Break My Fall
He does not move. He does not dare to, for he cannot be safe here. There is only one thought which pervades his mind, causing his eyes to dart back and forth, paranoia growing with each racing heartbeat, clammy palms gripping his armchairs so tightly that he cannot feel his fingertips.
What the fuck is that noise?
Whatever it is- the tapping, clicking, brushing that is filling his ears, the distant sirens when the sky remains unlit by the lights of emergency vehicles, the cawing of birds of which there are none- embeds itself into Qrow's brain, and he has never been more terrified in his life. These little sounds, creeping around his mind and crawling underneath his nails like an itch that is impossible to scratch, has rung through his mind each night after he had decided to not drink, but it is the first time he is experiencing them so wholly.
Perhaps he should have gone to see Ruby, Yang and their friends after all. Maybe the distraction would've saved him from this nightmare. He had been so focused after their mission on staying sober that night that he had turned down the invitation, promising to simply go to his room and get some rest, but this report has taken so long; the words onscreen are mixing together, almost to the point where he wonders if alcohol's sway is the only thing that would finally allow them to make sense again in this jumbled world.
This is the first time he has not crumbled when hearing these sounds, not gone to the officer's mess to replace the flask he has given up. The tiny piece of his brain which has not succumbed to fear understands that these are all just hallucinations. As a reward for this strength, though, he sits alone in the dark, heel tapping upon the floor erratically, the sharp tapping only adding to the cacophony of silent noise echoing unbearably loud in his brain, leaving his temples covered in slick sweat and body trembling, aching, longing.
And to top it all off, he is freezing. No matter how much he increases the heating of the room, he still cannot warm himself up.
I can't go, he thinks forlornly as he finally lifts his gaze up to look at the door. I can't go to the mess- I can't give in, I-
For the first time, he realizes that he is not actually in his quarters. He straightens up in his seat, for he had thought he had already left the Huntsmen's office; is he so disoriented that he cannot even remember where he is?
The report isn't finished, he realizes, making out more blank boxes at the bottom of the form. Glancing over at the holoscreen still blaring information at him, he winces, the light emanating from the screen penetrating deep into his skull with its jarring neon glow. The sun has long since set, and due to his relative stillness, the motion-controlled lights must have turned off long before. "Fuck, it's late," he groans aloud, reaching over to turn off the monitor. His body aches in protest at the movement, but he needs to go to bed; the next morning, he has time off, and he needs whatever scraps of sleep he can get to ease this ache that refuses to subside.
Perhaps tonight he shall try to find another perch as a crow. The pain and confusion had lessened in his corvid form. Perhaps that shall be his ticket to some peace before lunch tomorrow with Ruby and Yang.
Before he can move, however, the lights of the office suddenly flicker on, driving another wedge of pain through his skull. "Turn it off!" he growls, covering his eyes immediately with a hand.
It is Clover's voice which rings through the otherwise-empty office as the lights turn back off. "Qrow! I didn't know you were still here."
"Yeah, well, I am," he mumbles, grimacing as heavy footfalls approach him.
He can feel Clover's presence behind him without even looking, the younger peering over his shoulder to check out the holoscreen. "Qrow," he murmurs softly, "you can finish this up tomorrow. It's late."
"Doesn't Jimmy want things done as soon as possible?"
"James," Clover corrects, his tone mild but firm. "And it's okay. You don't look well."
Fucking understatement, Qrow says to himself, massaging his temples. The cadence of Clover's footsteps have now joined the screaming, percussive orchestra in his mind, and he is losing it. "I'll get out of here soon, just- just let me be."
"Are you okay, Qrow?" Clover's voice is hesitant, but the concern is clear as day. "If you need anything…"
"I'm fine." I don't need anything. Not from you. He means it- he just needs some sleep, some quiet, some warmth.
Clover lays a hand on his shoulder, reaching out with the other to tap the screen. He saves the progress on Qrow's report and turns off the holoscreen, offering with a wry, yet tense smile, "You can do this tomorrow. C'mon. Let's get you up."
Qrow cannot respond, for his eyes are locked onto the hand on his shoulder.
From the moment Clover's touch had landed upon him, the sounds have stopped. It is quiet.
Noticing Qrow's shocked gaze, Clover lifts up his hand and takes a step back, clearly uncomfortable. "I'll- I'll head out first. Don't worry-"
Before Qrow can stop himself, he is upon his feet, looking at Clover properly. The door leading into the office is still ajar, the light from the hallway spilling into the darkened room, bathing Clover's strong, sturdy silhouette in a warm white glow; the tips of his hair which have fallen out of his normal slicked-back style shimmer almost red against the light, the definitions in his bare arms even more pronounced in the heavy shadow.
Qrow gulps. All of those things you need can come from Clover, his traitorous mind offers.
But he used me-
He didn't know any better. He's a dog of Atlas. The same words which have been ringing through his head all day grow even stronger, even more deadly, even more convincing. You can train him. He can help.
Clover turns to leave, but Qrow jogs forward, long, trembling finger grabbing hold of Clover's forearm. "Hey. Stop."
Half of him screams to stop it, to let go, to run past Clover Ebi and get to his quarters as fast as he possibly can; those voices quiet down immediately the moment he touches Clover's arm, for Clover is so warm that Qrow wants to sob, his flesh passing heat through Qrow's shivering body so easily that even his most adamant resistance crumbles.
Clover's ears are red, but the panic and discomfort on his face is clear. "Can I help you with something?" he asks stiffly. "If you need something, just let me know, but I think I should-"
"You like me, huh, boy scout?"
Clover's eyes pop open, wide in disbelief. Whether it is for the moniker or the sudden assertion, Qrow does not know. "I'm sorry, what-"
"You like me."
The flush on his face deepens, the younger averting his gaze. "I- I should go," he mutters. "I shouldn't be here after what happened the other night-"
Qrow yanks on the younger's arm, drawing him closer, stepping into it so that his lips are a hairsbreadth away from Clover's. He is thankful it is dark; Clover cannot see what a sorry state Qrow is in as his body leans instinctively forward, so desperate to leech off the younger's heat that he can barely restrain himself. "I'm sober now," he says, shoving down his horror and shame and frustration, allowing his need to take hold of him. "If you want-"
Panic becomes more pronounced upon Clover's features, illuminated by the light of the hallway. "Qrow, I-"
"Make it up to me, Clover."
The words are foreign upon his lips. A few years earlier, this kind of teasing would have been easy, naught more than a game; now, however, he almost wants to vomit as he speaks, for things have changed far too much as of late for him to feel remotely okay with the fact that he is manipulating this soldier so badly that Clover's hand is now trembling more than his own.
He thinks of me as his senior.
Who is taking advantage of who in this scenario?
Qrow does not want to think about it.
Clover's eyes search Qrow's face; for what, Qrow doesn't know. Whatever it is, he finds it, though, for he nods, slow and unsure, perfectly straight teeth biting down on a thin lip as he steps backwards towards the door, fingers lacing with Qrow's, eyes locked upon the elder as he silently begins to guide Qrow down the hallway. Their footsteps ring out upon porcelain louder than the ticking and clicking ever could.
And that night, as Qrow watches Clover Ebi fall to his knees as he worships Qrow, submitting under Qrow's words and Qrow's desires and Qrow's touch, the guilt and discomfort and shame which have become Qrow's constant companions as of late are finally drowned out by pleasure and want, the intensity of green, fascinated eyes watching him through heavy lids, and the sound of his own name escaping thin lips in a keening tenor.
Eventually, there is no room for the noise echoing in his head that night. Qrow sleeps, and he is warm. The strong arms wrapped around his body, holding him tight as if he is the dearest thing in the world, make sure of that.