Corvus

by Faulty Paragon

When Clover was still a student in Atlas Academy, he had nursed a crow with a broken wing back to health. Fifteen years later, an airship carrying eight exhausted teenagers and a spiritually-broken Huntsman crash-land near Mantle. The children will be fine on their own. The Huntsman needs a little more help, though. -Fair Game in V7, centering on Qrow's addiction recovery.

24. Chapter 24

Corvus

They do not speak a word of what has happened between them.

They both know everything is different now. There is no going back, after all- how could they possibly pretend like they are just colleagues, just partners, just two people working together to help soothe wounds which may never be properly healed?

Clover does not say a word, happy to simply wait. He has taken the first step. It is Qrow's turn to reciprocate.

Brothers, how he prays that Qrow will reciprocate.

...but what if he doesn't?

Clover has never felt more uneasy about his luck in his life. He does not know whether his Semblance could ever be powerful enough to sway Qrow's heart in his favour. After all, there is always the undeniable fear niggling at the back of his min- creeping, pervasive- telling him exactly how he will never be good enough, how he will never be strong enough- that he will never be what Qrow needs.

Regardless of love or like or lust or simple comfort, Qrow needs him for now. That is enough. It has to be.

Missions are quiet between them. They fight alongside one another, but that is it. Information is shared on a need-to-know basis, and the others who are assigned with them on tasks clearly grow concerned by the silence, and yet… Clover does not fight it, does not mind it. After all, every time Qrow sees him, his face flushes just barely, and the colour of rosy ears and averting crimson is only matched by the way that thin lips quirk up ever so slightly whenever Clover murmurs at the end of the day, "Good work. I'm proud of you, Qrow."

He no longer fights back, protests, pushes Clover away. Qrow has begun to internalize it, too. He is doing well. He is doing phenomenally. Clover is genuinely proud, and happier for it, too.

Most days, his bed is cold when he awakens. And yet, there is the odd day, here and there, when he finds a large mass of ruffles and feathers upon the second pillow when he opens his eyes, and the feeling of that powerful beak tenderly combing through his hair as he wakes up- knowing that this is Qrow, that Qrow Branwen is doing this, that the man he loves has stayed-

Hope is real. He does not know whether he deserves it. He does not know whether his longing shall ever bear fruit. He holds onto it anyways.