every waking moment

one-shot

Blake crosses off a square in her calendar, her grasp on the pen very feeble. How long has it been since she last had a full night of sleep...? That should be, uh, around a few days... three or four, maybe?

From the way Weiss stares at her from the corner of her eyes, it seems like she might be a bit off the mark. But what are numbers, after all, if not elaborate drawings created to represent and control the completely man-made concept of "time"? Time isn't real, Blake concludes as she lets the pen go, and she's not going to buy into yet another stupid ploy of humankind.

What feels very real, though, is the way Yang taps on her shoulder, voice just above a murmur as she asks "wanna get breakfast?". It does wonders to Blake, ears perking up inside her bow — a very uncomfortable feeling, offsetting the warmth irradiating from the hand in her back, firm fingers brushing against Blake's shirt. For a moment, her instincts tell her to take Yang's hand on her own and kiss each of her knuckles, one by one. Instead of giving in to her thoughts, her reply is a mere nod, and she refrains from shaking her head as she gets up.

Speaking of what is real and what isn't, Blake is sure this is a good argument as to why she should get some rest for once. Not enough to counter all the reasons why she shouldn't, but the whole "Yang comes close to me and I short-circuit" deal is starting to become a nuisance. If it was only once in a while that would be bearable, but it seems that the longer she goes without rest, the more alarming her teammate becomes to her, which is the last thing she needs right now. Dealing with the White Fang was already hard enough back when her hormones weren't acting up.

Of course, she has to concede, it's normal to have that kind of thought when you're a teenager surrounded by attractive people; and while Blake had seen her share of pretty faces throughout the years (some leading to discoveries about herself), Yang was the textbook definition of stunning (at least if you take her tastes into consideration). Blonde hair flowing down her back like the sun shining down on Earth. The freckles peppered over her face and arms like a dozen kisses. The outline of muscles under her uniform, the coat from the beginning of the school year getting tighter in a couple of places. Her very flattering training outfit. Blake usually knew better than to get lost in Yang's features, but it was getting harder to snap out of it. And that's not even getting started on how good of a person she is. How nicely she treats everyone, how beautiful her smile is. She's starting to find even the flirt deal kind of cute.

This is how much she needs to sleep. Maybe she should listen to her friends for once.

(She won't. She can't.)

Port's voice isn't the lullaby she had in mind, but it's working, to her despair. The amount of coffee she downed minutes ago feels like air, it amounts to nothing — and she fights against her own closing eyes. Weiss nudges her with the blunt side of her pencil, Ruby kicks her ankle under the table. These bring only momentary effects, the most lasting of them coming from the eraser Nora flings at her head from a row above. It's their very weird way of trying to support her, but it's welcome. Works better than rubbing her eyes until the dark circles become red.

And again, speaking of red eyes, Yang keeps her concerned stare throughout all two and a half hours of class. Blake can feel it coming from Ruby's left, and she's sure that if she was sitting closer, she'd join the other girls in keeping her awake. When the bell rings (finally!), she's the first to get up and ask if they want her to grab a snack. Weiss declines, Ruby and Nora ask for the same odd colored candy, Ren wants canned tea, Jaune thanks her before asking for potato chips, and Pyrrha says she'll have whatever Yang thinks she'll like.

"You're merciless." She sighs, counting the coins in her purse. "That's a lot for one person to carry. Mind helping me, Blake?"

"No problem", she replies.