Work Text:
When people are kind to Yasha, she takes it to heart. She remembers it, tucks it away and writes it down, and cherishes the memory. On the other side of the coin, when someone is mean to Yasha she does the same thing.
In your line of work, not a lot of people are wholly kind. Even within the Might Nein there is fighting, words exchanged that are then apologized for. There are grudges that eventually fade and friendships that become strained but are eventually fixed. When you first met Yasha, you vowed to yourself that none of that would happen between the two of you. You had spent a lot of your life being on the receiving end of backhanded compliments from people that you thought friends, and when you’d confronted them it had led to apologies and then a further strained relationship. You cared too much for Yasha for that to happen, so you chewed on your words and chose them carefully before you spoke to her.
Of course, after weeks of prolonged silence before you would respond to her, she began to corner you. You’d find yourself pressed into the booth with her imposing frame tucked tightly against you as she fired off softly spoken questions and urged you to answer. Yasha would invite herself into your room and stare you down as she waited for your reply to whatever she had said. She’d buy you things and squint her eyes when you took three seconds to open your mouth and say thank you. You knew she was trying to feel out why you were being so careful around her, but you held your ground. You’re strong and, short of Yasha asking you outright, you wouldn’t tell her.
You’re not sure you could survive telling her just how much you’ve come to care for her. That was a secret you kept locked away behind your unflinching, unapologetic kindness that you worked so hard to give Yasha. Still, you’ve come to accept that she will corner you to try and figure out what you’re doing. That goes on for a few more weeks until you find yourself in your room once again with Yasha looming in front of you.
“I can’t do this anymore.” She says, as if you know what she’s talking about. (You do.)
You laugh nervously, giving you time to put together your sentence in your head. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you not like talking to me?” Her eyebrows tug down as she takes another step toward you. “I can stop talking to you if that’s the case.”
“Ho, whoa!” You startle and reach out for Yasha, searching her eyes. “No, that’s not it.” She frowns and gestures for you to continue. “I, uh, I’m just thinking about what I’m going to say.”
“Why?” She frowns again and takes one hand in yours, “I do not see you do that with anyone else.” You’re pretty stunned because she’s holding your hand and it sort of fries your brain a little bit. You gape for a second, brain going back into trying to string together the sentences and then scan them to make sure they’re okay to say, but you shake yourself out of it. Yasha looks really worried and you did that to her. Guilt settles in your stomach, but you don’t apologize.
“I just think about what I’m saying to you more, I guess,” Your voice is hoarse, and you’re whispering, “I don’t want to say anything that might hurt you, or make you feel like I don’t see you as anything less than… Less than an angel, I guess.”
Yasha chuckles, steps closer, and then she shakes her head. “I’m no angel.”
“To me you are,” You say earnestly, without thinking first, “I never want you to feel anything less because of something I’ve said. I wouldn’t be able to stand it. Yasha, I care for you.” And she just looks at you then, scanning your face for something. Either she finds what she’s looking for or doesn’t see what she was hoping to not see, because after a few heartbeats she surges toward you and gives you the sweetest kiss you’ve ever had.