Patterns [RWBY X DEMON SLAYER]

Flexibility

Just one short week after getting caught in a dust explosion, Bell was back in action with a number of new scars to boot.

Much to Weiss' dismay.

"Stop scratching! If they're that annoying then use the cream we got you," Weiss chided for what felt like the millionth time, glaring at the shirtless boy perched atop one of the bunk beds. He groaned in protest but did stop clawing away at the discolored skin that ran across his back.

"But that stuff is gonna make them fade! Scars are badass!" He shouted back, not caring for how the burns staining the right side of his face uncomfortably stretched with his toothy grin.

Weiss didn't have the energy to be annoyed, between the police questioning, her father's constant calls, and almost losing a teammate before the first semester even ended caused the stress of this past week to accumulate into a horrendous concoction for the heiress—pure exhaustion.

She sank into her bed with a sigh, closing her eyes to rest after another long day of classes, trying to tune out the sound of Bell going back to scratching...

"TEAM RWBY! IT'S PLANNING TIME!"

Ruby burst into the room with a handful of rolled-up charts followed by her equally loud sister struggling to fit an oversized whiteboard into their room. If Weiss were to spontaneously develop heat vision this would have been the perfect moment.

With Bell's after-class absences suddenly cut down to two days a week Ruby had jumped at the opportunity to wrangle him into their now daily team meetings. Here they tended to discuss strategy, communication, and positions each member best fit in any given situation before putting it into practice on the field.

But with Bell largely absent for the majority of their meetings beforehand, Ruby had taken the liberty of packing as much information as possible into a single afternoon. She'd used papier-mâché dioramas, PowerDirect presentations, and one agonizing song and dance number so far.

'If only this bastard hadn't clapped along,' Weiss begrudgingly recalled.

Weiss sat up to watch Yang struggle to hang the board while Ruby unrolled charts and graphs almost as tall as her filled with scribblings only a madman—or someone overdosing on sugar—could understand. Bell moved to the edge of the makeshift bunk bed, not caring for how it creaked ominously from the shifting weight.

If it were any other week Weiss might've been enthralled by the vision of Bell leaning forward to listen to Ruby's lectures. But as her eyelids fought for every millimeter of coverage, her patience began wearing thin.

"Hey Weiss," a harsh whisper snapped her back awake and caused her to whip her head towards the source of the disturbance. Bell had somehow moved onto the bed beneath him without notice while she had drifted off, currently ignoring the scene of Ruby dramatically pointing to several color-coded bullet points with a cardboard cutout of Crescent Rose while Yang nodded along with a smile.

"What do you want?" Weiss managed to huff, somehow scraping together enough attitude for a snappy response despite the drowsiness plaguing her mind.

"Why don't you like your scar?" Bell asked whilst leaning closer, letting her get a closer look at the large patch of burned skin on the left side of his face that likely stretched annoyingly with every word spoken.

Weiss felt her eyebrows raise at the sudden questioning, but did not falter with her answer. "How did you cobble together such an idea?"

"You're the one with half a dozen bottles of those creams," Bell immediately pointed out with a shrug.