Chapter 3.

Yang awoke to the worst possible sensation: the relentless buzz of her phone.

It stopped after a few seconds—but the damage was done.

Blake groaned softly and rolled over, inching closer. “Shouldn’t you get that?” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Mmm,” Yang grunted, pulling the pillow over her face. The phone buzzed again. She let out a long, pitiful sigh, blindly reaching for it on the nightstand. 

She cracked one eye open, squinting at the screens glow. Vernal calling, wonderful. 

“Yeah?” Yang muttered quietly as she put the phone to her ear. 

“You alive? Vernal’s voice came through, sharp and amused. 

“No. Sadly this is my ghost—oh Gods,” Yang groaned, rubbing her aching head. “So you’re in charge now,” 

Blake—still mostly asleep—buried her face into her pillow. “Ghosts don’t talk. Especially so loudly.”

Vernal chuckled from the other end. “Sounds like you two had fun last night.”

Yang narrowed her eyes at nothing in particular. “Me? Have fun? I’m far too busy for that.” 

Vernal didn’t miss a beat. “Then can you explain how someone with your phone, sounding exactly like drunk you, called me at 2am?” 

“I’d do no such thing! I have dignity you know?!” Yang argued, throwing a hand toward the ceiling.

Vernal barked a laugh. “Dignity? You went on about Blake’s cat ears for five whole minutes!” 

Blake shot up, staring horrified at the phone. 

“Called them ‘unfairly soft’, and ‘too damn cute to be legal’,” Vernal continued, absolutely reveling in it. 

Yang opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. No words came out. Just disbelief and shame. 

“Then you shushed me. And told me not to tell anyone,” Vernal added, dropping the mockery. Mostly dropping it. 

Blake stared at Yang, drilling holes into her with a look of stunned disbelief.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

Yang winced. “I’ll call you back, Vernal.” She hung up.

Blake turned away, stood up, and quietly pulled her trousers up from where she’d left them the night before.

“You didn’t even last a day,” she said flatly.

“Okay, but I was drunk and—” Yang tried, already chasing the words as they left her.

“That’s not an excuse.” Blake’s voice was clipped, her glare sharp. She didn’t wait for a response.

She grabbed her duffel bag, snatched her bow off the bed, and walked out the door.

Yang caught the door before it slammed shut, practically stumbling into the morning light as she pulled on her boots. 

Blake was already halfway across the lot, duffel slung over one shoulder, her bow clutched tightly in the other.

“Blake! Please—“ She called. 

Blake didn’t stop. 

“Please—just wait.”

Blake halted, but didn’t turn around. Her back was rigid, her fists clenched. 

Yang approached carefully, with slow, measured steps. “Look, I’m sorry. I was drunk. I was stupid. But that doesn’t undo what I did.”

Blake turned then—fast.

“You think that makes it better?” she snapped. “Owning it? Am I supposed to clap for you? Give you a medal?” Her eyes flared with rage as she raised her hands and began slow-clapping, each smack of palm to palm louder than the last. “Well, good girl, Yang! Good. Fucking. Job.”

Yang flinched, shame thick in her chest, but she slowly nodded. “No. You’re right. It doesn’t make it better.”

The words hit the air and evaporated like they weren’t enough—because they weren’t.

Blake scoffed under her breath, shoulders tight, trembling with energy too heavy for her to hold. Her fists clenched at her sides as she turned again and started walking. Her duffel bag swayed with the sharpness of her steps, bow gripped tight enough to make her knuckles strain white.

“I trusted you, Yang!” she shouted over her shoulder. Her voice cracked, broken and hoarse. “You’re the first person I trusted in months! Months, Yang!”

Yang stayed quiet. Followed. She didn’t close the distance—she gave Blake space—but she didn’t leave her either. Not this time.

“I told myself not to open up,” Blake continued, her steps slowing just enough to be heard. “I told myself not to fucking hope again. Not to be stupid enough to think someone might actually mean it when they say they care.”

She stopped walking and spun back around, eyes blazing.

“But then you—” Her voice caught, clenched between her teeth like she wasn’t sure whether to scream or sob. “You smiled at me like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just… broken pieces pretending to be a person.”

She looked away. Just for a second. Then forced her eyes back on Yang.

“Do you know what the last person I trusted did to me?” 

She didn’t wait for an answer.

Her hands shook as she reached for the cuffs of her hoodie, fingers fumbling over the fabric. Her breath hitched. But she didn’t stop. She peeled the sleeves back—slow, deliberate. 

Underneath, there were scars. Dozens. Some faded, some fresher. Jagged lines from blades, small patches of ruined skin where something had burned her—over and over.

Yang’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart twisted, chest pulling tight.

Tears streamed freely down Blake’s cheeks. “He scarred me. Again and again. And every time, he told me he loved me. That it hurt him more than it hurt me.”

Her voice cracked—low, brittle, barely there. “I believed him.”

Yang took a small step forward, slow and cautious. She didn’t reach out. She didn’t dare.

“I didn’t see the truth until it was too late,” Blake whispered. “He never loved me. He loved owning me. Controlling me.”

She let out a bitter, broken laugh. No humor in it. “That’s why I tried to kill myself.”

Her fingers hovered over one of the longer scars, tracing it without really feeling it. Just muscle memory. Just pain.

Blake’s arm fell, sleeve forgotten, and she leaned a little closer into Yang’s space. Not touching.

“He visited me at the hospital,” she continued, softer now. “He looked furious. Thought he’d finish the job himself.”

She looked up at Yang—eyes red, puffy, and filled with something raw and shaking. Her jaw clenched so tight it trembled.

“I trusted you,” she seethed, voice cracking. “So why?! Why did you of all people have to break it?!” 

She started hitting Yang’s chest—not hard, not to hurt, just enough to feel something, to make Yang feel it too.

“WHY?!” She screeched, each hit punctuating her grief and fury. “Why?!”

Yang didn’t flinch. She didn’t stop her. She just let it happen.

Blake’s fists pushed harder into her chest. “You were supposed to be different.” Another hit—softer now, weakening. “You were supposed to be safe.”

Her knees gave out. Yang caught her without a second thought, but didn’t hold tight—just enough to steady her, to let her stay upright. 

Blake choked on a sob, her fists curling into Yang’s shirt. “Why did you have to make me feel safe?” She whimpered. “Why did you have to be kind?”

She dropped her forehead to Yang’s shoulder, breath hitching. “I hate that I’m mad at you. I hate that I’m scared. I hate that part of me that believes you won’t hurt me again.”

Yang finally moved. Slowly. Carefully. She placed her hand between Blake’s shoulder blades, a gentle, grounding touch. No pressure. No pulling. 

Blake stiffened.

“Don’t,” she said hoarsely. Not yelling. Just… tired. 

Yang froze mid-breath.

“I want to forgive you,” Blake continued, voice trembling. “I want to believe you didn’t mean to hurt me.” She pulled back a little, and looked up at Yang.

There was something brittle in her eyes. Something still breaking. 

“He also held me like this, sometimes,” She whispered. “After the bruises. After the blood.” Her gaze dropped again, back to Yang’s shirt. “I think…I think he just liked how small I felt.”

Yang’s throat tightened. Her hand started to pull away, but Blake leaned back in, both arms slowly lifting to Yang’s back.

After a long pause, Yang whispered, “I’m not him.”

“I know,” Blake said. 

But it didn’t sound like comfort. It sounded like disbelief, that she would look up and see him again. 

Yang pulled in a slow breath. Then, a whisper: “If you want to leave, I understand.”

Blake hit her back and pulled away enough to look Yang in the eyes, a half-smirk on her lips. “I didn’t actually want to leave, idiot.”

Yang blinked. Still stunned.

“Plus, you still have my car,” Blake added, huffing out a quiet laugh.

Yang let out one of her own—small, but real. “I’m sure you could hotwire another one.”

Blake shrugged. “Maybe. But I like that one. It’s like my good luck charm.”

Yang barked a laugh. “Never heard anyone call their car that before.” She let out a breath, cautious now. “Still mad?”

“Of course!” Blake retorted, pulling away. Her smirk turned devilish. “But you can always piss me off again. Keep the streak going.”

Yang gave her a soft smile, letting her go. She squinted at the sky, groaning. “My head is killing me.”

Blake sighed and rubbed her temple. “I’m never drinking again!”

Yang let out an amused scoff. “But the best part is always the cure!” She gently guided Blake to her truck, careful not to touch her. 

“There’s nothing on Remnant that’ll get me to drink again—let alone some miracle hangover cure,” Blake muttered dryly, tugging her hood over her ears. 

Yang opened the passenger door, giving her a half-smirk. “A hangover is the perfect excuse to eat greasy crap with no remorse.”

Blake rolled her eyes as she climbed in. 

—-——————————————————-

“Uuuuggggghhhhh,” Blake groaned, slumped over the diner table like her spine had given up on her entirely.

“You said it,” Yang mumbled, her face buried in her hands as she elbowed her empty plate aside.

“Why do I feel worse?” Blake groaned again, flopping an arm over her eyes like a hungover ghost.

A sudden, chipper voice broke through the haze. 

“Did Yang tell you this was supposed to cure hangovers?”

“It’ll work,” Yang grumbled, lazily flapping her hand at the waitress like she was casting a spell.

“I’m just going to die here,” Blake muttered through her arms. “Here lies Regret and Shame, learn from her mistakes.”

“Coffee. Need. Nora get.” Yang waved her hand again, slumping onto the table herself. 

“Luckily for you, I just brought the one you ordered a few minutes ago,” Nora replied, lightly pushing the full mug closer.

Yang blindly reached out, fingers fumbling across the table like a dying cryptid until they found the mug. She clutched it like it was sacred.

“Blessed be the bean,” she whispered, not even lifting her head.

“Teeeeeaaaaaa,” Blake groaned, barely lifting her face from her arms.

Nora gasped as if personally offended. “Blake! I am a professional. I have a reputation to uphold!”

“Less talkey, more tea,” Blake muttered, playfully glaring at her. Nora stuck her tongue out in jest, then handed her the mug off her tray with a flourish. 

“Never seen anyone actually order our green tea before,” Nora mused, watching in amazement as Blake slurped on it. 

Blake lowered the mug, eyes half-lidded. “It’s tea like any other. Just pour boiling water on the tea leaves. I’m not exactly eating liquorice or Candy Corn.”

Nora gasped dramatically. “Liquorice is amazing! Don’t you dare disrespect the Holiest of candy in my diner again!”

“YOUR diner?” Yang cut in, raising an eyebrow. “Last I checked, Maria owns the place. You’re just her part-time waitress.”

“Are my ears burning?” Another voice rang out from behind Yang. An elderly woman hobbled over, wearing a smile sweet as pie. 

Then her cane cracked sharply on Yang’s back. Blake’s whole body jerked at the sudden sound and impact, her tea splashing onto the table. 

Her muscles tensed, breath hitching, her eyes widening in shock—or fear? 

“Where the Hell have you been?!” Maria said, glaring at Yang. 

“I was busy,” Yang replied, rubbing her back with a wince. 

“Busy my ass!”

Blake choked, tea misting across the table before she could stop it. Her eyes went wide as she stared at the tiny old woman casually cursing out Yang.

Maria shifted her gaze from Yang to Blake, her eyes squinting slightly.

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend? Or will she be reading my tombstone first?”

“I’m Blake, just Blake.”

Yang could see a twitch of movement from under her bow, subtle but there. Hopefully Maria nor Nora—who was still buzzing round their table—would catch it. 

“Well, Just Blake,” Maria said, lips curling like she’d already read her whole story. “Guarded, watchful… you’d fit right in with Yang’s lot.”

Blake’s eyes slid toward Yang, curiosity dancing in her eyes. 

Yang raised a brow at her, hiding behind her coffee. “Just… friends, a community if you will.” She sipped her coffee like that was the end of it. 

Maria snorted. “Friends my ass, wouldn’t call them a community neither.” 

“I don’t remember ordering a smartass with my breakfast,” Yang said, smirking over her mug. 

Another thwack of Maria’s cane. 

“Don’t get smart with me, Missy. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m frail. I was a—“

“A renowned Huntress in your days,” Yang finished, flinching when Maria barely raised her cane. 

Yang looked over at Blake, her eyes had dropped, a kind of fear in them. Blake didn’t respond when Yang called out her name, barely flinching when Yang brushed the back of her hand. 

“I’ll… give you two space,” Maria said, her tone dropping. She gave a small nod to Nora, a quiet explanation she picked up on. 

“Blake?” Yang raised an eyebrow, trying to meet her eyes, get them away from the depths of her tea. 

No response. But her hands started shaking, barely perceptible. The hairs on her hands stood, and her face turned ghostly pale. 

“You’re safe here,” Yang tried reassuring her, unsure what to do with her hands. 

A small whimper. A tiny tear in her eye. 

“He’s not here,” Yang tried again, gently placing her real hand on the back of Blake’s. She slowly started rubbing a circle into the back of it, whispering, “you’re safe here,” over and over again. 

Slowly, Blake’s hands stopped shaking, and she took in a deep, shaky breath. She looked up at Yang, plastering on a fake smile subconsciously. 

Yang didn’t buy the smile. It was too quick, too neat. She continued rubbing circles into her hand, a comforting smile on her lips. 

“You don’t have to pretend with me, ya know,” Yang said after a quiet beat.

Blake raised an eyebrow, her fake-smile dropping ever so slightly. “Pretending?”

“That you’re fine, you’re happy.” Yang kept her voice soft. 

Blake took her hand back, her smile dropping completely this time. Her gaze dropped to her tea again, but she didn’t escape to the depths of her mind this time. 

“I just… I dunno, Yang. It’s been a rough few months for me. Hell, a rough few years, I don’t think I’m quite ready yet,” Blake sighed. 

Yang nodded slowly, still watching her. “No need to be ready yet. I ain’t rushing you.”

Blake’s eyes flicked up to her, searching for the catch. “Then what? You just want to hover around me like a lost puppy?” 

Yang shrugged, a smirk on her lips. “Maybe I like helping strangers.”

Blake snorted. “Do you usually share crappy motel beds with strangers?”

Yang’s cheeks burned hot, and instinctively hid behind her coffee. “I was hoping that was a drunken dream.”

Blake shook her head, her own cheeks reddening behind her tea. 

Nora popped back up out of nowhere, balancing a tray in one hand and a scrap of paper accompanied by a card reader in the other.

“Looks like you two made up,” she beamed, setting the paper between them. “Figured you’d want your check.” She smiled softly at Blake, then left with a hum of a song. 

“She’s way too energetic,” Blake playfully scowled, rubbing her temple. 

“That’s Nora for you. She’s got enough energy to power all of Atlas and Mantle,” Yang retorted, pulling out her wallet. 

“Oh… You really don’t have to Yang,” Blake hurriedly said, already reaching for hers. 

Yang raised her hand, shaking her head. “My treat. It’s the least I owe you.” 

“I’m pretty sure I owe you more,” Blake argued.

Yang smirked, sliding her card into the reader. “Then we’ll just keep owing each other. Best way to keep you around.” She winked playfully. 

Blake rolled her eyes, continuing to try and hide her burning cheeks behind her tea. 

“Speaking of owing—your car should be ready. Given that Vance actually put the engine back together,” Yang said, thinking back to when he first got his hands on it. 

Blake raised an eyebrow. “Thought you trusted him?”

“I trust that he would have dismantled it completely first.” Yang shrugged as she stood. Blake rolled her eyes again, standing with her. 

“What’s the chance he actually put it back together by now?” Blake asked, following close behind Yang. 

“Odds are 70-30, so put your bets in now—Bye Maria.” Yang waved at her as she got to the door. 

“What about meeeeeeeee,” Nora whined from halfway across the diner. Several heads turned to her, but quickly turned back. 

“Yeah yeah Nora. I’ll be seeing you,” Yang laughed, waving her off. 

“Bye Nora. Bye Maria,” Blake called out, waving at them herself. 

Yang smirked over her shoulder as they pushed through the diner’s doors. “Didn’t think you’d be able to humour her.”

“Maria? She’s a nice lady,” Blake mused, falling into step beside Yang. 

“You know damn well that’s not who I meant,” Yang retorted, waving an accusing finger at her playfully. 

“I know.” Blake smirked, slightly leaning in closer to Yang. “Nora’s nice. I could see us being friends, even if she’s uh… how’d you put it?”

“Got enough energy to power Atlas?” Yang opened the driver side door, climbing in as Blake did on the other side. 

“And Mantle,” Blake reminded. “How the Hell is it so hot in here? It’s like a sauna!” She started fanning her face. 

Yang shrugged, starting up her truck. “It WAS just sitting in the sun.”

Blake cracked open the window, leaning out slightly. “Remind me, you’re a mechanic right? How have you not fixed the AC?” 

Yang snorted, nodding her head in agreement. “It’s on my to-do list.”

Blake leaned back in her seat, relentlessly fanning herself. “Well, put it at the top. I feel like I’m baking alive here.”

“At least it’s a dry heat,” Yang argued, pulling onto the main road. 

“How is that better?” Blake asked, deadpanned. 

Yang chuckled. “Fair.”

“How about distracting me? Could tell me about ‘your lot’.” Blake turned to Yang. 

Even as she focused on the road ahead, she could see Blake raise an eyebrow, a genuine smile on her lips. 

Yang blew out a slow breath. “They’re… my people. We’re kind of like a family. A very dysfunctional family.”

“That’s vague,” Blake pointed out, though her tone was curious, not mocking. 

“Promise not to judge?” Yang barely turned to her, raising an eyebrow. 

“You saw me at my lowest not even an hour ago, and saw my ears. I don’t think you could embarrass yourself at this point,” Blake retorted, scooting a little closer. 

Yang chuckled softly, nodding her head. “Alright. You asked for it.”

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel anxiously. “You ever hear of Raven Branwen?”

Blake nodded slowly, eyes widening ever so slightly. “The ruthless bandit? I’ve heard rumours here and there. Why?”

Yang could tell she was already piecing some things together with the way she looked down at her prosthetic arm, looking over her features, counting the faint scars on her arms and face. 

“She’s my mother,” Yang explained, glancing over at Blake to see her reaction. 

Blake blinked, her lips parting slightly. She didn’t say anything right away, just studied Yang’s face like she was searching for the resemblance. 

“And your lot, who’re they? Bandits as well?” Blake sounded accusatory, hateful or mistrustful of them already. 

She let out a sigh, wincing slightly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean any offence.”

Yang waved her off, flashing a smile to try and ease her. “None taken. I’d probably think the same were I in your shoes.”

Blake nodded lightly. She still looked uneasy, but willing to listen.

Yang turned onto the street leading out of town, more or less a straight shot now, so long as there were no complications. She glanced properly over to Blake, a soft smile on her lips. 

“I’m… trying to reform them. My ‘lot’,” she explained. She turned her eyes back to the road. “Less raiding, stealing, and backstabbing,” she added. 

Blake nodded along, listening with care. 

“It’s not easy. We’re still right around the edges.” Yang tapped away nervously on the wheel. “But we’re trying, every damned day,” she sighed thoughtfully, thinking how far they’ve come. 

Blake leaned back against the seat, her fingers tapping away on her lap. She quietly thought for a bit, processing everything. 

“What about your mum?” Blake asked, finally turning back to Yang. 

Yang’s hand tightened on the wheel for a moment, then loosened. “She’s uh… dead. Few years on now,” Yang explained, giving her a half-smile. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Blake rested a hand on Yang’s leg, a comforting smile stretched across her face. 

They settled into an easy silence for a few minutes, watching buildings turn into trees as they left Kuroyiri. Blake kept her hand on Yang, but she leaned her head on the door, enjoying the breeze fluttering through her hair. She took her bow off, letting her ears enjoy some comfort. 

“What was she like?” Blake eventually asked, barely lifting her head from the door. 

Yang exhaled sharply, eyes focused on the road but her voice steady. “She was strong, fearless, and a great leader. Ruthless all the time, and proud of it.”

Blake shifted, her gaze turning to meet Yang’s in the rearview mirror. “And as a mother?”

Yang sighed. “She wasn’t exactly mother material. But she tried, so I respect her for that.”

Blake nodded, patient and caring. 

“She led a tribe, ‘survival of the fittest’ being their motto. There were times I wondered—really wondered—if she cared about anything other than power and respect,” Yang continued, laughing bitterly at it. 

Blake squeezed Yang’s leg, scooting ever so slightly closer. “That must’ve been a tough world to live in.”

Yang nodded half-heartedly, tapping away at the wheel again. “It was. I never really fit in. Some called me too soft-hearted, that I didn’t have what it takes.”

Blake started rubbing circles into Yang’s leg, the same way Yang did to her. 

“Guess I’m proving ‘em right by reforming them,” Yang laughed bitterly. She didn’t take her eyes off the road this time, she just stared ahead. 

“I think it’s actually really strong of you,” Blake assured her. 

Yang scoffed, but was shut down when Blake squeezed her leg and reiterated her point. 

They fell into an easy silence, Blake going back to resting against the door with her hand lazily rubbing circles into Yang’s knee. Her eyes drift shut for a moment, listening to the low growl of the machine. 

When she opened them again, they were just pulling up to the camp’s mechanic yard. Kids were weaving in and out of half-assembled cars, barely stopping to watch and wave when they realised it was Yang’s truck. Luckily, all were wise enough to not jump out right in front of them. 

Blake pinched her nose when the stench of oil and rust hit, much to Yang’s amusement. 

One of the kids, braver than the rest, slowly jogged alongside the truck calling Yang’s name. 

“Yeah, kid?” Yang slowed the truck, but kept rolling forward. 

“You bring any candy?” He beamed, looking back at the truck bed excitedly. 

Yang chuckled. “Ain’t I sweet enough for ya?” She shot back. 

The kid groaned dramatically and relayed the answer to the small pack of followers jogging behind them. Even so, none of them turned back — they stuck with the truck all the way to the far end of camp, weaving between parked scrap heaps and half-built frames until they reached Vance’s personal workshop.

It was a decent—if not rough—metallic building, its walls dented from years of abuse. The garage door had more patches than original metal, and the few dirty windows were so clouded it was hard to tell if they let in light or just trapped the dark inside. From here, they could hear the faint warble of a badly tuned radio drifting out from somewhere within.

Yang parked beside the bay door, and killed the engine. “Welcome to the heart of the beast.”

“Should I be worried?” Blake asked, eyeing the place like it might bite her. 

Yang smirked, looking the place over herself. “I’m sure you’ll live… probably.”

“Who’s your friend?” A kid excitedly asked, pulling themself half-way through Yang’s window. “Ooohhhhh, she’s got cat ears,” he added, eyes widening with awe. 

Blake reached out in horror, trying to hide them under her hands. 

“Lemme see.”

“Cat ears?”

“Move out the way!”

Yang turned sharply in her seat, giving the kid a playful shove towards the ground. “Hey, hands to yourself, squirt.”

The rest of the pack crowded the driver's side, standing on tiptoes or ducking under another’s arm to get a glimpse. A chorus of chatter and squeals broke out:

“They’re cute!”

“Are they soft?”

“Do you have four ears?”

Blake’s ears flattened instinctively under her palms, her cheeks flushing. “Could you not?” She spat out. 

“Ok that’s enough everyone,” Yang berated, shooing them away as she climbed out. 

“But—“

“Get your butts outta here!” Yang shooed them away again. 

A collective groan escaped their lips as they shuffled away with exaggerated disappointment. 

“You’ll live. Curious lil shits.” Yang turned back to Blake, giving her a comforting smile. 

“You good?” She knew the answer, but she had to ask anyway. 

Blake gave a stiff nod, hiding her ears under her bow already. 

Yang lingered for a moment longer, nodding in silent understanding. She then tapped her door, and gestured towards the workshop. “Best we go in before the peanut gallery regroups.”

Blake followed her out of the truck, her ears flattening under the bow when she noticed some kids were staring from a distance. The tang of oil and scorched metal hit harder, and she wrinkled her nose despite herself. 

“How do you stand it?” She gagged, sticking close to Yang. 

Yang shrugged, looking over the mechanics yard thoughtfully. “I’m just kinda used to it.” She hit a button on a dangling switch, and the garage door rattled, then lurched open dramatically before catching on something. A muffled curse echoed from inside, then a bang and another curse echoed out. 

“That’ll be Vance,” Yang said with a knowing grin. 

Inside, he was rubbing the top of his head as he glared hatefully at a car’s hood. He looked up when he noticed movement from behind the car. 

“Ah, Yang and sedan girl—“

“Blake,” Yang reminded him.

“—Blake. Guessing this ain’t a social call?”

Yang looked over the sedan next to them—next to Vance’s rust bucket he was currently elbow deep in—then leaned against his car. 

“Is it ready?” Blake asked sheepishly, looking over it herself. 

Vance nodded, strolling over to it and popped the hood. “‘Bout as ready as it’ll ever get. Still a piece of sh—“

“Vance,” Yang warned, eyes narrowing.

“Point is, it’ll get you places. Better than before,” he sighed, giving the engine a couple lucky taps before closing the hood. 

“Thank you,” Blake said, managing to put on a genuine smile. 

“No need, kid. Just don’t go breaking it again any time soon,” Vance replied, tossing the grease-stained rag onto his workbench. 

Blake glanced back at her car, running her hand on the hood. “No promises,” she muttered unsure of herself. 

Yang gently took her hand in hers, giving her a warm smile. “Good thing you’ve got me then!”

Vance snorted. “You’re one pothole away from walking to town.”

“Hey,” Yang shot back, pointing a finger at him. “My truck is a masterpiece and you know it!”

Vance rolled his eyes. “If you spent half the time on your truck as you did that bike of yours, then maybe you’d have AC.”

Blake’s ears perked up, an eyebrow raised. “Bike?” She turned to Yang, eyes daring her to answer. 

Yang smirked proudly. “Yep. Her name’s Bumblebee!”

Blake rolled her eyes dramatically. “Of course you named it.”

Vance chimed in. “It’s a sign of respect for bikers. At least that’s what Yang ‘ere claims.”

“And I stick by that,” Yang said proudly, raising a finger in emphasis. 

Blake tilted her head, curiosity and challenge dancing in her eyes. “So, where is this famed Bumblebee?” 

Vance groaned, a smirk on his lips. “Don’t get her started, Seda—Blake. She loves that bike more than she does us.” 

Yang shushed him, scowling. 

Blake smirked, squeezing Yang’s hand gently. “So?”

Yang hooked a thumb over her shoulder towards the camp, where skeletal frames and buildings stood past the mechanics yard. “By my place.”

“Your place?” Blake echoed, curiosity and excitement shining in her eyes.

Yang grinned, gently leading Blake out of Vance’s workshop. As they reached the doorway, Yang called back, “Thanks for the help, Vance!”

Vance looked up from his workbench and waved with a smile. “Anytime, Yang.”

The noise of the workshop faded behind them, replaced by the laughter of children layered over the rhythmic clang of hammers and the rasp of saws.

The walk was relatively silent. Yang waved when someone did, greeted those who called her name, but didn’t say much to Blake—only briefly explaining someone’s name or their role in the camp when Blake’s eyes flicked to a familiar face.

Ahead, a group of older teens lounged on overturned crates, clutching energy drinks or beer they likely stole from their parents. One of them lit a cigarette, immediately coughing as if it was his first, much to the amusement of his friends.

Blake froze, her eyes widening in horror. She barely managed a quiet whimper, shrinking closer to Yang’s side as they passed.

Yang noticed instantly, and glanced down at her, eyebrows raised but gentle. “What is it?”

Blake swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. “It’s—it’s nothing. I’m fine.” Her voice trembled. 

They slowed to a stop, Blake shrinking into herself. Her eyes flickered back over to the teens before meeting Yang’s.

“Could—Could you do the hand thing? Please?” Blake asked sheepishly, cheeks reddening as her gaze dropped to the floor. 

Yang gently took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before her thumb started its familiar, soothing circles. “You’re safe here,” she whispered repeatedly. 

Blake closed her eyes, leaning in just a little as her breaths slowed and her shoulders relaxed, the tension in her shoulders loosening bit by bit. The noisy world around them faded to a distant hum, replaced by the steady rhythm of Yang’s touch and voice.

A sharp fox whistle pierced the calm from the direction of the teenagers, but Yang barely flinched. “Ignore them,” she murmured softly. “They’re just being rowdy. It’s teen law.”

Blake gave a small, grateful smile. She looked up at Yang, pulling away as she muttered a “thanks.” 

Yang shrugged as if it was no big deal, brushing it off. 

Blake didn’t let up though. “Seriously, thank you.” She dropped her gaze again, her cheeks somehow turning a brighter red. 

Yang smirked, stepping back slightly. “I just had an idea!” She proclaimed mischievously, waving a finger in the air.

Blake groaned, rubbing her temple for the millionth time that day. “If it’s anything like last night’s idea, count me out.”

“Come on, you’ll love it. I promise,” Yang retorted, waving her off.

Blake groaned again, but followed anyway as Yang practically skipped towards her house. 

Yang led her through the winding path and past more people, the midday sun casting small shadows. The patchy grass and dirt road crunching underneath their boots. 

“So, what’s this idea?” Blake asked, trying to sound unimpressed but Yang could hear genuine curiosity underneath. 

She grinned, stopping in front of a cottage-style building, a porch in front with countless dirt-covered boots by the door. 

“First of all, welcome to my palace,” she said. 

“Wow! I thought it’d be a metal shack, or a tent,” Blake replied, impressed. 

Yang gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Rude!” 

Blake rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she glanced over towards the side of the building where a wide, weathered slab of corrugated metal jutted out like a make-shift roof. Underneath, a battered tarp-covered shape rested—a motorcycle. 

Yang caught her gaze, smirking. “Secondly, my idea. C’mon.” She gently took her hand, leading her to it. 

Blake hesitated for a moment, then let herself be guided under the metal overhang. The smell of motor oil and old leather filled the air. 

The tarp was tied down with frayed rope, fluttering lightly in the wind. Yang pulled the tarp back with a flourish, revealing Bumblebee in all her gritty glory: a custom cruiser motorcycle with classic Harley-Davidson vibes—low seat, wide handlebars, and a powerful engine. The yellow-and-black paint was scratched and dusty, streaked with oil stains from countless miles ridden. 

“Ta daaa!” Yang said dramatically.

Blake slowly traced her fingers over it, studying it for a moment. She looked up at Yang, an eyebrow raised. “And your idea? Not thinking I drive, are you?”

Yang nodded, smirking mischievously. “Exactly so, my Padawan.” 

Blake rolled her eyes, stepping back from it. “I—I don’t know how to—“

Yang raised a hand, then patted the seat invitingly. “I didn’t call you my Padawan for a laugh—mostly—I’ll teach you.”

Blake crossed her arms, eyes narrowing with distrust as she stared at the bike. “What if I, like… crash and burn?”

Yang shrugged with a casual grin. “Then we’ll be in the same club.”

Blake’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth falling open, speechless. Yang could practically read the question in her eyes.

“First time I rode Bumblebee, I crashed right into someone’s tent. Second time, I sent myself flying,” Yang admitted, rubbing the back of her neck, trying to keep the smile light.

She looked over at Blake, who was still processing the confession, and added softly, “That’s why we’ll try out of camp your first go. The main road’s nice and long, and hardly anyone uses it—so no one will see.”

“See what?” Another voice rang out, teasing and drawn-out, causing both of them to turn.

She stepped under the metal hanging, smiling but folding her arms and raising a brow at Yang. 

“Hey, Vernal. What brings you here?” Yang asked, raising a brow herself. 

“This is Vernal?” Blake gave her a polite half-smile, but scowled at Yang. 

“That I am. You must be Blake,” Vernal said, lifting a hand to shake. 

Blake tentatively took it. Her fingers met Vernal’s, but her grip was light, her gaze guarded. She barely shook her hand before letting go. 

“So…” she said flatly, eyes flickering to Yang, still distrustful. “You know about… Well, you know.” She vaguely gestured toward her bow, gaze dropping to the ground. 

Vernal nodded lightly, lips curling into a flat expression. 

“Not my finest moment,” Yang interjected, trying to ease the tension. Both looked at her, then back at each other, warily eyeing each other now. 

Vernal let out a sigh. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck if you’re a Faunus, Blake.”

Blake narrowed her eyes in anticipation, waiting for something—anything—to confirm her suspicions. 

“We’ve worked with Faunus a few times. No one here really cares about such details,” Vernal added, waving her hand as if it was no big deal. 

“Well… Unless you’re White—“

Yang coughed loudly, drowning her out. “I’m supposed to be giving her a lesson in crashing and burning.” 

Vernal smirked knowingly, but let it go. 

Yang grabbed two of her helmets off the workbench, tossing one over to Blake. “Lesson one: safety.”

Vernal snorted. “She tell you the time she sent herself flying like… fifty feet?”

“I was wearing a helmet, wasn’t I?” Yang retorted, climbing onto her bike. 

Vernal rolled her eyes, stepping out of the way. 

Blake hesitated before clambering up behind Yang, uncertain where to put… well, anything. Yang watched with mild amusement.

“There’s a thing you can grab onto back there,” Yang said, nodding toward the rear of the bike.

Blake squinted, trying to figure it out. “I think I’m sitting on it? Yeah, no — I’m definitely sitting on it,” she muttered, wiggling her hips as if that might help. 

Yang chuckled softly. “You can scoot closer. I’m not going to bite.” She glanced back, moving forward a bit for Blake. “And don’t forget rule one!”

Blake looked inside the helmet, eyes narrowing with careful analysis. “Will my ears even fit in here?”

Yang blinked, looking down into it herself, then up at Blake’s bow. “Huh,” was all she managed to say. 

“Maybe if you kept ‘em flat?” Yang suggested, an eyebrow raised. 

Blake looked up at her in disbelief. “How small do you think they are?”

Yang blinked, stunned for a few seconds, then looked over her bow again. “Maybe I could cut holes into the helmet?” She suggested. 

Blake gave a reluctant shrug. “I’m not sure if that’s safe. Could end up slicing my ears off.”

Yang sighed wearily. This was going to be tough. 

“Next time you’re in town, get her an accommodating helmet,” Vernal advised, shaking her head in disbelief. Though she had a smirk on her lips 

Yang gave her a mock groan. “Yeah yeah. But she does have a point. We’ll have to see what we can find.”

Blake nodded, curling her lips into a light frown as she stared back into the helmet. “Maybe if they’re really, really flat, it’ll fit?” 

Before Yang could argue, Blake carefully pulled her bow off and slid the helmet on. It was a little big for her, but she seemed relatively comfortable. 

“They fit?” Yang asked, curious.

Blake moved her head left and right, then nodded and gave a thumbs up. Through the black visor, Yang could see Blake was scared, yet somehow excited underneath. 

“You going to drive? Or are you going to stare at me all day?” Blake teased, nudging Yang’s back as she scooted closer. 

Yang chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck as she turned. She slid her own helmet on, and revved the engine. The familiar rumble vibrated through her entire being, deeply into her bones. 

“ARE YOU SURE THIS IS SAFE?!” Blake shouted at the top of her lungs, which was more than necessary. 

Yang chuckled quietly to herself, and instead of giving her a verbal answer, she twisted the throttle lurching them forward and out from under the hanging. She could just about hear Blake’s yelp, sharp and quick, as she wrapped her arms around Yang’s waist. 

Once they hit the main road, Yang dared to go a little faster, using the excuse to get Blake used to the bike’s motion. Blake’s grip only tightened, her muffled curses slipping through the helmet every time they hit a bump or Yang took a turn a bit too sharply.

After a few more minutes, Yang pulled the bike over to the side of the road, and Blake let out a long, relieved sigh.

“Your turn!” Yang beamed, swinging her leg over and stepping aside with a confident grin.

Blake’s hands trembled slightly, whether from nerves or the vibrations of the bike, Yang couldn’t tell. “Just—Just give me a minute,” she replied, voice shaky but determined.

Yang smiled softly, her hand resting on Blake’s shoulder. “No pressure. I’ve got you.”

Blake nodded, taking a steadying breath, then another. “I’ve got this,” she said to herself. A few more steadying breaths and nearly backing out later, she slowly scooted forward, her hands over the handlebars. 

“What am I looking at?” She asked, pulling her hands back a little. 

“Well, my dear padawan,” Yang started. “That’s the throttle, twist it back to go forward.” She pointed to the throttle, then tapped the brake. “This is the brake. Same thing.” 

Blake nodded along, still uncertain, but she slowly placed her hands on them. She then lurched forward when she tightened her grip. 

“That was fucking terrifying,” she gasped out in shock. 

Yang laughed, the sound warm and encouraging. “That’s all part of learning. You’ll get the hang of it.” She reached out, gently placing her hand on Blake’s. “Go slow, get a feel for it, and maybe I’ll let you drive us back.”

Blake chuckled sarcastically. “If we survive.”

“I trust you,” Yang said, patting her on the back. 

Blake exhaled sharply, trying again, this time more cautious. The bike moved, slower and steadier, wobbling slightly beneath her. She tightened her grip, more carefully this time, and dared going slightly faster. 

“See? You’re doing great,” Yang said, grinning. “Now pull on the brakes,” she asked patiently. 

Blake listened, pulling to a stop. She turned to Yang, raising an eyebrow. “I thought I was doing great?” She let out a shaky breath. 

Yang climbed onto the back behind her, smiling through her helmet. “You were, I just wanted to climb on.”

“Oh,” Blake said, half-surprised. 

Yang eased herself onto the bike behind Blake, wiggling around to find the perfect spot. Then she wrapped her arms round Blake’s waist, squeezing her to comfort, reassure. “Ready for round two?” She asked softly. 

Blake hesitated for a moment before nodding. She took a deep breath that seemed to shudder through the slight curve of her spine, and then her fingers tightened around the throttle. 

The bike lurched forward, slower this time, smoother—the wobble less prominent. Yang’s grip around Blake’s waist tightened just a little, a subtle anchor. 

“You’re a natural,” Yang said, her voice light but encouraging. 

Blake didn’t reply, not at first. But Yang felt a slight shift in her posture—a subtle loosening, a tiny but unmistakable flicker of trust. The bike picked up speed gently, not too fast. 

The road stretched out ahead—a long ribbon of cracked asphalt flanked by dry grass and scattered wildflowers. The midday sun filtered through the trees, dappling the ground with shifting patterns of light and shadow. The world felt quieter here, away from the noise and prying eyes of the camp.

Blake’s breath came in slow, controlled bursts now. Yang could tell she was feeling more confident in the seat now, as she picked up the speed again, straightening ever so slightly. 

“You’re doing great,” Yang said, smiling against the helmet, though Blake wouldn’t see it. “Just keep it steady. No rush.”

Blake’s hands flexed slightly but held firm. The bike responded, gliding over a small bump without the earlier jolt that made her flinch. Yang could almost see the shift in her expression—from fear to cautious confidence.

“Pull the brakes whenever you’re ready,” Yang prompted. 

Blake’s fingers twitched on the brakes, but didn’t pull it yet. Instead she pulled on the throttle, whooping as they sped up. Her laugh was light but edged with nervous excitement, muffled slightly by the helmet. 

“Okay. Okay. Brakes!” She finally called out, pulling over to the side smoothly and stopping near perfectly. 

They climbed off the bike, each peeling off their helmets with a mix of relief and lingering excitement. Blake’s chest rose and fell a little faster, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. 

“That was…” Blake started, searching for words, her voice still a little breathless. “So freeing. Like I wasn’t trapped in my own head, in my own body.”

Yang smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “That’s why I love it. The road, the wind—it makes you forget everything else. It’s just you and the open road, no life to think about, no frantic worries.”

Blake’s gaze lingered on Yang’s face longer than expected. Her chest still rising and falling in that same uneven rhythm. 

Before Yang could say another word, Blake took her face in her hands, pressing her lips against Yang’s with an excited, unguarded urgency—electric and entirely unexpected.

Yang froze for a heartbeat, stunned by the suddenness of the kiss. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and she leaned in, wrapping her arms gently around Blake’s waist.

The world narrowed to just the two of them—the warmth of Blake’s hands on her face, the softness of her lips, the steady beat of her heart beneath the helmet.

When they finally pulled apart, Blake’s cheeks burned a deep shade of crimson. Her eyes flickered away for a moment before meeting Yang’s again, vulnerable but fierce.

“I didn’t mean to—” Blake started, voice barely above a whisper.

Yang pulled back with a lopsided grin, shaking her head. “Nice kiss, speed-racer. That adrenaline’s got you all fired up, huh?” She nudged Blake’s shoulder gently. “How ‘bout we save the romance for another time, yeah?”

Blake’s gaze lingered on Yang, cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. “Sorry,” she whispered, pulling back into herself a little. 

Yang smiled warmly. “Hey, you’re good. A badass in the making if you ask me.”

She gave Blake a playful shove. “Ready for round three? Or do you need to uh… recover from that intense kissing?”

Blake rolled her eyes, but climbed back onto the bike as she shoved her helmet on. “Smartass,” she teased, watching Yang settle into the seat behind her. 

The sun was beginning to cast longer shadows. The warm breeze rustled the dry grass at the roadside, and the peaceful quiet of the forest settled around them once more. 

“Thanks,” Blake said quietly, her voice barely audible through the helmet. “For, you know…”

“Teaching you how to ride?” Yang teased, smiling beneath her helmet. 

“For not freaking out,” Blake corrected, turning to smile at her through the visor. 

Yang’s voice softened. “Hey, we all start somewhere. Just don’t go quitting on me now, speed-racer.” 

Blake nodded lightly, revving the engine. “No promises, smartass.”

Yang laughed, wrapping her arms around Blake’s waist again. The bike surged forward, the road stretching ahead like an open promise. Somehow, Yang knew they’d face it together—head-on and unafraid.

“Speed-racer,” she thought with a smile. “This is only the beginning.”