“You’ve made your point, Blake.” Yang half-sighs, her forehead pressed against the door. Sadness and frustration make for terrible conversation. “Please, just come out here and talk to me.”

The doorknob turns, followed by a weak “Why?”, Blake’s voice hoarse and raw.

“Because—" the blonde starts, stepping into the room before the door can slam and put them back at square one. The curtains are closed; Blake looks like she did when they first met, a ghost puppeteering the shell she used to inhabit. “Because she asked me.”

“Would you have said yes if I’d asked you?”

“You and I both know you don’t want the answer to that.”

“Maybe I do.” Blake says, Yang’s embrace more inviting than ever. But they aren’t like that anymore, she tells herself. Not when there’s a chance of being caught. Not when there’s walls to tell the tale.

Now it’s Yang’s turn to drop all pretences. “If you’d asked me?” She mirrors, tone fragile, like glass, and just as sharp. There’s no just friends between them; it’s half-slurred I love yous followed by arguments like this. It’s torture, dressed in monochrome hoodies and ripped jeans and t-shirts. It’s looking in Blake’s eyes and wanting to know why she’s not between her arms. Except now, she is. “If you’d asked me, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

from this ask game!