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It was 11:23AM in Applied Offensive Engineering, and Joanna Greenleaf was trying very hard not to punch Professor Andesite.
It wasn’t the fact that the man was, on a good day, tedium distilled unto its most pure form, then pumped into a balloon that was punctured and forcing all nearby to endure the subsequent whining. It wasn’t even the noise of his actual chalk on an actual chalkboard when everything in this glorified bootlicker training camp had moved into modern Remnant and was using hard light like the rest of the civilized world. One could only beg for the sweet release of third period. No; despite her overall taciturn nature and (somewhat unfair!) reputation for a sharp tongue and a sharper right hook, Joanna could swallow all this with relative grace. What she couldn’t swallow was the good Professor seeming to delight in referring to the girl trying to meld with the chair next to her as Mister Marigold at every opportunity – not that he didn’t refer to everyone as such, it was just the hurt she saw it inflicted on her now – her egg was only fairly freshly hatched, and her inclusion into the now complete quadratic of Team (??)’s Girlfriend Rectangle newer still.
She knew she should be reasonable. She knew the man didn’t truly mean it, boneheaded or no.
She knew that.
She still wanted to feed the educator unaware he was harming her girlfriend his own teeth. But – a more subtle approach would better lead to her avoiding an unpleasant conversation with Ironwood.
“Hey, Mayflower.”
There it was. That look in the sunset-golden eyes that flicked up to meet her own. The look of being seen and recognized for being her. Joanna decides to earn her keep as the team’s hammer-to-be-hurled-at-social-situations and reaches under the desk and gently snatches May’s hand, offering a reassuring smile and being repaid with the softest hint of a smile from underneath those golden eyes.
“Ahem.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Professor Andesite’s grey gaze found them in the deep corner of the lecture hall May had sequestered herself in (and Joanna promptly discovered) and fixed them with a… look, of some description. Frankly, even the man’s eyes were so unspeakably monotonous she found herself floundering for a word to describe it.
“If you’re quite done passing notes and gawking at your teammate- “He paused for what was presumably intended to be either dramatic or comedic effect, making the brave and ultimately foolish gamble that he had the capacity for either – “I’m sure you and Mister Marigold will find the content the rest of the class is discussing to be quite useful in your upcoming midsemester.” Joanna offered a curt nod and a half-muttered apology in response, but a sidelong glance confirms what she’s actually apologetic for; May has withdrawn. Both physically with her hands both above the desk and gripping a pen so tightly her knuckles have gone white but more importantly emotionally, with her gaze straight ahead and as hard as her locked jaw.
When the chime for third period rings some moments later, Joanna can barely catch herself from accidentally outing her with a concerned “May, wait!” as the bluenette teammate barrels down a hallway to the depths of the Grimm Studies wing. It was fairly hard to catch up with your sad girlfriend who could veil herself from the visible spectrum at will.
***
It was true! Despite Robyn’s seemingly boundless talents in the art of self-flagellation, Fiona was the natural worrier of the group. So maybe she had been texting all her girlfriends all through the classes of the day. And maybe she had checked in with Joanna. And maybe she had panicked when she learned that their vanishing-on-command girlfriend who preferred to deal with her mental health concerns using dysphoria hoodies and instant noodles rather than healthy communication had absconded from class without so much as a kiss-you-later to her loved one. So finally, this had led to her swallowing a small tsunami of anxiety when their fourth scampered in five minutes what their dashing leader would deem fashionably late. May, meanwhile, faces a fresh wave. She loves Fiona, and absolutely wants to score that enticing empty seat next to her especially lest some bullheaded other team tries to land a spot next to the diminutive; what she does not love, however, are questions – a wave of which she is certain to face judging from the explosion of concern in the team groupchat buzzing from her scroll after her alarmingly fast exodus. In moments that feel as years she slides into the seat next to the relieved sheepgirl offering a soft smile and a gentle knock of the knee in what she hopes is a satisfactory greeting. Unfortunately for the intrepid rogue, Fiona was especially fluent in Crabby Marigold and a glance back up rewarded her with a concerned pair of ovine ears tilted forward and a soft small pout that rested on her lips that god-fucking-dammit made that suffocating black sludge of guilt and burden start rising up around the cockles of her heart again.
“Are you okay, M- “A pause to drop her standard bubbly voice with what she presumably thought was a quieter and more conspiratorial tone. “May?” A question artfully avoided with what she hoped to be meaningfully glances and mumbled grunts until the professors comparatively enthusiastic lecturing began to fill the room. Fiona was no less easily dissuaded than Jo and had the benefit of an hour and a half lesson block to drag answers from the captive heiress – handily layered under the guise of group note taking.
“I still think we should get you out of that uniform.” Fiona hummed as her pacer skimmed across the paper, an Ursa Major’s anatomy slowly beginning to take form beneath her watchful eye. Fiona panicked and began immediately verbally backspacing as soon as she saw the bright flush rise to May’s cheeks
“Not – not like that!” She insisted, before pausing. “I mean, maybe like that later but! A group dress up- you know, a dress up as you night. Friday night shuttle rates down to Mantle…” Any hopes for a flirtatious escape to a brighter mood died on her lips once she saw May’s dejected gaze sink down to the paper once more.
“I- I can’t. I’ve got a… meeting with Ironwood after this. Later this evening.”
“Oh.” May glanced up to see those little ears sinking once more and the tar climbed further up her chest and slowly took a stranglehold around her lungs before Fiona spoke again. “Specialist stuff?”
“Specialist stuff. And….” She paused, briefly, weighing up the warring concerns to not worry her smallest girlfriend too much versus relieving the anxieties currently sumo-wrestling on her chest. “And something about the onboarding process into the four-year specialist commission.”
“May…” Fiona’s hand slowly slipped into May’s own, a soft thumb (And really, the gay part of May’s brain took a moment to expound, how ironic was it that the most skilled knife fighter member of the team has such soft hands? Maybe it was her Semblance.) coaxing gently back and forth along the trapezium of May’s hand. “Is this what earlier was about?”
How do you politely tell your girlfriend that every time a Professor has called you mister or an underclassmen sir today, you’ve wanted to borrow her bladestaff to ram it into your own carotid artery?
“It’s been… a hard day.” Fiona’s saddened eyes dance away from May’s ever shifting own and confirm with a sad sigh the ends of angry, red scratch marks carved into May’s own underarms, hastily hidden by tugging down the sleeves of her overly masculine uniform. She squeezes her hand, tightly, in what she can only hope conveys a fraction of the love and comfort she seeks to impart through touch what in words would surely earn them a detention.
“Okay, baby.” She whispers, and May glances up with just the slightest tilt to her lips – it’s one of the things calling her never fails to make her smile, and yes, maybe Fiona does enjoy making the second tallest member of the team flush, thank you very much! “You’ll get through it. We’ll talk about it later tonight, okay? Sit you down. Hug it out. Watch some crap movies on the holo and ramen, yeah?”
A wise woman once said that getting a Marigold to open up was like performing dental work on a Sabyr. Sometimes though the touch of a smaller, gentler soul was all it took to make a cold flower bloom.
***
“Mr. Marigold.”
Fuck.
There is a chair on the opposite side of Ironwood’s desk, but it remains empty. May stands utterly ramrod straight at attention, muscles taught without so much as a breath of air out of place before the good General. Besides, she couldn’t bear being altogether much closer to him without vomiting from either nerves or the truth of his methods Robyn had long since used to shatter her once Atlesian worldview but he didn’t very well know that, did he.
“I’ve been keeping a close eye on your progress in your Specialist classes.” There’s a tilt in his voice that might be an approximation of approval, but May doesn’t trust herself to emote at all in response. “Top of survival and hand-to-hand combat, no less.” Okay, that was a reach.
“Second to the top, sir. Winter- “
“Currently holds the place above you, yes.” May’s jaw clicked shut. When the General spoke, a student would do well to can it. “However, her future in the military is understood and spoken for. Cadet Schnee has chosen to take the early bridging course into the Specialist commission, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”
“…Yes, sir.”
“In terms of our most promising candidates, that leaves you.”
“…Sir?”
“In your first and second years within these walls, you were excited by the prospect of serving Atlas with such a prestigious commission. Indeed, you were a certain pick for the position, as we previously discussed at one of your father’s parties.” Ironwood’s fingers came to rest on a manila folder no doubt containing her records, and from the corner of her eye, she thought she saw his eyebrow quirk. “I’m simply worried some of the more… politically active elements of your cohort may have caused you to be destabilized in your studies.” Fear began to quicken in May’s blood.
“No, sir.”
“So, you are willing to accept the commission?” The trap springs.
“I…” May opens her mouth expectantly, and none of the words in her brain quite manage to make the perilous journey downstairs and out of her mouth. “I – I can’t right now, sir.”
“I see.” The General’s voice has dropped an octave; be it from disappointment, surprise, or anger, she dares not look his way to confirm. “Have you discussed this with your parents?”
“It’s an ongoing discussion, sir.” Glad Robyn isn’t here to glow red at that.
Okay, now she is definitely certain she can feel his eyes boring into her. “I suggest you help that discussion reach its conclusion, Marigold.” The mythical figure behind the desk stands and draws himself to his full height, blocking out the moonlight that had previously illuminated her. “Your options will worsen after graduation. Dismissed.”
***
The problem with the nebulous later was that it had an awful habit of catching up with you.
This is something that May became acutely aware of after she finally quite moping in the hallway and braved swiping her dorm keycard and found the Council of Girlfriends in exactly the suspiciously-too-casual poses tactically covering every angle of the dormitory she knew they’d be. May’s mouth opens; an apology, or a denial, or one of the poorly shielded and easily verifiably untrue claims that she was absolutely fine thank you doubtless moments from emerging. Such blatant lies never quite make it to air as Robyn – the only girlfriend she hadn’t seen today, whisked away into the unforgiving grips of tundra survival classes – descends upon her and presses a single firm finger to her lips. And, yes, with the piercing amethyst eyes of a slightly older woman transfixing her to the spot, perhaps her gay brain does forget how to a) think and b) breathe.
“Not a word. Not yet, Bluebird.” She pauses, waiting for the appropriate level of gentle flush to appear on Marigold’s cheeks at the pet name. “Shower. Get changed into something more… you. Then hit the fridge, then the couch.” Finally, the toothy edges of that shit-stirring smirk begin to appear. “Got it?” Flustered and still silenced by an upheld digit, May can only nod.
“Good- “
“We are being PURE and supportive, Robyn!” A certain Faunus interjects from the depths of Joanna’s loving headlock.
Some fifteen minutes later, the appropriately blushing bluebird emerges from the tiny attached bathroom in her true form as an appropriately soggy mop. The campus barber had thrown up his hands in surrender, and she’d managed to pass it off to her blissfully ignorant parents as a classical Atlesian throwback to post-war fashion when appropriately done up. The blue cloud now tickled the tips of her collarbones, much to Fiona and her collection of hair ties infinite enjoyment. Even as she stepped into the room embarrassed and in no small part tentative over the day’s behaviour, May was visibly more relaxed to their eyes as she all but dive-flopped onto the couch. One of Joanna’s (many, many) baseball tees that were oversized on her swung well beneath May’s hips and drowned her arms in sweater paws, accompanied by an appropriately frilly and comfy pair of pyjama shorts to account for their room’s eternally cranked thermostat. A deep breath – a mistake, given her face was currently buried in a couch that had likely seen more students than any of them had had hot meals – and she dragged out words that were rarely genuinely spoken to people not directly responsible for her spawning.
“I’m sorry about today.”
There’s a soft sigh from someone in the surrounding swarm of girlfriends and suddenly a strong pair of broad arms wrapped around her midriff, casually hoisting her backwards as though she weighed little more than the shirt comically hanging off her skinny frame. She finds herself resting on the seemingly infinite plains of Joanna’s abs, staring up at the ceiling – no, wait, one, now two girlfriend’s heads have popped into frame, staring down at her with sympathetic emerald and amethyst eyes. That in itself makes that guilt twist inside her once more; they had every right to be furious, from her perspective. Fiona cracks the silent first.
“You had a bad day, Mayday. That’s okay, you’re doing something really hard and we’re really proud of- “
“I was being a complete cun- “
“You.” Robyn interrupted. “Had a very stressful day, and yes, you handled it kind of badly.” There’s a sympathetic squeeze of her injured wrist and as tears start to sting at her eyes, Robyn hushes her gently and cups her cheek to force her to keep gazing up at her. “We’re your team – I’m your partner in both senses, May. You text me, class or no class, and I’ll come running from now on out, okay? I’m sure Martire can deal with one of his wayward students getting lost during Survival. It’ll probably be extra credit or something.” May frowns, blue eyebrows forming a cute little V shape, before beginning to object.
“You idiot, I love you but you can’t just- “
“I can.” Her Leader Voice with capital letters is out now, and further disputes perish on her lips before it softens again ever so slightly. “You’re hurting, May. That’s okay. Just don’t take it out on yourself.” The tears sting once more and Fiona latches onto May’s chest and the bluenette squeezes right back, nuzzling down and burying her face deep into the depths of Fiona’s hair in a manner she’ll never admit to. “Now, the only other question I want you to answer right now, bluebell: Shio or Tonkotsu ramen?” Golden eyes flick upwards; there’s the soft pause of consideration before muffled words fall out of Fiona’s hair.
“…. Tonkotsu, please?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” A soft kiss is pressed to her forehead, and Robyn vanishes into the kitchen.
Two minutes into boiling the water and rummaging through the hopelessly mismanaged cupboards, she can hear Fiona protesting as resident Faunus expert that the noises May makes as Joanna rubs her scalp are definitely adjacent to a purr!
Four minutes in, the loving ribbing has fallen into soft murmurs.
Six, she returns to find May conked out cold on top of Joanna’s muscular abdomen with Fiona dozing gently beside her, the tallest member of the team smiling gently down at them before glancing up at the steaming bowls clasped in Robyn’s hands.
“I’ll eat their bowls.”
“No, you won’t, you little shit.”
***
When she wakes up, the morning seems awfully brighter than the night before.