Alongside its usual scents - lavender, peppermint, something subtly piny and undoubtedly acquired at horrific expense - Weiss's hair contains the smells of half a dozen warring spices.
"Soup?" Pyrrha prompts, eyeing the stovepot's bubbling concoction.
Weiss wilts. "I don't understand. I followed the recipe to the letter."
Which may have been the problem - but Pyrrha hears the break in her girlfriend's voice. She wraps her arms around Weiss. "If the field has taught me anything, it's that, sometimes, taste is secondary to nutrition."
"That's hardly the compliment you think it is," Weiss scoffs, but she relaxes into Pyrrha all the same.
She finds out on their fourth date.
"Old injury. A crushed ankle." Shadows cover Pyrrha's face. "I've adjusted to my new one, but if I wear heels it…I don't like to be constantly aware of it."
Weiss winces, her heart constricting. "I'm sorry. I didn't…"
She snuggles into a refuge between Pyrrha's bicep and ribcage. A long, reassuring kiss presses into her hair.
"Why do you ask?" Pyrrha's words carry a smile, her sparkling amusement restored. "Do you wish I stood taller?"
Weiss opens her mouth to respond, only to find it quite dry and her mind entirely blank.
Out for a Walk
Pyrrha never forgets that her girlfriend is so slight. (Generally she's wonderfully, achingly aware.) It's more, she doesn't account for every way that Weiss's size is relevant.
Such as here in Mountain Glenn, where Weiss hops five steps for every three of Pyrrha's strides.
"Slow down a second?"
Too late Pyrrha registers her devious undertone.
Weiss's sudden leap takes her by surprise. Likewise the strong arms slung around her collarbone, muscled legs locking around her waist. Pyrrha shifts automatically to rebalance under the new weight.
Slight and spritely.
"Lead the way, mighty champion."
It's difficult to grumble through a grin.
"Hey guys!" Jaune bounds over, panting. "Sorry I'm late."
Weiss bites her tongue. Telling Jaune off isn't worth her girlfriend's gentle-but-serious scolding. Especially since she wishes he'd taken longer. Now, instead of losing herself in the sunlit forest of Pyrrha's eyes, she gets to strain her neck for two people.
"I sincerely hope you didn't abandon Ruby —"
Her partner's arrival would have bowled her over but for Pyrrha's steadying hand. Several rose petals sneak up Weiss's nose.
"Hey! Hope I'm not—"
"You're here now," Weiss interrupts, grateful to have one beloved person she can look at without falling over backward.
The soft linger of Pyrrha's gaze twirls the butterflies in Weiss's stomach. "How do you know that's mine?"
Weiss shakes the shirt at her. "Please. I could wear this as a nightgown."
When Pyrrha leans toward her, Weiss preens preemptively for a kiss. She does not expect Pyrrha to nibble her ear — or the shocked giggles that slip from them both.
"I don't think your fashion sense would let you," Pyrrha says matter-of-factly. She walks out, pretending not to know that Weiss will hear that as a challenge.
The shirt's hem brushes Weiss's knees for the rest of the day.
Pyrrha's worries persist right up until Weiss's lips find hers. Weeks of fretting about heights and angles fall away at once. Weiss kisses her with a ferocious hunger, too-long constrained, yet still her lips part with the exactness of perfected study.
Contact breaks. Its absence staggers Pyrrha like a stair removed mid-stride, and her breath comes choppy. But Weiss simply brushes her bangs out of her eyes, blue like fire. She lifts herself up onto the tips of her toes and threads a slender-armed embrace around Pyrrha's neck: half-hanging, half-balancing. Fingers tighten in her hair.
"Kiss me again."
"Those jerks." Weiss sounds more affronted than anything. "Like this is our fault."
Pyrrha smothers a giggle. "It's not. But breaking a champagne bottle over his head wasn't terribly dignified."
No, 'dignified' was Weiss brandishing the shattered bottleneck like a rapier at three cops thrice her size. On the floor, their groaning friend who'd accosted the two of them mid-dance.
Plaintive, Weiss lifts her cuffed hands.
Pyrrha cocks her head. "You know, heiresses who break out of police custody don't —"
Weiss's glower could shrivel iron. Pyrrha's heart dances. "Love you too," she laughs, already dropping the hairpin into her palm.
Gravity whirls before aggressively reasserting itself to slam into Weiss's back. Her impact with the floor knocks the very notion of breathing somewhere into the next decade.
Pyrrha's voice rings clear, confident. Weiss chooses to believe that she's only imagining the smugness.
"It's hardly a fair match, given our comparative reaches."
In a quiet like theirs, the teasing thoughtfulness is almost audible.
"Another ten minutes of this? After that, these long arms are going to need a massage."
Weiss sniffs. As if she could be bought so easily.
Pyrrha's smile is generous as Weiss climbs back to her feet.