The room felt empty without her there. It wasn't, of course -his eyes told him as much, even in the pitch black of night- but that meant nothing when compared to the silence that tore at him. He hated it, this feeling, but he knew better than to try and push it away. There were some things only time could heal, and this was no different. He knew that better than most, but that knowing could never change how it, how he felt now that it was all over. Now that she was gone.
A breath, long and weary, escaped him as he leaned back against the tiled bathroom wall, fingers running through the coarse mop of, now black, hair atop his head. It was funny, really. For all he had thought he'd know her, he hadn't seen the signs, hadn't recognized what was happening until it was too later. It was so obvious in hindsight, so easy to look back and see where things had changed, where she had changed. And yet, he hadn't. For all his skill, for all his strength, for all he could have, would have done… He hadn't. He'd failed her, failed all of them in the end. Just as she'd always feared.
For a time the man simply sat there, allowing himself to be drawn into the dull, electric hum of the night. It was almost soothing, that buzz- like static in a void or the slow double-beat of his heart, it was a constant, something simple. Recognizable. Easy to focus on, easy to tune out and fall asleep to, if only for a time. He knew if he sat there long enough he'd lose himself in that noise, would drift back into sleep's cool embrace, but that wasn't what he wanted. To sleep was to dream. To dream was to remember. And he wanted nothing to do with those memories.
Pulling himself up from the shower floor with a sigh, the man swept his gaze across the darkened locker room, halting only when he reached the pair of long, slender shapes leaning against the far wall. A few quick strides and he was there, in front of them, fingers tightening around the shapes as he lifted the two weapons up into the air, his gaze running along their length with a critical eye. Even in the inky black that had engulfed the room, he could see them; a dull-black barrel barking in the dark, it's bite matched only by the stinging flash of steel-grey that whirled around him without end.
They felt different now, after the upgrades. He hadn't had much time to focus on that in the forest -he hadn't had much time to do anything in the forest but use them- but now that he was here, holding them, inspecting them, testing them as he would have back then… Vis is lighter now. Rubar too. It wasn't much of a difference, a few ounces at most, but it changed how the blade moved in his hand, how it cut through the air, how hard it pressed against his shoulder when he squeezed the trigger.
In short, they were nothing like the weapon's he'd once carried, enough so that even she would have a hard time recognizing them from appearance alone. At least, that was what he hoped was the case, else his new life would end before it even had a chance to begin. He'd hate for all the effort he put into acquiring a place at Beacon just because some up-jumped, faunus hating bureaucrat decided to run his transcripts for no other reason than he recognized the sword on his hip.
The thought brought a dry, empty laugh out of the man as he lowered his weapons back onto the floor, fingers tightening around Vis' hilt with all the strength he could muster. He could still see them, even after all this time. The little splotches of dark red against the steel-grey of his blade. He must have cleaned the thing a thousand times, but no matter how hard he scrubbed he could never get them out, could never unsee the sight of her bl-
Vis hit the ground with an audible clatter as the man turned towards his clothes, feet carrying him forwards before he could think on the subject any longer. He dressed himself quickly, donning the uniform of his new home with long practiced precision, hands shaking as he picked up his gear and shoved them back into his locker, uncaring of how much noise he made. Unbidden he moved, feet carrying him out of the locker room and towards his dorm room, his movements silent but for the subtle swish-swish of his pant legs scraping against each other.
He needed to hit something. Many somethings. It would help him focus, force him to think about things other than that, if only for a little while. That was all he could really hope for, in the end. A scant few moments, however small, where he didn't have to remember. But as he neared the door to his team's room and the sounds his teammates slowly awakening from their slumber reached his ears, he knew.
That moment would never come.
AN: So, here we are. First chapter (sorta) of this monster. Guess I can't procrastinate any longer!