Summary: Every time he sees her, he's reminded of a different kind of fruit.

Author's Notes: Hello again. -Narutochaos22

Grapes and Whatnot

RWBY

When he first saw her, he instantly thought of grapes. Yes, grapes. None of those cliché fruits like strawberries, peaches and oranges. No, he thought of grapes. For grapes were small, simple and delicate. But bite into one, and your mouth would be assaulted by a vigour of flavour.

Then again, here he was - a seventeen year old boy, eating ironically, a bunch of grapes. That, he thought, as he watched her from afar, bickering with the girls in red and black and yellow, was probably why.

Time passed, and he soon dropped the idea of grapes. Instead, he thought that she reminded him of a cherry. The clock ticked onwards, and all he did was try to get her attention. He played many roles - the knight, the fool, the servant - and yet not once did she turn his way.

Yes, indeed she was like a cherry. For a cherry was an untainted but tantalising fruit. It leads, it beckons, and it escapes all who reach for it. But the thrill was in the chase; the yearn for the taste! That, he thought, after she had ignored him for the umpteenth time, was probably why,

He was eighteen when she finally spoke with him. It was a simple conversation, with no trace of ire or bile in her voice. She asked and he answered. He joked and she laughed. When the talking slowed and he looked at her, his heart stuttered and he blurted the first thing that came to his mind.

"Your hair is really pretty," he said, and it was true. The silvery-white tresses were truly beautiful.

Rather than scoffing at him, she looked at him oddly. 'You're such a dunce,' she muttered, a ghost of a smile on her face, before dashing off to her next class.

As he stared aimlessly in the direction she had gone, he decided that she wasn't like a cherry. Rather, she was like a blueberry, for a blueberry was mysterious. It was an enigma and a puzzle. It was unique in its own way. Yes, he decided, she was definitely like a blueberry.

At nineteen, he deemed himself insane, insane to ever think that he'd have a chance. She was like an apple, he thought miserably, the forbidden fruit. She was far too pure and far too good for him.

It had taken pushing from his friends and hers for them to arrive at this moment. He had been a nervous wreck as he forced out the words from his uncooperative mouth, asking her to the dance. She had frowned then, her voice sharp as she rejected him.

He had blanched then, but quickly recovered; smiling and then apologising and then walking off. Had he turned, he would have seen the cracks in her facade as a lone tear trailed down her cheek.

He was alone in his dorm room come the night of the dance. He stared into his comic book, its too bright images dimly registering in his mind. It was a strange feeling. Loving her was like being drowned in the ocean, then being brought back to life, only to be drowned again.

Something in him snapped then. Throwing the comic book at the wall, he choked out a voiceless cry. He wished for the tears to fall, but they never came.

He wakened to the sound of a knock. Wiping his face with his sleeve, he opened the door and saw her. She was prettied up and draped in white and blue. Before he could say anything, she was clinging to him, crying her heart out.

Through his tears she sobbed that she was sorry for how she had treated him, cried that she was terrified that he was drawn to her solely because of her last name, and wailed that in the end it was him she had wanted to go with.

As he held onto her tightly, his heart was doing backflips. She had wanted to go with him.

She quieted down after a while. Pulling back slightly, he stared into her eyes. The world held its breath.

Later on he would propose and they'd be bound together by an eternal promise in a majestic church of some kind. And even later still, they'd sit out on the front porch, watching their grandchildren run around in the light of the setting sun.

But now, as he looked into her diamond eyes, sparkling with tears, he saw his past, his present, and his future. And, on impulse, he leaned in and sank into a blissful oblivion.

He tasted grapes.

Grapes and Whatnot Fin

Author's Notes: Just a simple one-shot I wanted to write. Merry Christmas from GEP and myself. Toodles.