Work Text:
As they lay in bed together, Yang traces the outline of the scar on Blake's abdomen.
Blake breathes softly, staring up into Yang's eyes.
For a long time, she couldn't stand for anyone to touch her there. The memories of the Fall — heat, fear, pain — were too much.
Yang splays her hand over the scar. Her palm covers it entirely.
Blake closes her eyes. Her hair tickles her bare shoulders, and her ears twitch. Yang's hand is warm against her skin.
She moves her legs, and feels the soft bedsheets underneath her. They're warm from her and Yang's combined body heat.
She breathes in and feels the air fill her throat. She's here, in this moment, with Yang. They're in bed, together, not on the hard ground while Beacon falls to pieces.
Blake's chest falls as she breathes out. If she focuses hard enough, she thinks that the lines of Yang's palm might become embedded in her skin.
Metal gently touches her face — Yang's other hand, cupping her cheek. Yang's thumb gently strokes the spot underneath Blake's eye.
"You're crying," Yang says, her voice quiet and soft in the way it gets sometimes when they're alone.
"I am?" Blake asks, opening her eyes.
Yang's face is closer than she realized, violet eyes filled with concern.
Blake leans her face into Yang's hand.
"It's okay," she says.
Her arms wrap around Yang, pulling her into a tender hug.
It doesn't feel like a loss when Yang lifts her hand from the scar.