Author's Note: Hey guys! I am 14, and this is most likely going to be the only fanfic I upload. In no circumstance will I write lemon, I don't write smut - at this age, at least. Anyway, it was a reoccurring dream for a few months, and I memorized enough of it to make a story. I feel like it isn't very good, but you fantastic people can be the judge of that. Enjoy, I guess! Oh, almost forgot, I don't own RWBY, all credit goes to Roosterteeth.
I walk into my dorm building as a snowstorm rampages outside. People turn to look at me, but quickly turn back to their previous activities as they realize I am of no importance. A group of 3 people converged around a circular oak wood table wave for me to go to them. Without a smile or wave, I shuffle over to them. They notice my downcast face and question, "What's the matter, Darren?"
I respond with silence. "You can always talk to us, ya know," they say again.
"The thing is, is I don't want to talk about it..." I trail off. The kid with brown hair put into a short mohawk punches me in the arm.
"Lighten up, dude. And did that not hurt you?"
I shrug, "I don't know, I guess I can't feel it."
He gestures at a short boy with short, sandy blonde hair, "Caleb, can you come over here for a sec?"
The aforementioned teen jogged over, "What's up, Blaine? Hey Darren," Caleb speaks in a deep, even tone that doesn't fit his body.
Blaine explains, "Darren says that he doesn't feel my super hard punch! Use your knife to see if he can feel it."
"So, I guess I'm going to stab you, huh? Well, the knife'll go into your outer left forearm and down to your wrist. Wanna see if this hurts?" Caleb asks.
"Eh, why not?" I respond. The black blade is pushed an inch into my arm then proceeds to slice the flesh open. Blood dripped onto the table, creating a puddle of crimson.
"My god, Caleb! H-how is he not crying? How i-is this not hurting him?" Blaine stuttered.
Caleb nudged the boy, "Shut up, Blaine. Hey, Gryffin! Can we get a roll of gauze over here?"
The sapphire haired female looked up from her textbook. Her eyes widened at the sight before her. Gryffin fished around in her bag for a few seconds before extracting an immaculate roll of cloth.
"Heads up," she called out in a soft, gentle voice while tossing the gauze to Blaine's outstretched hand. Hands trembling, he hands it to Caleb. Gryffin, now concerned, is standing close by. She lifts up my blood-soaked forearm so Caleb could wrap it. Like an expert, he starts to mummify my arm, stemming the bleeding. In a minute, the whole roll had been used.
Caleb sincerely apologizes, "I am so sorry, man. I thought you would have refused. Forgive me?" Blaine was pale, as if about to be sick.
Gryffin states flatly to Caleb and Blaine, "You two have a mess to clean up. Just hope you didn't ruin my belongings."
I start to walk away from the table when Blaine musters up, "Come back to us when you're fun and not depressed or whatever." I shake my head, look down, and keep walking.