If It Be Thusly (Weiss Schnee x Reader)

Ashok Leyland Titan

The whistle of the train, the low hum of ambient conversation, the rumbling of the tracks, Weiss listing off all the things she packed—all the sounds weave together into a cocoon, wrapping around you. You lean your head up and watch the departure board—another listing lights up, but it's not the train you're waiting for. You frown, still surrounded by a dozen different sounds, then glance at everything else. Wherever you look there's another student, each one wearing the uniform of Calypso Combat School: red blazers and pleated skirts for the women, trousers for the men. Some of the students defy that rule, of course, but most of them wear it proudly and properly. Why shouldn't they? They're the best of the best.

You sigh, whorls of cold breath joining the smoke and steam already hanging about the platform. Blue Angel weighs heavy on your back, and your bag rests against your leg. It's much smaller than Weiss', who might have stuffed a servant or two into hers.

"Are you listening to me?" you hear. The cocoon breaks and suddenly all you can see is Weiss' pale, angled face, from pinkish lips to curtly cut bangs. She pouts and puts her hands onto her hips.

You shrug and cross your arms. "No."

Her shoulders sag as she groans. "Of course not," she mutters. "That would be expecting far too much from you."

"Apparently so. When is the train coming?" you ask, tapping your foot on the ground. Something about being in such a public place with all these people is starting to drive you insane—it's like someone's pressing against your temple with a hammer and needle.

She raises her hand so her sleeve falls down, then checks her watch. It's angled to the inside of her wrist, you notice. "It should've got here ten minutes ago." She frowns, then joins you by tapping her foot on the ground as well. "I don't like that."

"Triggering your disorganisation anxiety?" you quip, half-smiling.

She gently elbows you. "I just like things to be ordered and on time. Is that so much to ask for?"

"In the real world, yes. You could ask Mister Salian about it."

She glances over at the teacher. His skin is paler than ever and looks about as thin as paper. You're shocked his bones aren't cutting through it.

Her lips thin pensively, then she shakes her head. "It's probably just having issues with snow on the tracks."

You sigh. "Yeah. Snow, just another reason to hate this kingdom and everything in it."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, I'm in this kingdom," she mumbles, knocking the tips of her penny loafers together.

"You're fishing for compliments again," you say emotionlessly.

"Hmph!" she exclaims, crossing her arms and pivoting her head away from you.

"Really?" you ask, to no response but silence. You groan and then walk around to her other side. With a huff you tap her forehead. "Obviously you're the exception," you grumble. "Happy?"

She grins with satisfaction, a slight red colour coming to her face. "A little bit. Perhaps you can make up the rest to me later... in private." she says, smiling in an almost devilish way.

Now it's your time to blush, and you blush more fiercely than even her. "I am very tempted to push you onto the tracks," you mutter through your teeth.

"You'd try," she says, straightening her back. "But I think we both know that would go poorly for you."

"Whatever," you say, although you know she's right—no matter how strong you become, she'll always have the edge, whether because of her semblance or her experience or her sheer talent. You prop your hands onto your hips and glance down the tracks, beyond the station, and then notice a figure at the other end of the platform. They're watching you just as much as you're watching them.