Moving Forward (ch3)

THANKS AGAIN TO ALL PATRONS WHO HAVE SUPPORTED ME THIS MONTH! PLEASE ENJOY THIS FINAL FEBRUARY FIC!

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY.

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						Chapter 3. A Young Author's Morning

When Blake woke, it was almost strange how energetic she felt.

Even after a full night's sleep, she couldn't recall ever having woken with such a refreshed feeling in her chest, her eyes opening easily as she looked to the window curtains where dim sunlight was coming through.

She was quickly reminded of her temporary roommate by the sounds of wheezing snores. Blake turned over onto her other side, finding Yang curled in a ball, her head not even on the pillow she'd been lent.

Quietly, Blake slipped her legs off the bed and stood, her bare feet padding quietly along the smooth wooden floor. She stripped her bed of its comforter slowly, as to not make too much noise, and once it was off, she took care in draping it over Yang.

Blake realized she probably should have at least tried to cover her with a little more than just the clothes last night, but had been too tired to think of doing so.

And yet, Yang had never once complained of cold or the undoubtedly discomforting hardness of the floor nor the pitiful size of her pillow.

By means of apology, Blake now took care in tucking Yang in a little before stepping over her and heading to her desk.

Flicking on the little lamp there, Blake sat down at her rolling chair as she reached for her notebook. Only about half of the pages had been written on thus far, mixes of pen and pencil scribbled over the lines and in the margins.

Her bookmark wasn't traditional paper, however. Instead, it was a small flash drive connected to a keychain, and that was clipped onto one of the spirals of the notebook's spine to keep it secure.

This flash drive was even more important to her than the notebook itself, as it contained all of her written work thus far, typed and edited. It also held several dozen precious family photos and a few videos, things she'd sometimes look back on if she were feeling sentimental.

It was nice to keep the memories of childhood days near when she worked nowadays, as they served to remind her of simpler times.

Presently, she read over the last page she'd written and opened the desk drawer to extract a small laptop, a gift her parents had given her for when she'd gone off to college. Seeing the machine always sent a pang of guilt shooting through her for remembering she'd never completed her studies as her mother and father had wished her to do.

After she'd informed them that she had dropped out, they had been upset with her for months, constantly calling her to try and persuade her to go back, telling her she'd "never get a real job" if she didn't finish school first.

Blake had laid in her bed and cried herself to sleep many nights, weighed down by her guilt. Her replies to her parents would either be indifferent or apologies, but as time went on, her relationship with them had begun to mend somewhat.

Now whenever they called, they asked how she was doing and if she needed any help, rather than asking her if she was trying to get her forms back in to the college. It was a relationship that was still healing steadily, but even the snail's pace speed was better than nothing.

Shaking her head, Blake pulled herself from her thoughts and opened the laptop before her and the notebook to one side.

She'd found she only had about six to seven hours a day where she was actually productive in her writing, and around four of those seemed to be in the morning. She often worked best early on in the day, before clawing hunger could start to annoy her, before she'd had to deal with other people or listen to the depressing news.

At this hour, her mind was clear of the rest of the world, and so long as she could keep her thoughts in line, she could find the focus she required.

Grabbing a pen, she started to write whatever words met her fancy down into the notebook.

The story she was writing was one she'd poured months of research into, hence the laptop. Whenever she needed to look something up, she'd type out a quick search and look into things before configuring and arranging things in her mind and finally transferring it into ink on paper.

She'd written short stories and even a bit of poetry before, and every once in a while she'd get one published in a local newspaper. She'd gotten a small poem book published, and a few local bookstores had it for sale.

Those were the methods by which she attainted rent money every month, and if she was smart about things, she'd almost always have a bit to put into her savings account and a bit to spare for herself on other things.

She set to work, her hands seeming to type and write faster than usual. This was the first morning she'd ever written with another person in her room, but even when she was asleep, Yang gave off a comforting presence.

It eased Blake's thoughts away from drowning in memories of college and strained relationships, bringing her back to the surface where she could breathe and concentrate.

Writing in a silent room could be just as stressful for Blake as writing in a crowded area where people were constantly peering over her shoulder. She often played a bit of music to help herself, but sometimes got distracted by it.

All in all, having Yang there was the best solution to things she'd found in a long while.

Blake worked relentlessly that morning. Her preference to write things out by hand rather than type them often led to her hand getting cramped up, which would demand she take a break – a potential time period for more distractions.

But this morning, her hand didn't act up as badly, and she managed to keep producing content at a consistent rate for several hours.

By the time she noticed the entire room was brightly-lit, even with the curtains still drawn, she'd written several pages more than she often ever did. She felt this morning had compensated for previous ones where her mind had thwarted her and her hand had made one too many mistakes.

She dropped her pen with a satisfied sigh and sat back in her rolling chair, saving her research from today and re-saving every file on her flash drive before ejecting it.

She was just reading over what she'd jotted down in the notebook when she heard a muffled moan from the floor.

When she turned to look at Yang, it was with a small smile on her lips.

The comforters heaved as the girl pushed herself up, revealing a bedhead like none Blake had ever seen before.

She hid a chuckle behind her hand just as Yang's arms went above her head in a stretch. Her shoulders popped a worrying amount of times, making Blake wince, and the moan that left the blonde's lips was enough to make her blush.

Blake quickly composed herself as her guest opened her eyes, searching for a second until she located whom she sought. Blake's good mood warranted a delighted greeting.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well, all things considered?"

Yang rubbed her knuckles over her eyes and ran a hand through her frazzled bangs, adjusting the sweater a bit.

"Oh gosh, I can't tell ya how well I slept," she sighed. "Lots better than I have been this past week since movin' in here. Maybe the key's that I gotta start sleepin' on the floor."

The comment earned a chuckle from Blake, and Yang smiled before tilting her head curiously.

"What'cha doin'? I mean not that I should even be stickin' my nose into your business but-"

"It's fine," Blake said, feeling a familiarity to all of this. "I was just doing some writing."

"Oh, that's awesome!" Yang stood slowly, shaking out her legs as she stepped over the blankets and headed for the desk, stopping a few feet away. Blake noted the girl was purposefully keeping her distance and standing at a level where her eyes couldn't glimpse any of Blake's work without her permission.

Another flutter went through Blake's chest; first minute of this girl being awake and she was already treating Blake with more respect than most people often did in an entire week.

She could see the curiosity in Yang's eyes and knew full-well she wanted to ask what Blake wrote, but was keeping quiet at the risk of invading her privacy. Blake was so touched by her refusal to ask that she ended up telling her anyway.

"I write short stories. Poems and stuff like that. I have a small book out-"

"Whoa, what?!" Yang blurted. "Ya wrote a book? Where can I buy it? I wanna buy it, oh my gosh that's so cool!"

Blake was pleasantly surprised by her excitement, but shrugged her shoulders.

"It's not a big deal. It's just a very small thing. Not even my best work. I'm still working on that. Hopefully..."

"Okay but still!" Yang said. "Ya got a book published! How awesome is that? I'll tell ya it's pretty damn awesome. Yer gonna be famous pretty soon, huh?" she winked.

"Hardly," Blake grunted. "It's gonna take a lot more work to get there, if I even manage to make it that far."

"What are ya talkin' about? Of course ya will! If you've already got one book published, then it won't be long before ya put out another one and another!"

"It's not that simple. I'd have to-"

But Blake stopped herself when she saw Yang's sparkling eyes and eager grin. She realized how negative she was being, an old habit she'd never gotten around to breaking. She was only putting a damper on Yang's good mood, and when she reflected on what the blonde had told her just now, Blake realized just how flattered she was.

She changed what she'd been meaning to say as her voice sank into a mumble.

"My stuff's not that great. There are plenty of younger writers who are much more accomplished than I am."

"Hey..." Yang's voice grew softer then, and she squatted down and looked up at Blake. "Don't say that. Your stuff wouldn't be published and on-sale if it wasn't great! Ya can't go comparing yourself to other people. Yer plenty talented in your own way that other people can never be. You wrote that book and yer writing this one now! Nobody else can do that."

Blake looked up slightly to meet Yang's eyes.

The dark-haired girl was utterly speechless; she'd never thought of things that way before. In a matter of just a few sentences spoken in fewer seconds, Yang had made her realize something she'd never once considered.

Blake's jaw hung open as she fumbled to channel her thoughts into spoken words to no avail. She was feeling the sting of tears again, but before she could get her words out, Yang stood and stretched again.

"Any-who, I'd still love to know the name of your book so I can pick up a copy the next time I go out." Yang made her way to the spot where she'd slept and picked up the comforter, turning back to Blake with that grin that had been present since she'd woken up. "Thanks for this, by the way. Thanks for everything, Blake."

The writer blinked several times, her eyes following Yang's movements until at last she managed to make her voice work.

"Moving Forward," she mumbled.

"Sorry?" Yang tilted her head. "What was that?"

"Moving Forward. That's the name of my book."

Yang smiled even wider, if that was possible.

"Sounds great! I'll nab a copy next time I'm in town!"

She set to pulling the comforters back onto Blake's bed and making it neatly before picking up the thin blanket and pillow she'd slept on. She put those back in their places in the closet and on the loveseat, and Blake watched, unmoving, from her chair all the while.

It was the loud rumble of Yang's stomach that reminded Blake of her own hunger, and a glance to the alarm clock found it was almost noon.

Finally, Blake managed to stand, clipping her flash drive back into her notebook and closing the pages.

"We should go eat," she suggested.

Their apartment complex was actually more akin to a small hotel since it had a little restaurant on the first floor, the kitchens of which had been the source of last night's incident.

Blake owed a lot to whomever had left that stove on and caused the ruckus; if not for them, she never would have met Yang how or when she did, and perhaps never have met her at all.

Blake went to her drawers to grab a fresh set of clothes, going into the bathroom to freshen up and change as Yang waited outside.

The blonde stood near the closet, away from Blake's work desk; the girl had left her alone in the room, and Yang wasn't about to shatter her trust by letting Blake think she'd stolen a glance at her work.

Blake emerged a moment later, silently thankful to Yang for keeping her distance from the notebook. Blake retrieved it and tucked it under her arm – room key, flash drive, and all – before heading to the door. She put on a pair of slippers and dug out an older pair for Yang to wear as well before heading out into the hallway.

"Come on," she said. "We've got ten minutes before the breakfast food is gone."

They made their way down the stairs together and reached the kitchen.

Only tenants could eat at the little restaurant, and all food bills were added onto each person's respective monthly bills alongside rent.

Blake got herself a few scrambled eggs and a piece of toast from the buffet, and judging by the bagel, muffin, eggs, and pancakes Yang got for herself, Blake could assume the blonde's budget was somewhat more generous than her own.

They went to a small table together and sat down to begin eating, Blake keeping her notebook on her lap and covering it with a napkin.

As they began eating, she couldn't help but feel she'd done this a thousand times with Yang – she just felt so comfortable around her for various reasons. She didn't mind the silence between them as they ate, but Yang was the type who needed a bit of conversation to keep herself sane.

"I still think it's just so cool," she said. "How ya wrote a freakin' book already. And yer probably my age. I usually make my paychecks by doin' stuff like last night and goin' to parties 'n stuff." She quickly lowered her voice. "Crap, that probably sounded so sketchy. I ain't a call-girl or nothin', trust me. Tried it once for a day under my folks' noses, but I couldn't stand the creeps so that was that.

"I go to parties 'n stuff just to make and bring people drinks. I'm good at it and words gets around so I get a few jobs here and there. I don't drink, but for every one I make, I get a few bucks. And guys always tip me extra, so as long as they don't get touchy-feely, then we all go home happy."

"I see."

Blake had listened quietly all the while. She had to commend Yang for choosing such a risky line of work, under-the-table as it was, but she understood the desperation of taking any gig she could get.

Still, she didn't really like the idea of Yang putting herself in such situations. It made her stomach twist. She knew how people could get sometimes, especially drunken ones and especially at college parties.

But she reminded herself it was none of her business what Yang did with her life, but... did she want it to be...?

It was almost starting to feel that way.

Blake shook her head, dislodging the thoughts as they finished eating. They received their bills, put their plates on the "return" table, and started on their next task.

Blake had promised to show Yang around the building, and though there wasn't much to see, she did her best.

She led her outside as well, to where a patio with several benches and tables sat, surrounded by little gardens.

They walked for about an hour before heading for their next destination, back inside on the first floor. Blake stood by Yang as she explained to the landlord what had happened last night to get her locked out. He gave her a second key and told her to keep it in addition to the one still in her room, just in case.

Once it was in her possession, Yang turned back to Blake.

"Welp, my room's on the second floor. D'you wanna stop by real quick or something?"

"Sure. If that's okay." Blake's response was almost embarrassingly immediate.

She followed Yang up the couple flights of stairs to her room, which was located on the opposite side of the building from her own. But Blake stopped herself at the door before Yang could invite her in.

"I should get back to my writing for now," she said.

The blonde looked almost hurt, and Blake quickly kicked herself mentally.

"But thank you for inviting me up here," she said. "If you ever need anything, you can knock on my door anytime. Or call me if you want. I could give you my cell phone number."

"No kiddin'? That'd be great!" Yang said as Blake tore a corner off a page of her notebook. She pulled a pen from the spirals and scribbled down her number on it before handing it to Yang. The blonde grinned. "Thanks again for lettin' me stay the night, Blake. I'd love to meet up with ya again sometime. Maybe... tomorrow?" she asked, hesitant. "I mean, I gotta give ya these clothes back," she said, motioning at Blake's pants and sweater she was still wearing. "I'll wash 'em fer ya tonight. Ah, crap I was supposed to wash your robe, too-"

"Yang," Blake chuckled. "It's fine. But tomorrow sounds perfect. Come by any time or text me beforehand to make sure I haven't gone somewhere, okay?"

"Yeah!" she nodded. "Will do! Thanks, Blake."

"Glad to help out a friend."

She feared she may have spoken too soon about their relationship, but the smile Yang gave her then dismissed those fears instantly.

"Yeah," Yang nodded. "See ya tomorrow then!"

Yang opened the door and Blake turned and started for the stairs.

Both went their separate ways for now, knowing their paths would converge again before long.

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A/N: I wrote this chapter only a few days before Monty's passing, so the fact that I named Blake's book "Moving Forward" before knowing of it, and that one of Monty's most inspirational phrases was "Keep moving forward"... I thought that was an odd coincidence, but also somehow meaningful. Hence why I gave the entire fic that title.