If Cinder doesn’t go to clubs, Winter fucking Schnee definitely does not. Winter fucking Schnee never once showed interest in even being in the same building as loud music in all the years Cinder knew her. She hates alcohol; she hates dancing; she hates PDA, and yet Cinder can see her crawling into Robyn Hill’s lap from the other side of the room.
Her hand tightens around her glass. She doesn’t look at Emerald, doesn’t look at Neo. Her breathing feels like it’s coming too fast.
She doesn’t even know why she’s here in the first place. She’s been over Winter for years — Winter, who broke her heart and then went off to join the military; Winter, who has people tripping over their feet to raise her as high as she can go. She hasn’t even thought about her since the last time they ran into each other. And yet here she is, and here Winter is, in a club in Robyn Hill’s lap, and last Cinder checked Robyn was her political fucking enemy and there’s no —
“Uh,” Emerald says, tapping her arm. Cinder registers that the plastic cup in her hand has long since broken, dismisses it. The sleeve of her shirt will be a bit sticky in the morning; that’s to be expected.
“You can leave if you want,” she says without looking. It’s not so much an invitation as a command. She doesn’t want spectators, but the two of them insisted — Emerald because she’s a genuinely kind person, Neo because she likes watching Cinder lose her mind.
“Yeah, about that, actually, why are we even here?”
Cinder doesn’t reply. She hadn’t thought about Winter at all until last week, when her boss was arrested for threatening his subordinates with a gun and her face was all over the fucking papers. She was working with Robyn, apparently, trying to bring him to justice. And now they’re making out in a club. God, Robyn isn’t even that good a kisser.
Neo taps her on the shoulder. When Cinder doesn’t turn to look, she crosses the table so she can stand directly in her field of vision and signs, “Seriously, can we go?”
“I said that already.”
“Well, yeah. But if we leave you here we’ll never see you again.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m brooding,” Cinder says. Neo kicks her shin.
“Stop looking at her. She’ll notice you’re here.”
She would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about that. Some part of her wants Winter to notice her, wants her to know she’s here, wants her to admit for once in her stupid fucking life that she was wrong.
And maybe she’s never going to do that if she’s busy making out with Robyn Hill. But Cinder can dream.
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FILL: Team RWBY
Date: 2025-07-15 08:49 pm (UTC)fandom: RWBY
ship: past winter/cinder, winter/robyn
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If Cinder doesn’t go to clubs, Winter fucking Schnee definitely does not. Winter fucking Schnee never once showed interest in even being in the same building as loud music in all the years Cinder knew her. She hates alcohol; she hates dancing; she hates PDA, and yet Cinder can see her crawling into Robyn Hill’s lap from the other side of the room.
Her hand tightens around her glass. She doesn’t look at Emerald, doesn’t look at Neo. Her breathing feels like it’s coming too fast.
She doesn’t even know why she’s here in the first place. She’s been over Winter for years — Winter, who broke her heart and then went off to join the military; Winter, who has people tripping over their feet to raise her as high as she can go. She hasn’t even thought about her since the last time they ran into each other. And yet here she is, and here Winter is, in a club in Robyn Hill’s lap, and last Cinder checked Robyn was her political fucking enemy and there’s no —
“Uh,” Emerald says, tapping her arm. Cinder registers that the plastic cup in her hand has long since broken, dismisses it. The sleeve of her shirt will be a bit sticky in the morning; that’s to be expected.
“You can leave if you want,” she says without looking. It’s not so much an invitation as a command. She doesn’t want spectators, but the two of them insisted — Emerald because she’s a genuinely kind person, Neo because she likes watching Cinder lose her mind.
“Yeah, about that, actually, why are we even here?”
Cinder doesn’t reply. She hadn’t thought about Winter at all until last week, when her boss was arrested for threatening his subordinates with a gun and her face was all over the fucking papers. She was working with Robyn, apparently, trying to bring him to justice. And now they’re making out in a club. God, Robyn isn’t even that good a kisser.
Neo taps her on the shoulder. When Cinder doesn’t turn to look, she crosses the table so she can stand directly in her field of vision and signs, “Seriously, can we go?”
“I said that already.”
“Well, yeah. But if we leave you here we’ll never see you again.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m brooding,” Cinder says. Neo kicks her shin.
“Stop looking at her. She’ll notice you’re here.”
She would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about that. Some part of her wants Winter to notice her, wants her to know she’s here, wants her to admit for once in her stupid fucking life that she was wrong.
And maybe she’s never going to do that if she’s busy making out with Robyn Hill. But Cinder can dream.