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And there was only one bed.
Blake is familiar enough with the premise. Two attractive leads whose sexual tension is more than palpable in the subtext of their dialogue or taut in their lingering gazes caught in a humiliatingly exposing situation: a single bed in a single room where they must rest, careful not to touch, not to try, not to allow love or more to flourish in the small space.
In her books, they’re tantalizing scenes, the kind where she hangs on every word, looks for the brushes of hands or the held breaths that could see them come undone by the next page. She can be lost in the quiet yearning she’s seen in her own mind, a longing to close that distance between her and her attractive co-lead, see if the brushes of her own hand or the softness of her bare shoulder are enough to spark romance.
But she already knows where romance has been sparked between her and Yang: in the face of oblivion, on the other side of the world, with warm sand between her fingers and a blazing sunset stoking heat between their flush bodies.
Blake had found heaven on the other side of life, where heaven is meant to be found. Blake had found heaven in Yang’s lonely gaze and anchored touch, where she had wanted to find heaven. Paradise had been vibrant and perfect. Yang had been close and stunning and her lips had been sweet as the citrus of her aura that pierced acrid battlefields.
Heaven was beautiful, and Blake wouldn’t trade it for life or longing.
On the other side of heaven, life is cold again. With a war to be fought still and thousands of displaced Atlesians, there’s no room for gilded peace or citrus love, only sand and grit and a shattered moon splaying argent over blue-dyed sand dunes as far as the eye can see.
They’re given places to rest their heads at Shade academy - according to Velvet, everyone’s been waiting with varying degrees of patience for their return - with the caveat that there aren’t enough rooms to house them all individually. Jaune is able to find comfort on the floor of Sun’s room, Weiss finds a comfortable enough couch to rest on in the apartment her family’s in, Ruby’s given the bed Nora had long-since abandoned to spend her tense nights with Ren, and Blake-
Blake is staring at hers and Yang’s room - or, more specifically, at the single bed of her quiet, nebulous fantasies.
Yang shuffles in beside her, taking stock of their room with a mask of ease stifling the apprehension Blake knows all too well. A single window, tall and slim, lets in the sliver of moonlight, splitting the room and leaving their- the bed in a delicate shadow. Blake could see herself curling into the darkness and letting the reminders of their harsh reality settle her into a sleep troubled by an uncertain future; she hardly thinks about how Yang’s body might fit against hers or how she might long to hold her. They’ve spent weeks sharing space, sharing breath , back when reality was a colourful dream woven from the words of her fantasies.
“Well,” Yang says, stepping into the moon’s light as she sets what little she has with her on the desk beside her, “I guess this is home for now.”
Blake nods stiffly. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“It’s no log cabin on the beach front, but at least the sand’s right.” Yang articulates her point with an exaggerated swipe of her hand on her shoulder as a puff of sand falls into the silver light and onto the ground.
It’s an act Blake’s all-too familiar with. The Yang she kissed on the beach of her dreams isn’t a stranger or a figment, but she’s locked behind a world-weary half-smile and sleepless eyes. Their life had been a beautiful dream, one Blake had been longing for between their longing gazes and soft brushes, but it is the nature of dreams to end. They’re back in a world beyond heaven, and she’s back to longing distantly.
Yang clears her throat and lets out a heavy sigh, drawing Blake’s attention again to the bed. “And there’s only one bed, so I don’t know how you want to do this.” She crooks her mouth in thought and leans back against the desk, making a show of the excuses she airs. “We could, I dunno, flip a coin? Or maybe see if Headmaster Theo’s got any other rooms, or-”
“Or I could call dibs,” Blake interjects blankly, though she tries her best to sprinkle the words in the type of dryness she finds comforting.
She begins towards the bed with a confident stride in her steps, but Yang shakes her head and smiles. “That’s unfair, Blake.”
Blake pauses at the foot of the bed and looks at Yang with caution. The smile she wears is painfully toying, and the argent moonlight running through her hair is achingly beautiful, and paradise is lost in this room, in this reality, in a game they’ve played before but feels so shaken now.
Still, Blake can’t help but play her role, and she longs to find the tension in the dialogue once again. “Unfair, is it?” she purrs as her fingers trace the wooden bedknob. “I thought you were the chivalrous one, Yang.”
Yang laughs, a melody absent of its typical colour, and steps into the room’s shadow. “And I thought you could sleep anywhere, Blake.”
“What, a girl’s not allowed to have somewhere decent to sleep for a night?”
“She is. That’s what the coin toss was gonna be for.”
Blake presses her lips together and glides onto the mattress, already missing the soft warmth of the beach; the bed is comfortable enough, but now that she’s felt paradise against her skin nothing can compare.
“Well, you can find a coin to flip,” Blake begins, “and I’ll find some sleep. Deal?”
“No deal, Belladonna.” The line is drawn in golden sand, and it reminds Blake of the space they’d shared, a space that’s painful to find once again.
They both know the bed is big enough for the two of them. They both know how their bodies fit together. Yang’s cool metal hand fits on Blake’s waist with no wasted space, and her chin slots against Blake’s shoulder like she was made to be there. Blake is so familiar with the pattern of her breaths when she sleeps, knows the solace of her snores that others might find obtrusive, has memorized the myriad noises Yang makes and where to touch her to hear them. Weeks of uninterrupted peace coupled with months of a careful, prudent dance have unlocked them, every secret written into their skin and souls legible like poetry.
There’s only one bed. They could easily share it.
The jarring return to reality gives Yang every excuse not to. It gives Blake every reason to believe those excuses. Even in set roles they’ve memorized and played out time and time again under sun and stars, reality gives them both a stifling prudence they’d long thought shed.
Yang’s eyes dart to the duvet as Blake’s fingers curl into the fabric. “I’m strong enough to pull that blanket out from under you, you know.”
Blake quirks an eyebrow at her, a challenge she’s not ready to commit to. “You wouldn’t.”
Yang isn’t ready either, and she shuffles awkwardly to confirm it. “No, but I could.”
Blake sighs and slides off the blanket, stepping up to Yang and stopping inches from her. Blake had never expected to see Yang sharing her shadow; her glow had always burned it all away. In this darkness, her features aren’t the same as she’s committed to memory, and her heart rumbles at the sudden and jarring unfamiliarity.
But she won’t give up. They have their roles, their parts to play, dialogue they recited countless times in dreams lifted from the page and to their lips. “You could wrestle me for it?” Blake prompts.
Yang shakes her head. “I thought I said I wanted this to be fair.”
“Sounds pretty fair to me.”
“Blake,” Yang murmurs with a brief spark of heat, “I’d kick your ass.”
Blake flares at the comment, a brief moment of fantasy and reality blurring. She sets herself in a defensive stance, bracing herself against the panel flooring, and clings to the fantasy set into her mind and skin. She waits for Yang to match her, cataloguing all the ways she’s brought her down to the beach before and how easy it could be to beat her again.
Yang finally cedes with a lazy shrug and a careful, blank chuckle, setting herself opposite Blake and readying herself for the contest neither’s quite ready to win.
Blake follows the script and springs forward first, curling her fingers around Yang’s biceps and paying no mind to the faint scars her fingertips slot so comfortably against.
Yang’s quick to follow up by splitting Blake’s arms from her, and Blake’s body rattles with the ripple of might she’s come to expect in their shared space.
They circle each other briefly before coming to a standstill once again, Blake stopping in the glow of silver lighting half of their room. Yang is once again unfamiliar in darkness, bereft of the colours she sees in her dreams despite the playful mask she wears.
Blake springs at her again, this time coming up from under as she manages to lift Yang from her feet and bring her into a small spiral. Her sides fit perfectly in Blake’s palms, and her skin burns with the heat she’d once touched so reverently, committed to the page and never to forget.
Yang stumbles out of Blake’s hold and into the moonlight, the freckles on her skin twinkling like starlight as she takes on the image of her fantasies again. There’s a Yang buried beneath painful layers, set to sleep by a reality too hard to love in after losing paradise. Blake catches her in this brief glimpse, and her heart swells at the sight.
“Thought you said this wasn’t going to be fair,” Blake teases, bolstered by reality and fantasy blurring again.
Yang looks up and smirks, brighter than she has in the hours since they’ve come to Vacuo. It’s brief, but it’s hope, and Blake’s heart sparks once again.
This time, Yang initiates and wraps her arms around Blake’s midsection. Through her suit’s leather, Blake can feel cool metal pressing against her side, and she delights in the familiar sensation before yelping as she’s brought off of her feet and to the ground.
Violet aura cascades over her body before she can hit the floor and she braces herself with her elbows to keep from falling too hard. Still, her breath is ragged and her blood runs hot, shock waning to exhilaration as she steadies herself. Yang’s shadow overtakes her, still in darkness herself but wearing gentle golds that even now Blake can love. Her legs are split on either side of Blake and her hands press into the wide behind her, and despite Blake usually being the one straddling Yang she can’t say she doesn’t find the reversal enticing.
Yang’s eyes remain hooded, however, and she looks Blake over with caution before pulling away in shame. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “That was probably too hard.”
“You’re fine, Yang,” Blake reaffirms; she hopes the dark blush she feels burning in her cheeks can confirm the fact. “You win. Fair and square.”
Yang shakes her head. “You can have the bed. The floor’s probably more comfortable than it looks, anyways.”
Her voice pulses with caution. Even now, with some sliver of their dream emulated, Blake knows the lines are blurring once again. They can only find these small pockets of escapism when faced with a reality needing their salvation, a war to be fought in every waking moment and rest too distant from peace to indulge in. Perhaps they are fighting for love, but it’s not a love they can share when danger pervades more of their breaths and violence is etched into their skin over the words they’d found love in.
It was a beautiful dream, but it is the nature of dreams to end.
Blake’s hand finds its way to Yang’s thigh, gently skating her fingers over her flushed skin. “Yang,” she breathes, a plea with more weight than any speech she could give.
Yang exhales heavily and lets herself collapse, her head hanging low and her shoulders rolling forward. “It’s different, isn’t it?” she asks.
Blake nods in painful admission. “It feels that way.”
Yang’s lips purse and Blake is all-too familiar with how she dams her feelings. She splays her hand against Yang’s thigh, drawing circles in her skin where she knows Yang likes her most.
“Are we losing this?” she asks Blake. “Are we losing us?”
Blake watches the way Yang’s eyes tear away from Blake. It’s an unfortunate habit of her, deciding fate before Blake has any say of it to tear herself down. Happiness is still a fantasy to Yang, something to long for but never to last. Blake imagines it must be different from her fantasies woven through words and set in memory like a dream, but she knows that Yang deserves the happiness she craves. She deserves the happiness she’d experienced on a beach under a blazing sky with sand against their backs. She deserves the happiness Blake can give her.
Blake fills the small space between them, familiar with everything Yang Xiao Long encapsulates, and presses their lips together in a familiar rush of sweet citrus and bursting colour. She gives Yang every ounce of happiness she’s found in her dreams and hopes it’s enough to make her happy.
She pulls away briefly, Yang nearly following her until Blake speaks. “We’re not losing us,” she whispers against Yang’s lips.
It’s like the script in her head, the one they’ve never spoken but written between quiet moments and soft brushes of hands. “How do you know?” Yang asks just as quietly.
“Because I still remember how to kiss you,” Blake says, and she affirms the statement with another kiss that settles itself comfortably into the shadowed reality of the room, uninterrupted and sweet as any dream could be.
By morning, their clothes are shed and scattered around the room, their skin is once again marked with love, the kind that Blake will carry through reality and fantasy alike, and the single bed in the room remains untouched.