Lying on the Moon

He thought it would be only the one time- one moment of weakness where he allowed himself to let go of his sensibilities in order to simply feel. After all, Qrow said nothing of it the next day, his handsome expression just as kind, his voice just as gruff, his sweet smile just as gentle as ever. It almost felt like that hazy night was a dream, something which Clover could pass off as little more than a hallucination caused by months of loneliness, desperation and stress.

But then, it happened again.

He did not mean to allow himself to give in to Qrow's curiosity. He simply wanted to destress, to relax- to get the image of Marrow's lustful eyes out of his mind, to rid himself of this buildup of energy and want that had been suffocating him for so long. It was meant to be private. Quick. Dirty and done.

And yet, although in his head he knew he should have turned down Qrow's quiet request to watch once again… when it came down to it, he didn't.

The joy which blossomed across Qrow's face echoed in Clover's chest, the contentment caused from finally being enough for someone bringing him the most peaceful rest he had gotten in far too long.

However, the morning after that second time was not easy. The moment he understood his error, he swore off any kinds of acts of pleasure. I need to just focus on work, he told himself grimly for days, ignoring just how hot his ears burned each time he saw the neon glow of the holoscreens tinging his apartment walls. We can just pretend this never happened.

He couldn't ignore it, though. After all, Qrow's question of, "You seem far more concentrated now. Did last night help?" when he was halfway done the next letter on his list made him completely lose track of the narrative voice of the message, sending his thoughts into a complete and utter disarray as he attempted to wrangle some semblance of calm back into his workspace.

But Qrow was always there. He was always helping. And even though he had seen Clover in his most vulnerable states, he never looked away.

…the nickname of boy scout and lucky charm made him want to simultaneously groan, and wince, and melt, and he hated it. He hated how he could never tell Qrow to stop using them, too.

Over the next few weeks, however, he swore off any physical desires again, instead pouring all his energy into his work. It was embarrassing to admit just how much clearer his writing became after beginning his rendezvous with Marrow- after those few nights of pleasure on his own, using (Qrow) Marrow's visage to fuel him.

An odd thing that began to happen, however, as he began to write more and more. Although he had always enjoyed writing letters, something began to shift in the requests he began to get- namely, from one person in general. Winter did not seem to notice when Clover brought up the shift in Branwen's notes to Clover in the request form, but after a brief analysis, Qrow also confirmed that the requests had begun to shift slightly. Where the notes had once been fairly impersonal, albeit amusing, thanks to the stories Clover was asked to convey with emotion to this unknown recipient, Clover found something new appearing at the end of the Additional Notes sections on each form.

'Don't include this,' Branwen began to add, 'but thanks for doing such a good job. It means a lot to me, and I know it would to the girls, too.'

While that tiny note of gratitude was innocuous enough, those messages began to evolve with each round of requests. 'You should've seen Tai's face when I showed him your letters,' they said one time, referring to the father of the two girls always discussed in the letters. Another time, they added, 'You seem like a good person. Way better than me, anyways. Thanks for doing this always.'

Clover didn't understand- it was a paid service, after all- but what confused him the most was the fact that Branwen began to talk more about themselves, too, in these notes.

He was a man. Those two girls, Firecracker and the Kiddo, were not his children, but in fact, his nieces. He doted on them severely, with a kind of fervour that only the most protective of guardians could hold; however, based on the nonsensical stories Clover was to relay, it was clear that he still appreciated that role of being the more 'fun' uncle more than anything, causing no end of grief to their father Tai.

There was never any mention of a mother nor a partner. Clover often found his fingers hesitating to type the final send-off, wondering what would happen if he would add a little note of his own- who was the recipient of these letters? Why was Branwen talking about his nieces as if the recipient was far-off, when it was clear that he believed that the recipient loved these two girls more than anything?

He wanted to know more.

However, as it was, he could barely handle the discomfort lingering around his apartment every time he saw Qrow, so he did his best to simply do his work and nothing more. If he did ever end up asking more questions, James or Winter would find out in a heartbeat, and he refused to face the discomfort of having to explain his mixed sentiments towards this strangely-friendly client and his far-too-curious AIPA.

He wondered briefly whether it would be good to tell this to someone- just as quickly, however, those thoughts were drowned by the sheer humiliation. How in the world could he ever explain to anyone that the only intimacy he had experienced as of late had been this voyeuristic situation between his AI, of all things? How could he put to words that because of this overall lack of contact, he was debating crossing some of his own professional boundaries?

The first person to come to mind was Marrow. They still met every week, after all- and with Marrow's clear interest in him, it wouldn't be too difficult to broach the subject with him. The younger man was handsome and capable and kind, and he doubted that Marrow would even judge him too badly for the ridiculous confession. Even Qrow supported the idea, although the AI had little understanding of what was rendering Clover so flustered and uncomfortable at home. "He seems to be a good friend," Qrow said repeatedly. "Why not share whatever's bothering you? Isn't that what friends do?"

Yes, but there are limits to everything, Clover always longed to reply. He couldn't explain it though. He just couldn't.

However, even if he wanted to, he did not get a chance. One evening as Marrow and Clover wandered back to the station, Marrow suddenly hummed, "Y'know, Clover… I think we might want to stop this."

His blood ran cold. "But- wait, you mean-"

"I like you, Clover. I do. But you don't look at me the way you used to." With a gentle smile that no one could possibly deserve, Marrow added, "You've found someone else, right? I'm happy for you!"

The rest of Marrow's words fell on deaf ears, his mellow, soothing voice fading away into nothing while those words began to truly, finally sink in.

I think I should've been more assertive, Clover thought faintly as Marrow stepped forwards, pressing a gentle kiss upon Clover's temple.

I should be stopping him, his mind offered as Marrow flashed him a toothy smile, the dimple in one dark cheek painfully endearing- painfully stark amidst the resignation in his eye.

…why aren't I saying anything? Clover could not generate an answer for himself, even as Marrow tucked his hands into his pockets, turned on his heel, and walked away, the silent, unspoken words lingering heavily in the air. There's no one else, right? We've been friends for a few months now- I would've told him if that were the case-

But Marrow was gone, and Clover was alone again.