Corvus
His bed is frigid that night. He faintly hears knocking at his windowsill at some point in his hazy confusion; he promptly ignores it, burying his head underneath the small black pillow. His boundaries are clear and he shall not jeopardize them, no matter how much his heart longs to.
The pillow is not very good in blocking out sound. Clover laughs bitterly when he realizes this; it is no good as a replacement for the corvid, either, so it should at least be able to offer him some form of respite. It should be worth something.
Clover wonders what he is worth once the clock rolls over to 4AM and he is still awake, still freezing, still alone.
He cannot find a position comfortable enough in which he may wait until sunrise, so he gives up at last on tossing and turning underneath frozen sheets. The shower is warm, safe; it eases the tension in his brow as he rests his forehead against cool tile, feeling hot water slough down his bare skin, surrounding him in a cocoon of warmth.
As he waits for his heart to begin beating normally again, for his shivering to die down and his chest to stop aching, his mind wanders. Qrow had looked heartbroken at Clover's rejection, disbelief and betrayal radiating from those beautiful eyes-
Since when was Qrow 'beautiful'?
Since… since always. In the back of his mind, Clover knows this. To him, crimson has always been breathtaking. It does not make any of this easier.
So, he pushes crimson eyes and broken hearts out of his thoughts, instead focusing on something else- the crow. It finally made sense as to how in the world the same crow had ended up surviving in Atlas all of those years ago, only to find its way back to Clover now; Qrow would have been a Huntsman already during that time. If Qrow had been visiting Atlas during that Vytal Festival when his wing had been broken, then that meant that-
His face heats up, the tile no longer enough to soothe him. Qrow had known him before their work began together. Fifteen years ago, he had watched silently as Clover had tenderly carried that bird to a younger Dr. Polendina, anxious and stumbling as he held the tiny creature in his arms. For three weeks, Clover had held the bird in his arms and kissed its crest and stroked its feathers, showering it with love and affection in the hopes that the bird would feel safe enough to focus on recovery. Thanks to that, Qrow has known it all from the start; Clover's quiet anxieties and fears and insecurities, the worry etched upon his brow which he only ever shared with the bird in the belief that those words would stay with him, stay hidden from the rest of the political world of Atlas.
Has it all been just a joke?
He feels so vulnerable.
So… why did he come back here? There has to have been a reason for his return- not to Atlas in general, but to Clover. There are so many people Qrow has known, trusted, far longer than he has Clover. Clearly the rookies know, if no one bats an eye when he uses it on the battlefield; James knows, too, and those two have been allies for their entire careers, serving underneath Ozpin's command. Clover is not the obvious choice by any means. It just does not make sense to him.
And why even bother in the first place?
His mind immediately supplies an answer. He needed comfort. For what, Clover does not know. But the longer Clover's mind lingers upon that proposition, the more unease which settles into his gut like a lead weight, slowly dragging him into a squat upon the shower floor. He replays moment by moment the behaviour which has struck his as so odd from the elder ever since their first meeting- the sweating and paleness and nervousness, the jittery nature and distraction and grimaces of pain; he thinks back and he recoils, the pieces slowly falling into place in a puzzle too blurry to see the image. The outline is clear, however.
"He's sick, isn't he?"
An errant thought of, How can I tell Yang and Ruby? crosses his mind, quickly drowned out by the cold, numbing understanding of why Clover himself has been chosen. Clover has always had love to give to the bird, at least. And Clover has seen how much Qrow loves his nieces, how they love him.
He does not want to be complicit in their grief if they lose Qrow to whatever battle he is fighting. However, his chest aches too much to even fathom how Qrow can expect this of him- how Qrow has the audacity to use him as a crutch, as an emotional splint yet again, when Clover does not even know how to fix this emptiness within himself.