Ruby

I always questioned why people turned to a mirror or a window every time they walked passed one. Yang does it all the time. She even talks to it — well she mainly talks to her voluminous hair actually. Sun does it, but not to check his hair. He often lifts his shirt to check his sculpted abs that he developed over the years. Jaune does it. But his reflection always cast back shaggy hair and… Not abs.

I rarely did it, but today, I caught myself checking my reflection from almost every front window of a shop. I realized why. Today was Saturday, meaning I was on my way to Weiss's apartment. I wanted to look at least presentable, more than I am normally.

Every second I try to fix my hair a part of me told myself I was being absolutely silly and looked fine. But no matter how many times I nagged myself, I self consciously turn to see my reflection.

By the time I got to Weiss's apartment, I was glad that I didn't have to walk past any more windows. But most importantly, my gift I plan to give her would appreciate that it wouldn't need to sit in a suffocating bag for far much longer.

Right when I walked to her front door steps, I rang her doorbell and received a quick 'in a minute!' response. I rocked my heels back and forth as I patiently waited. Meanwhile, eyes darted around to drink in the landscape that the property had to offer.

Outside appeared really nice and dandy. It looked trim and green, and the apartment itself was a decade away from looking run down.

When I picked up the sound of unlatching, I turned back to the doorway. Weiss opened the door and welcomed me with a warm, intoxicating smile she probably never knew she had. They never failed to be beautiful, and I would always admire how tender and pretty they were. But this time, my eyes went to admire at what she wore.

"You didn't need to bring something for me," Weiss had her eyes on the brown bag I was holding.

I blinked a few times trying to register what she was saying, but it was hard when my eyes were focused her garment.

"Ruby?" Weiss tilted her head when I wasn't answering. "Helloo —"

"Oh sorry Weiss," my mind emerged out of its stupor. She then welcomed me into her humble abode. "I got you um… A dog."

Her body sharply twisted around, doubting she heard correctly. "You what?"

"A dog," I repeated again, trying to hide a giggle. I raised the brown paper bag to my eye level and presented her gift. "I got you a dog."

"You're lying," her blue eyes narrowed directly at me. I remained silent and wiggled the bag, urging her to take her gift. "I don't believe you."

"Weiss, it's going to suffocate at this rate." I shook the bag back and forth which brought an expression of horror on Weiss's face.

"Ruby, stop!" She quickly strode to my direction and snatched the bag from my hands. "You going to kill…" She opened the bag and her face fell flat much like her shoulders. "A plant."

"You're gullible," I booped her nose.

She winced, pulled back, and gave me one of her scowls. "You're insufferable."

"It was either oranges or a plant!"

"Why oranges?"

Weiss took the plant out from the bag, placed it onto the living room table, and proceeded to the kitchen. I followed right behind her like some loyal puppy with a sappy smile plastered on my face.

"I read that it's supposed to symbolize good fortune or something."

"I'll be sure to demand oranges as a payment the next time you come over," Weiss huffed while she mixed the substance in the medium size pot with a wooden spoon. What she was cooking smelled really nice.

"I don't know if it works like that…" I commented, observing her add a tiny more salt into it.

"Here, try this." She turned around and presented me a spoonful of a soup. I watched the piping hot steam vent out to the air and I glanced back at her in bewilderment. "It's chicken soup."

"I sort of fought off the cold but —" I leaned forward, blew on it a few times, before sipping from the spoon she was presenting me. I can't reject her offer if she's volunteering on her own accord, not like I want to or anything.

"How is it?" Weiss placed the spoon onto the counter, opened for criticism or compliments.

Honestly, it was really good. It was flavorful, and I enjoy my chicken soup more thin rather than thick. I tried to come up with a compliment that was heartfelt, rather than the common 'it's good' praise. But nothing came to mind until I glanced back to her garment, the tied back apron that caught my attention the entire time I was here.

I smiled broadly at her and read what it almost basically said.

"You cook as good as you look."