. But Blake seemingly got better ever since meeting her. There were worse and better days, but Blake changed slowly. More smiles, less bags under her eyes. Yang was blinded by her beauty and happiness form the progress she made. They were in love and she thought the past didn’t matter.
She was wrong.
The depth of Blake’s pain is like a knife digging straight into Yang’s soul. It’s too much. She can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t speak. It crushes her, because she cannot fathom how Blake survived all of this.
Yang is sick to her stomach, because she realizes the enormity of what he had done to her. How badly he poisoned and destroyed her. She knew he was crazy, but she always thought that this was it. That he was crazy from the sick, twisted love he claimed he felt for Blake.
She was wrong.
He was evil. From the very beginning all he cared about was crushing her spirit, slowly hollowing her out until she was a husk, filled with his vile views and thoughts. He used her love and trust against her, showing her nothing but lies, until it was too late.
Even now after his death, he looms over Blake, over Yang. Now she knows that. And understanding it doesn’t make anything better.
She can’t do this, now she understands. There is more, Yang knows that, but she can’t move, she can’t bring herself to go further, standing there, sobbing. Until a small soft hand slips into her left one, and startles her a bit.
Ruby smiles at her through her own silent tears, squeezing her palm. Yang just looks at her sister for a while, grounding herself with her presence. People always regard her as someone strong, as a pillar for everyone else to lean on. That’s what she always wanted to be. But she is weak. She is nothing without people that support her. Her sister who is always there for her, no matter what. Weiss sacrificing her relationship with her father and brother for their sake, for what she would never admit is her true family. Ren for getting her through her physical therapy. Pyrrha for carrying everyone on her back, never wavering. Jaune and Nora for their endless positivity. And Blake. Because she would be nothing without her love. There is a lot of pain between them, both stemming from their pasts and from their own bad decisions, but it is pure. They love each other and that’s it. That is enough and Yang wants nothing more.
She slowly pulls Ruby towards the next room, unaware of people slowly passing her by.
Sixth painting – “Dragon”
It’s blinding. The colors of sun radiating from the painting with such strength you almost can’t look at it.
The cat is sitting on top of a flat rock. Still thin, but no longer misty at the edges, its head up high as it gazes at the marvel before it.
Scales like molten gold, you can almost feel the heat radiating from the elongated body. Hovering in front of the cat is a dragon made of pure sunlight. Its long body resembling a serpent twirls and curls all around them, face graced with rows of teeth that cut just by looking at them, and a pair of horns, splintering like branches of a tree, almost white in color. There is a strip of long, almost translucent yellow hair on its back. Two muscular arms, with fingers ending with sharp claws. The image of the perfect beast. Of danger and destruction. And yet it emanates gentleness, no threat, only warmth. There is nothing else around it, because there is no space. The dragon takes it all.
The biggest contrast, however, are its eyes. The gentle shade of lilac contrasts so much with the sheer power the beasts exudes. Its sight focused on the tiny black animal in front of it, and the only thing you can read in the violet orbs is something deep, something that has no name, and yet explains everything. A feeling which words like adoration, devotion, and affection don’t do justice.
It’s too much, and at the same time not enough.
Yang stands there, mouth open slightly, feeling a new wave of tears.
She never felt good enough.
When Tai told her Raven left her as a baby, she wondered why, after a while this wonder slowly turned into a thorn in her heart. Raven left her, Summer died and left her as well. Why? Why did they all leave? Was she not good enough? It had to be it. She slowly spiraled into a pit of self-doubt, thinking less and less of herself, desperate to prove her worth to her friends, so that they wouldn’t leave her too. She stopped caring about her own well-being, focusing on solely existing for other people’s sake. Funnily enough, it was Weiss who confronted her about it. Deceptively perceptive, the prickly heiress apparently silently watched over her true family. She tried to gently nudge Yang towards finding her confidence back, but when that didn’t work, she had to resort to tough love. It did help the blonde to realize everything she did, but it still didn’t quench it completely. It was Blake who finally managed to get her past all of it. Yang always knew she was surrounded by bigger people and to see how Blake truly saw her, so majestic and beautiful and grand, was like a kick to her chest, leaving her gasping for air, with heart thundering like an earthquake.
Yang feels her palm being squeezed. When she turns to Ruby, the smaller girl beams at her with such a disarmingly proud smile, the blonde can’t help but melt a little. After few more moments of gazing at the painting, they make their way to the next room.
Seventh painting – “Fear”
Run. Faster. Just run. Don’t stop. Don’t turn around. Just keep running. You can’t let it catch up to you no matter what, because if it does, that’s it. You won’t ever be able to get out.
Everything is blurry, the trees surrounding the path that the cat is speeding on. It’s low on its paws, filled out a bit, fur recovering some of the shine, its amber eyes wide open, fear darkening them, snout contorted in a guilty grimace. The silhouette elongated as it is mid-stride, you can almost feel the wind that slithers over its coat. It’s running, desperate to go far as quick as it can. Far in the back of the road you see a shadow of the bull, but it’s miniscule, almost invisible amidst the sea of light that basks everything in the canvas.
The dragon, weaving through the trees like a thread, chases after the cat. It’s everywhere around it, head slightly in the background, eyeing the little animal with sadness, seemingly pleading for something. But the cat is still running.
Yang deflates, closes her eyes and Ruby never lets go of her limp palm. For a second the blonde thinks it’s funny how everyone who sees this painting is going to think that the cat is running from the bull, its shadow smacked in the middle of the painting.
They are going to be wrong.
Yang knows what the cat is running from, what the fear in the title of the painting means. It’s running from the dragon.
Yang knows, because this is it. The first time that Blake had left her.
They were few months into their relationship, and Yang knew both of them could confess their love for each other the moment they met. Except Blake couldn’t accept that. Everything was too fresh for her, all the feelings overwhelming. She thought she loved Adam, but she knew she loved Yang, and the enormity of this knowledge terrified her. She was bruised and battered, her heart bleeding, and her soul wailing. She convinced herself that she couldn’t have it. She let him convince her that she didn’t deserve it. So she ran. Without a word of goodbye she left one night. And Yang chased after her.
Almost a month. That’s how long it took the blonde to catch up. She found Blake on a goat farm, near the border with Vacuo, and she confronted her. This was the one time she heard the faunus’s yell. They stood there in a field, yelling at each other for what seemed like hours. Finally, after their voices failed them, the only thing they were able to do was to embrace one another.
Yang took Blake back to Vale that night. It was rocky at first, but they managed. At least that’s what she thought.
The blonde feels her hand being pulled, and realizes she has been staring at the ground for a while and lets Ruby lead her to the next room. And when they do, Yang can’t help but smile, her heart doing summersaults. She ignores the roar of a coming storm and for the moment she allows herself to be lost in good memories.
Eighth painting – “Illusion”
The sun shines brightly, covering everything with a blanket of light and warmth. At least it tries to. Because how can anyone even notice it when the dragon is radiating gold, floating and curling on the most of the canvas, exuding such tranquility and warmth? How can such an insignificant thing like a sun compare to it? The cat seems to bask in it as well, trotting lightly right next to the dragon’s head. Its fur again like softest silk, edges sharp, no longer dissolving into mist, amber eyes shining and vibrant, and the expression of its face reads peace. Their destination – a field of golden sunflowers.
They are both oblivious, unaware.
Unaware of the shadow that the horned demon casts at the ground right behind them. You can’t see it yet, but shadows and darkness begin to creep onto the painting, the demon seemingly infecting the landscape before it even appears. No amount of screams and pleading will stop what’s coming. All you can do is watch and weep.
They were happy. For months they truly were happy. Blake easily fitted into Yang’s group of friends, like a puzzle piece that was missing all this time. They all laughed and joked, simply enjoying life.
Blake finds a job as a journalist and they date, sometimes sleeping together, sometimes apart. Boundaries are important, and they both know they are not ready to live together yet. But Yang can’t remember ever being happier than she was back then. It seemed like a fairytale. A fairytale that someone ripped the happy ending from.
When they take few steps towards the next room, Yang stops. Ruby eyes her curiously, seemingly unaware of what awaits them in the next room. Yang knows too well. She lets go of her sister’s hand and massages her right shoulder, slowly tracing back the prosthetic of her artificial palm.
Ruby’s eyes flash with recognition and she closes her palms around Yang’s. It doesn’t take her long to worm herself in and clutch to the blonde’s waist. Yang reciprocates the hug immediately, inhaling minty fresh smell of what seems to be Weiss’s body wash, and it’s weirdly soothing. They stay like this for a while, Yang mentally preparing herself for what’s about to come. She thinks Ruby says something to someone, but she can’t focus on anything else other than the memories of his screams, of the way he smelled sour, like whiskey and sweat. She stills herself and, untangling from Ruby, she heads towards the next room.
Ninth painting – “Sacrifice”
Blood. It drips and pours, eating at the ground like acid. Sharp, beautiful crimson that relays only one meaning. Death.
The skies are dark and somber, there is no light, no hope. The color of despair washing away at the once vibrant scenery. You can feel the sky rumble and ground crack as it bursts under the weight of two titans.
The dragon and the bull are locked in a dance. A mortifying and vicious dance. The dragon’s arm is skewed by one of the horns, its teeth sinking into the bull’s neck, desperately gripping the other horn with its other hand. The bull sneers hate, spits venom, and a wish of death with such strength, it’s amazing the canvas doesn’t explode. Fur replaced by dark shiny scales is coated with its own dark blood, scathing flames erupt from its nostrils as it tries to escape the coil of the dragon’s body surrounding it.
The cat is watching all of it in horror, leaning onto a rock, once more wounded in its side. You can see singular drops of blood perched on the cat’s fur like a morning dew clinging to grass.
Somewhere in the background death awaits, watching silently with a gift of one last embrace.
Yang grips her prosthetic forearm tight as she brings her artificial palm towards her chest. Lips pressed in a tight line, she tries to make sense of all of it as Ruby’s gaze is silently transfixed on the painting.
It’s, well… Epic. That’s what Yang thinks. A true battle of gods and probably the single most amazing piece of art she has ever witnessed. She can hardly believe it depicts their run-in with Adam. It seems so long ago and yet at the same time as if it had happened yesterday.
She remembers walking with Blake one day, sipping her strawberry shake and holding her hand until suddenly she is not, because she is flung against a lamp post. She remembers hitting her head and dropping down to the ground. She’s probably out no more than a second, but it feels like a lifetime.
As she comes to, fear grips her soul and never releases. She sees him, in his black suit, pinning Blake to the wall by her throat, the faunus struggling, fruitlessly gasping for air. She remembers his voice thundering through the street, screaming of love and betrayal. Of her cowardice. She vaguely recalls people staring stunned.
Dread befalls her as she watches him take out a knife and sink it into Blake’s side as he kisses her.
“GET AWAY FROM HER!” she yells as she jumps to her feet and grabs him by his coat, throwing him to the sidewalk. He lunges at her with a roar and they struggle. Neither of them notices how it takes them into the middle of the street. Suddenly something slams her into a wall of a nearby building, ripping the air out of her lungs along with her consciousness.
Next comes nothingness.
Tenth painting – “Reality”
Terror. That’s the only thing that takes root and blossoms in the cat’s eyes as it watches the scene before it.
The bull lies dead, dissipating into a black mist, its eyes empty. Devoid of life, finally free of the hatred they always bore.
The dragon stumbles to the ground hurt, a bloody stump where once its right arm was attached, with closed eyes and grimace of pain contorting its dignified façade.
The landscape is devastated, ground cracked, and the sky itself despairs and weeps over the horrors that transpired.
The next thing she knows, she lies in a hospital bed with who she thinks is the doctor telling her that they tried to save her arm, but couldn’t. She is groggy and in so much pain she shouldn’t even be conscious right now, but it all doesn’t matter.
Blake.
Blake is all that matters.
Yang looks at the painting and takes in the devastation, trying to not let it spread to her heart again, her arm burning with fire. She heads towards the next room, having half a mind to skip the next painting. But she can’t. She owes this to Blake. To herself. They went through so much and she has to be strong for them. That’s the only thing she can do.
Eleventh painting – “Undeserving”
A small silhouette is darting through a narrow path. Barren, leafless trees contort around as if they wanted to catch and smother the small feline. If grief and guilt had colors, you would not be able to see anything else on the painting. That’s what the cat’s face is expressing as it runs away from the field of sunflowers and the dragon lying on the bed of gold. The cat runs away, but it’s not fast enough.
Dark arms, fingers like knives, spring from the ground, sinking their talons into the cat’s fur. Below you can see faces, horrible masks, all white with shiny red eyes, as if despair itself took a mantle of a horrid creature and set itself to consume the little animal with everything it had.
As she comes to in the hospital, she tries to get up, when a volcano of pain erupts from her ribcage and she passes out. Next time she wakes up, she tries to get up again, and she passes out, again. Next few times are too hazy, but when she finally wakes up, tired and seeped of all the strength she had, they finally tell her. Adam is dead. She lost her arm. Blake is okay. Blake is gone.
Blake is gone.
This one phrase hurts her a thousand times more than all her cuts and bruises, broken ribs and missing arm.
Yang’s heart throbs painfully at the memory of her world shattering. She lost her arm and the love of her life. She was alone. Abandoned again.
But she understands now. She won’t ever agree with a decision Blake made back then, but now she gets where it came from. The faunus was trying to be noble. In her own, completely misguided way. His farewell gift to her. Blame and guilt so overwhelming, that this was the only path she thought she could take.
Ruby clings to her arm again, squeezing it lightly to give her sister a modicum of support as they travel towards the next painting. They both know what happens next and both of them are equally apprehensive about seeing it.
Except it’s not what they expect. It’s so, so much worse.
Twelfth painting – “Hurt”
The field of sunflowers.
It’s supposed to be a deep sea of gold, beautiful and soothing. It’s not.
The dragon lies amidst it, unmoving, its vibrancy gone, scales pale and matte. There is no glow, no majesty, no warmth.
It lies in a sea of gold, standing out as if someone bleached most of the painting. Dark crimson blood pooling around its missing arm, its eyes lifeless, shedding streams of tears.
It’s given up, beaten and defeated.
Alone.
And yet it’s not. Behind it a small silhouette approaches. Silent and careful, with a sorrowful look coloring its pitch black face.
“Oh, Yang…” Ruby says as she side hugs the blonde.
Yang is a wreck. But not because of how accurately haunting the painting is. Not because she remembers how it felt back then. How she refused to go to physical therapy and everyone got mad at Ren for not doing anything to convince her otherwise, even if he was adamant about giving her space and her coming to him. How she spent her days in her room, ignoring everyone, not eating, not talking, just lying there, slowly loosing pieces of herself in her loneliness. How she tried to drown her sorrow, pain and hurt in alcohol. How she wasn’t sober for most of the year that followed Blake leaving her. How she hurt everyone around her just because she was suffering.
But because of that damn cat. Because it was Blake, and Yang knew how much guilt she carries around, still to this day with her own, tasting sour in her mouth.
Blake was wrong when she left. But Yang was wrong as well when she has given up.
Yang feels like she just got into another accident. Her legs are weak and she can’t stop the tears even if she wanted to. It’s a good thing Ruby’s there, because the blonde is pretty sure she would have fallen to the ground, curling into smallest possible ball, without her support.
She doesn’t even notice she’s not the only one. She misses other people, couples, silently crying, seeking support with their companions.
Ruby slowly pulls her away from the painting and together they enter the last room.
It’s bigger than the previous ones, but as barren the other rooms. The younger girl slowly leads Yang towards the last painting, and it’s there that Yang finally feels like she is falling apart.
Thirteenth painting – “Love”
Dark clouds seemingly seep the color out of the painting. Everything seems darker, more toned. And yet there is a ray of sunshine piercing through the veil of murk.
In the gloom and grays of the world, that one spot that the light shines upon takes new life, everything is sharper, more detailed. Everything seems so much more alive.
The cat lies curled up right next to the dragon nuzzling its tiny head into the beast’s cheek, the dragon’s scales shining with renewed vigor, regaining some of its usual glow and warmth, basking in the ray of sunshine enveloping them.
The dragon seems at peace, head slightly tilted towards the cat, eyes closed, and a gentle expression on its face.
The two contrasting animals, both in size and color, seem so perfectly content with each other, that it’s almost as if they are melting together at the edges.
You can see the damage. Cracked ground, fallen flower petals and angry, dark clouds, but what the sun shining through all of it reveals, with a seeming finality, is one thing. And one thing only.
Because in the end, and that is what this painting is, it’s all that ever matters. Not the past, not the hurt and the pain, but hope.
Love.
Yang can’t believe she made it as she stares at the painting. The torrent of emotions that overtakes her is overwhelming, coloring the reality around her with myriad of feelings. It feels like a lifetime has passed since she began the journey through Blake’s past, and in a manner of speaking it has. And now she arrived at the end of it.
Something shatters in the distance of her mind and she knows what was missing all this time.
While Yang herself has said it numerous times, Blake couldn’t.
I love you.
Those three, seemingly simple words were a barrier she couldn’t bring herself to breach.
Until now.
Because the painting is just that, a confession. It says that no matter what happened in the past, what mistakes they made, what was taken from them, in the end all that matters is that they love each other.
It’s the end and Yang finally thinks it’s enough. She understands now. She knows.
She feels her approaching before she hears the clicks of the heels she’s wearing and her jaw literally drops to the floor when she turns around to face her.
The amber eyes shining with nervousness and a hint of fear, her sharp face framed no longer by waves of long, silky, black hair, but by a short, straight but springy bob cut. It brings a gentle feeling of openness to her, usually more mysterious, apparel. Her cat ears, poking through her hair, drawn back slightly.
She’s wearing a slim-fitted, pencil purple, high-neck dress, ending just above her knees. The small tear-shaped neckline and sleeves that end just at the elbows make it classy and infuriatingly sexy. Every curve of her body tightly accentuated by the way the dress hugs her in all the right ways.
Yang can’t stop staring, taking all of her in as if she were afraid that the faunus before her is but a mirage that will dissipate into nothingness at any moment, until the black-haired girl clears her throat.
The blonde’s eyes snap back to Blake’s ambers as she waits silently while Blake gathers herself to speak what she’s prepared to say.
“This is it, Yang. This is all of it. I… It’s so frustrating not being able to talk about any of it.” Blake starts and swallows heavily, never dropping her gaze from the blonde’s eyes. “He-He poisoned me. He tore away my past from me and never let go. Even now that he’s gone. I know I hurt you, but I just couldn’t… So I am sorry. For not being strong enough to get past it. For allowing him to almost destroy us again and again. But I hope that it’s something.”
“This is it and it’s the end.” Blake gestures towards Yang, then towards the painting and the blonde’s lips tighten and her stomach drops. So it really is the end. She was ready for it, but she isn’t really.
Blake closes her eyes and takes a deep breath for what’s to come next.
“That’s the end of this story, Yang,” she says, taking a small step back and Yang tries desperately to hold herself together. “It’s the end, because I want to write a new story with you.”
Blake drops on one knee, her dress riding slightly up on her pale thigh and Yang’s brain completely short-circuits.
“I promise I will be better, stronger. I want to change, with you there to see it. So will you, Yang Xiao-Long, do me the honor that I know I don’t deserve and be my wife?” Blake manages to say with her quivering voice, as she brings a small black box up with one hand and opens it with another.
It’s incredibly simple. Silver band with two curvy tear-shaped gemstones, a bright yellow topaz swirling around with a black nuummite gemstone, resembling Yin and Yang.
Yang’s knees give out and she drops on them heavily, shaky hands coming up to palm Blake’s cheeks.
“What …What the hell, Blake? What the actual fuck?!” she barely manages to gasp out. “Fuck yes! Yes, I will be your wife. I will be whatever you want me to be, just BE with me.” She hugs the now crying faunus tightly. She finally has a chance to look over her shoulder to see all of them watching.
Yes, there are other people, and most of them watch happily, some tearing up. But it’s not them that matter.
Ruby openly wails, hanging from Weiss’s neck, and the heiress herself is wiping tears from her eyes.
Pyrrha and Vermilion stand side to side with teary-eyed smiles.
And she also sees two people she completely did not expect there.
Ghira and Kali Belladonna stand to the side. Kali beaming a smile that could easily light up a deepest and darkest cave for at least a year, and Ghira trying and failing hard to stay tall, intimidating and serious, slowly melting into a puddle instead.
“I could have married you on the spot in that rundown hole that we first met in,” Yang says after Blake puts the ring on her finger.
“I know… I knew all this time, you know?” Before all of this, Blake hoped desperately that it would be enough. “That I loved you.”
And feeling Yang’s smile as she kisses her, she knows.
It’s enough.