A/N: Idea from standrew5998 on the RWBY subreddit. It made my mind think, which felt kind of weird, so I scratched it and this came out.
Shadows from the slowly spinning gears above flit across his desk and face, the ominous clock they power a constant reminder of what he has had too much of, and yet, what there is never enough of. He sips his coffee, lost in thought, while Glynda speaks to him. Some report, perhaps. He can hardly bring himself to pay attention, let alone care.
She seems to notice. Her eyes narrow and she pauses in her speech. He looks up. She seems to want to speak, to ask, to say something, but she does not. She has tried before, and they both know it is no use. Instead, she inclines her head and departs from his office.
He remains sitting a few moments after she leaves, occasionally sipping at his mug, before standing and crossing to his window. He looks down on the courtyard far below his solitary high tower, seeing small dots of color, running, chasing, laughing. Happy.
It has been a long time since he laughed.
The thought is not a painful one, despite how off-guard it catches him. It simply is, as many other things which should probably have affected him in some way. He feels no joy from the happiness and success of his students. No rage at the terrorists who hurt them. No thrill from hunting the Grimm, no hate, no spite, no amusement, no sadness, no love. He does the things that are expected of him, the things that are required of him, in the hope that it may somehow bring about some reaction in him, but it is always in vain. It all simply is, as he simply is.
Sometimes he wishes he was not. It would be easier, perhaps. A nothingness that he did not have to endure, as opposed to this one that he did. A lack of existence to match his lack of feeling.
He could do it, he supposes. What men, monsters, and time had all failed to do. It would be fairly easy- the correct application of his powers, perhaps, or maybe even as simple as the willful withdrawal from his aura's protection and one last hunt.
He almost smiles at the thought. One last hunt. How dramatic. Maybe the thrill will return if there is some danger.
He will not do it. Not this time. He sighs, returning to his desk and bringing his mug to his lips once more.
Not this time, and likely not ever, not until he is all that is left and there is nothing left to live for.
It is not his life to lose.
But as long as he was here, he really should get some better coffee.