Work Text:
"And look at this!" Weiss says, holding up a garishly colored dress. "The material is so cheap!"
Emerald sighs. "Weiss, come on. Our shifts end in, like, ten minutes."
She doesn't bother looking at the clock or her phone — the massive wall clock has been frozen the whole time she's worked here, and she's pretty sure she felt her phone buzz while she was on the register earlier and she really doesn't want to see who texted her.
Weiss shoves the dress onto a hanger in the cramped storage closet. The back of the store always feels like it's overflowing, and sometimes just the idea of it overwhelms Emerald. It feels unreal how many people can afford to buy clothes they wear once and then get rid of, or donate as soon as it doesn't fit.
And, well, Weiss kind of has a point. Emerald has heard enough of her rants to sympathize with the idea that clothing made recently is cheap and poorly-produced, even if that same clothing makes up a disproportionate amount of what Emerald wears. Maybe Weiss will forgive her for abusing her employee discount, if Weiss even pays attention to what Emerald wears.
"Aha!" Weiss exclaims, pouncing on a shirt like she's been looking for it for hours and not a couple minutes at most.
"Aha what?" Emerald asks, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest.
"Look at this!" Weiss holds up the shirt, then another nearly-identical one.
"Two shirts?"
"No! Or, sure, fine, but two very different shirts."
Emerald pretends to examine the plain pattern (faint polka-dots, maybe?) and the tiny buttons. They both look like shirts to her: boring, normal, average shirts. Kind of ugly. Definitely not something she could imagine Weiss wearing, or even bothering to care about.
"Look closer." Weiss flourishes the shirt in her right hand at Emerald, and Emerald takes it, turning it over in her hands.
"The fabric is... probably cotton? Right?"
Weiss gestures vaguely with her free hand. "The fabric isn't the point, Em. It's how it's made. Look at the seams, how the collar is already coming loose. I wouldn't pay a cent for a shirt like this!"
Sometimes it's actually easy to forget that Weiss is hot. Especially times like now.
"Okay, fine," Emerald says, carefully feeling nothing about how the hem of the cheap t-shirt she's wearing is coming loose too. "It's a shitty shirt. What's the point?"
Weiss artfully layers the second shirt over the first, leaning in front of Emerald to do so.
Oh no, Weiss is hot again. Does she seriously expect Emerald to pay attention to what she's saying when Emerald can smell her fruity shampoo?
"Feel it," Weiss orders, interrupting Emerald's train of thought. Unconsciously, Emerald obeys, running her hands over the new shirt's fabric and seams.
"It feels... heavier?" Emerald says hesitantly.
Weiss meets her eyes and grins, sending an unfortunate little thrill to Emerald's heart. "Exactly! And look," she folds up one side of the shirt so Emerald can see inside, "no loose seams here at all."
Weiss stands back up straight, tossing her ponytail back and propping her hand on her waist. "And that is how you identify a real work of couture in a dump like this."
"Sure," Emerald says. Her brain is still kind of struggling to accept the loss of Weiss' warmth.
"Anyway," Weiss continues, steamrolling over anything Emerald could have thought to say, "we're finally off work, so do you want to get dinner?"
"Uh," Emerald gapes, "sure? As, like..."
"I'm asking you out, dolt," Weiss says, and even though her words are mean, they make heat rise to Emerald's cheeks.
(Emerald's pretty sure she's heard Weiss call her actual, non-work friends "dolt" too, and what does that mean?)
"Um, okay?" Emerald puts the shirts down, and then Weiss is grabbing her hand and leading them both away.