pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall with room for winter/cinder/robyn if you squint really hard
fandom: RWBY
//
“I can’t believe I’m stuck here with you,” Cinder mutters.
Not that she looks particularly upset about it. Winter eyes her as she drapes herself across the couch, wine glass in hand, and resumes dusting all their shelves for something like the fifteenth time today. Trying not to sound too annoyed, she says, “Well, you could always quarantine yourself in your room,” and pointedly ignores the glare Cinder throws her way.
“Like I give a shit.” She sets the glass down on the coffee table; Winter winces at her bookshelves and tries to forget what it felt like to be sixteen. “Did Robyn really have to leave?”
“She wanted to be home,” Winter says blandly. As annoyed as she is that Robyn left her alone with the roommate she doesn’t like, she supposes some things can’t be helped — she has a job, after all, unlike the rest of them, and she’s determined to clean up Winter’s father’s messes. And it’s not like she hates Cinder; she really wouldn’t have agreed to live with her if she cared all that much.
Cinder huffs. “Well, good for her.”
“Good for her,” Winter agrees. “Have you thought about calling your coworkers?”
“Ex-coworkers,” she says snippily. “Why should I? What am I going to do, contribute to the collective air of misery?”
And to that, she doesn’t have a response. Winter was never all that close with her coworkers, either; she’s convinced most of them hate her, after all.
//
“What are you doing?”
Cinder gestures to the TV, pointedly avoiding looking Winter in the eye. “Watching anything but the news. Why?”
Winter runs a hand through her hair — still slightly damp, annoyingly. “Can I join you?”
That gets her to look — and oh, Winter thinks, that’s why they avoid looking at each other so much; Cinder has beautiful eyes — “Why?”
“Nothing better to do.”
It’s true. Cinder eyes her like it isn’t.
“I’m sick of sitting around in my bedroom,” Winter supplies, “and you know I don’t use social media, so.” She waves a hand in the air.
She nods, once, like that’s good enough, and shuffles sideways.
Winter sits down next to her on the shitty couch she’s pretty sure Robyn stole from a tip somewhere and curls up as far away from her as possible. It’s — weird; she feels awkward, displaced. Cinder has always had that effect on her, really.
She stops paying attention to the movie they’re supposed to be watching after about fifteen minutes. It’s old, and one of Weiss’s favourites; she’s probably seen it a million times in the past decade. Besides, her mind is too occupied with Cinder’s presence on the other end of the couch — the way her fingers curl around her chin, her thumb nestled against her pulse point, the arrangement of her legs on the couch cushions, the slow movement of her hands as she tucks her hair behind her ear.
Winter has been telling herself for over a year that it’s stupid, that it’s superficial anxiety; that she isn’t nervous around pretty girls and she’s instead trying to predict when Cinder will look at her next, whether she’ll try to touch her. It’s natural to be alert around people you don’t know all that well — at least, it’s natural for Winter, it has been ever since she was small — and it’s not like they’ve ever made any effort to get comfortable with each other, anyway.
The thing is, though: Cinder is gorgeous. The thing is, she’s not so sure it’s anxiety any more.
She watches her watch a movie from a thousand miles away, feeling distinctly untethered — and she’s always felt untethered, so this is nothing new.
//
It becomes a thing, she thinks.
At least, it’s a pattern: most days they sit on the couch before dinner and watch a movie together, or sometimes Cinder puts on a series on Netflix or pirates something Winter hasn’t seen before. She suspects it’s because she’s noticed the staring — which she’s been doing less and less, thank you very much — and is trying to get her to stop it.
Whatever the case, it’s nice. Robyn calls them about two weeks into official lockdown and Winter gives her a long list of the things she’s seen because of Cinder’s efforts.
“Sounds like she’s been holding you hostage,” Robyn says, smirking, and the two of them exchange a look that feels all too familiar for their state of relative unfamiliarity. “Winter Schnee watching horror movies?”
Winter raises an eyebrow at her. Cinder laughs. “She’s weird as fuck,” she says — not an explanation, Winter thinks; fuck you — “I couldn’t have her watching nature documentaries all day.”
“You know, not that I’m complaining, but we really need to get you an Instagram or something,” Robyn grins.
“That’s my sister’s job,” Winter mutters, sinking onto her folded arms. “And I’ve seen horror movies before, you know.”
Cinder drums her fingers against the tabletop. She’s dropped the weird prickly act, which is a relief; Robyn said it was how she made friends when Winter first moved in and after about a year of knowing her, she’s inclined to disagree. The Cinder left behind in the wake is different, quieter, and she seems to dislike Winter a lot less. “We’ll catch you up, don’t worry. Tomorrow: ATLA.”
Robyn’s jaw drops. “You haven’t seen ATLA?”
Winter sucks her bottom lip between her teeth reflexively, avoiding both of their gazes. “You know how I grew up.”
“But still,” Cinder says emphatically, “come on, we have to fix that, right?”
“I mean, I’m not protesting —”
“You know she hasn’t played any video games either, right?”
“Not true,” Winter mutters, looking away from the screen. Robyn’s expression has gradually sloped into something more and more teasing, and she doesn’t want to have to bear witness. “You forget I have a seventeen year-old brother. I’ve played video games.”
Cinder snorts. “Yeah, like what?”
“First person shooters, mostly,” she lies — it was Minecraft, and only once, and only because Whitley begged her to help him do some calculations. Both Robyn and Cinder seem to sense the lie, judging by the matching half-smirks they’re wearing, and she groans and covers her face with her hands. She really does need to get better at lying.
//
Cinder, true to her word, makes her play games, too. They start out small — “Animal Crossing? Really? Come on, I was raised in a shithole and even I’ve played Animal Crossing,” — and graduate to stealing the VR headset someone got Robyn for Christmas from her bedroom.
“If they knew Robyn they’d know she fucking hates VR,” Cinder says blithely when Winter flat-out refuses to take anything from her roommate, “it makes her feel sick. She’s not even taken it out of the box, look.”
“Still,” Winter protests. Cinder levels a Look at her, and suddenly she can’t think of a convenient way to end the sentence.
Being locked in a house with Cinder doesn’t seem like so much of a chore anymore.
//
“So how’re you getting along?”
Winter bites her lip, glancing between the door to her bedroom (closed) and Robyn on her phone, propped up against her bed’s headboard. “Much better than we were. Why?”
Her smile grows sly. It’s annoying. “No reason. I just, like — I know you didn’t really get along beforehand. It’s good to see you talking.”
“We got along just fine,” she protests — categorically untrue, but she can dream — “and we’re getting along better now. Don’t look at me like that.”
FILL: Team Anime/Manga
word count: 1264
pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall with room for winter/cinder/robyn if you squint really hard
fandom: RWBY
//
“I can’t believe I’m stuck here with you,” Cinder mutters.
Not that she looks particularly upset about it. Winter eyes her as she drapes herself across the couch, wine glass in hand, and resumes dusting all their shelves for something like the fifteenth time today. Trying not to sound too annoyed, she says, “Well, you could always quarantine yourself in your room,” and pointedly ignores the glare Cinder throws her way.
“Like I give a shit.” She sets the glass down on the coffee table; Winter winces at her bookshelves and tries to forget what it felt like to be sixteen. “Did Robyn really have to leave?”
“She wanted to be home,” Winter says blandly. As annoyed as she is that Robyn left her alone with the roommate she doesn’t like, she supposes some things can’t be helped — she has a job, after all, unlike the rest of them, and she’s determined to clean up Winter’s father’s messes. And it’s not like she hates Cinder; she really wouldn’t have agreed to live with her if she cared all that much.
Cinder huffs. “Well, good for her.”
“Good for her,” Winter agrees. “Have you thought about calling your coworkers?”
“Ex-coworkers,” she says snippily. “Why should I? What am I going to do, contribute to the collective air of misery?”
And to that, she doesn’t have a response. Winter was never all that close with her coworkers, either; she’s convinced most of them hate her, after all.
//
“What are you doing?”
Cinder gestures to the TV, pointedly avoiding looking Winter in the eye. “Watching anything but the news. Why?”
Winter runs a hand through her hair — still slightly damp, annoyingly. “Can I join you?”
That gets her to look — and oh, Winter thinks, that’s why they avoid looking at each other so much; Cinder has beautiful eyes — “Why?”
“Nothing better to do.”
It’s true. Cinder eyes her like it isn’t.
“I’m sick of sitting around in my bedroom,” Winter supplies, “and you know I don’t use social media, so.” She waves a hand in the air.
She nods, once, like that’s good enough, and shuffles sideways.
Winter sits down next to her on the shitty couch she’s pretty sure Robyn stole from a tip somewhere and curls up as far away from her as possible. It’s — weird; she feels awkward, displaced. Cinder has always had that effect on her, really.
She stops paying attention to the movie they’re supposed to be watching after about fifteen minutes. It’s old, and one of Weiss’s favourites; she’s probably seen it a million times in the past decade. Besides, her mind is too occupied with Cinder’s presence on the other end of the couch — the way her fingers curl around her chin, her thumb nestled against her pulse point, the arrangement of her legs on the couch cushions, the slow movement of her hands as she tucks her hair behind her ear.
Winter has been telling herself for over a year that it’s stupid, that it’s superficial anxiety; that she isn’t nervous around pretty girls and she’s instead trying to predict when Cinder will look at her next, whether she’ll try to touch her. It’s natural to be alert around people you don’t know all that well — at least, it’s natural for Winter, it has been ever since she was small — and it’s not like they’ve ever made any effort to get comfortable with each other, anyway.
The thing is, though: Cinder is gorgeous. The thing is, she’s not so sure it’s anxiety any more.
She watches her watch a movie from a thousand miles away, feeling distinctly untethered — and she’s always felt untethered, so this is nothing new.
//
It becomes a thing, she thinks.
At least, it’s a pattern: most days they sit on the couch before dinner and watch a movie together, or sometimes Cinder puts on a series on Netflix or pirates something Winter hasn’t seen before. She suspects it’s because she’s noticed the staring — which she’s been doing less and less, thank you very much — and is trying to get her to stop it.
Whatever the case, it’s nice. Robyn calls them about two weeks into official lockdown and Winter gives her a long list of the things she’s seen because of Cinder’s efforts.
“Sounds like she’s been holding you hostage,” Robyn says, smirking, and the two of them exchange a look that feels all too familiar for their state of relative unfamiliarity. “Winter Schnee watching horror movies?”
Winter raises an eyebrow at her. Cinder laughs. “She’s weird as fuck,” she says — not an explanation, Winter thinks; fuck you — “I couldn’t have her watching nature documentaries all day.”
“You know, not that I’m complaining, but we really need to get you an Instagram or something,” Robyn grins.
“That’s my sister’s job,” Winter mutters, sinking onto her folded arms. “And I’ve seen horror movies before, you know.”
Cinder drums her fingers against the tabletop. She’s dropped the weird prickly act, which is a relief; Robyn said it was how she made friends when Winter first moved in and after about a year of knowing her, she’s inclined to disagree. The Cinder left behind in the wake is different, quieter, and she seems to dislike Winter a lot less. “We’ll catch you up, don’t worry. Tomorrow: ATLA.”
Robyn’s jaw drops. “You haven’t seen ATLA?”
Winter sucks her bottom lip between her teeth reflexively, avoiding both of their gazes. “You know how I grew up.”
“But still,” Cinder says emphatically, “come on, we have to fix that, right?”
“I mean, I’m not protesting —”
“You know she hasn’t played any video games either, right?”
“Not true,” Winter mutters, looking away from the screen. Robyn’s expression has gradually sloped into something more and more teasing, and she doesn’t want to have to bear witness. “You forget I have a seventeen year-old brother. I’ve played video games.”
Cinder snorts. “Yeah, like what?”
“First person shooters, mostly,” she lies — it was Minecraft, and only once, and only because Whitley begged her to help him do some calculations. Both Robyn and Cinder seem to sense the lie, judging by the matching half-smirks they’re wearing, and she groans and covers her face with her hands. She really does need to get better at lying.
//
Cinder, true to her word, makes her play games, too. They start out small — “Animal Crossing? Really? Come on, I was raised in a shithole and even I’ve played Animal Crossing,” — and graduate to stealing the VR headset someone got Robyn for Christmas from her bedroom.
“If they knew Robyn they’d know she fucking hates VR,” Cinder says blithely when Winter flat-out refuses to take anything from her roommate, “it makes her feel sick. She’s not even taken it out of the box, look.”
“Still,” Winter protests. Cinder levels a Look at her, and suddenly she can’t think of a convenient way to end the sentence.
Being locked in a house with Cinder doesn’t seem like so much of a chore anymore.
//
“So how’re you getting along?”
Winter bites her lip, glancing between the door to her bedroom (closed) and Robyn on her phone, propped up against her bed’s headboard. “Much better than we were. Why?”
Her smile grows sly. It’s annoying. “No reason. I just, like — I know you didn’t really get along beforehand. It’s good to see you talking.”
“We got along just fine,” she protests — categorically untrue, but she can dream — “and we’re getting along better now. Don’t look at me like that.”
“I know you think she’s hot,” Robyn sing-songs.
Winter groans and hangs up on her.