Break My Fall
As Qrow turns to leave the otherwise-empty rooftop, however, the image of Clover's distress does not leave his mind, the furrows between the man's brows as he had sat pensively upon that sill before Qrow's arrival still engrained behind thin eyelids.
I should leave.
It is so much more complicated than that.
So, Qrow simply hunkers down upon the railing. The cold has yet to truly penetrate his feathers; he can afford to stay here a little longer, he thinks. His Semblance, normally dulled by the consumption of liquor, shall not begin attacking them in full-force for now, at least.
Seeing Clover's joy makes Qrow realize something that knocks him off-balance; he has never seen a bird in Atlas before. It makes sense, but still… to think that his corvid form is actually conspicuous is bizarre. He is so used to being able to blend into the environment the moment he transforms into his avian form that the thought of actually standing out as a crow is oddly unsettling.
That is likely why when Clover murmurs gently, leaning his elbows onto raised knees, "You couldn't sleep either, huh, little bird?" Qrow does not flee. What would the point be? As long as Clover does not reach out to him, it does not matter. Clover has absolutely no reason to ever assume that the corvid and Qrow are one and the same, so why run away and make himself more conspicuous?
He can afford time here. After all, as a crow, his head does not ache, and the darkness hovering over them both is likely more than enough to darken the colour of his unnaturally-crimson eyes; there is no reason for Clover to suspect a thing.
To Clover's quiet question, Qrow merely clucks in agreement, watching Clover's eyes crease fondly as he continues, "Me too, buddy. It's been… it's been a long day."
Qrow's heart begins to sink, unease filling the hollows of his bones. What in the world is the younger saying? He clicks, impatiently nodding his head, waiting for Clover to continue.
Green eyes seem to sparkle, understanding Qrow's curiosity in all the wrong ways. "It's just…" The man sighs heavily, leaning back on his palms as he looks up at the sky. "How do you apologize to someone when you mess up? Especially when they have absolutely no reason to ever trust you again?"
He's… is he talking about me?
It does not take long for that fact to become clear. For some reason, Clover is more than happy to sit back, face aimed at the sky as words begin to tumble from his lips; he speaks of what had happened the night before, finally giving Qrow a clear picture of what had passed to allow Qrow entry to Clover's bed the next morning.
Clover had found him, apparently, drinking in the officer's mess. Alone. He had helped Qrow back to the Huntsmen's barracks, ready to drop Qrow off in his room, but Qrow had forced his way inside Clover's quarters and had propositioned Clover without ceasing; he had been inviting and alluring, preying on every bit of attraction Clover had apparently felt for the elder ever since the moment he had laid eyes upon Qrow Branwen while fighting Grimm in the streets of Mantle.
Clover does not share any details with the crow, but as he speaks his ears go bright pink, the colour spreading across his cheeks to the tip of his nose. None of it is from the cold as he speaks, that much is clear- Clover's mind is too wrapped up by Qrow's wanton desire the night before, when he had not been in the right state of mind. Despite what all appearances might dignify, the younger man seems to find relief in vomiting these words out to the bird, as if voicing this experience is helping him parse what has gone on over the past twenty-four hours- as if he has needed help understanding what happened, too.
The shame which lingers, etched in every line on his face, must not be easy to endure. A part of Qrow is vindicated. Another part of him understands, though- although he knows he should not feel this way, that same shame lingers upon his tongue, too.
Every once in a while, he looks back down, smiling in relief as if simply happy to find that the corvid is still there. Why wouldn't Qrow be there, though? Why in the world would Qrow leave when he is hearing the truth in such a raw, unfiltered state? How could he ever look away when he feels like he is stuck in place, frozen, bearing witness to a train wreck to which he has no ability to stop?
How in the world can he tell Clover that the Huntsman he is professing his attraction for is in fact the bird seated in front of him?!
So, he listens. He listens and he watches and he waits as Clover's expression falls in shame, the younger murmuring, "I should have realized, but… I just… I never even gave it a thought. He's older than me, and he's technically senior to me as a Huntsman- it didn't even cross my mind that he was drunk, or that I shouldn't-"
Before he can stop himself, Qrow squawks in protest, flying close enough to land upon Clover's bent knee. Mustering up all his strength, he screams in Clover's face, putting in the feelings behind every single question which Qrow longs to ask the younger. Why would Clover go for it anyways? Doesn't Clover judge him now? Does Clover think less of him, or… or think of him as easy, or whatever other uptight thing Atlesians probably label anyone who doesn't fit their mold?
Why is he still so stuck on Qrow, even though Qrow has made it clear that he does not want anything to do with Clover if it can be helped?
Clover winces at each cry, but his smile reappears as he leans forward, reaching out timidly with one hand. Qrow stills, watching the man carefully, ready to fly off at any moment. Has he been found out?
Yet, it is with such tender affection that thick, callused fingers reach up to stroke underneath Qrow's chin, a sense of tentative desire to move further in Clover's eyes.
Qrow trills in warning. Clover does not push.
For some reason, Qrow does not move away. Clover's touch is just as soothing as it had been upon his bare skin the night before, if not more; Clover continues to run his fingers down Qrow's throat, feathers smoothing downwards with every brushstroke, every touch soothing frazzled nerves and calming Qrow's heartbeat more than his attempts to sleep ever could. Qrow finds himself leaning forward into that touch, settling down on Clover's knee.
He does not feel safe with Clover Ebi as a man, he realizes grimly. It does not matter what his reasons were- mistakes were mistakes, and Qrow does not have any reason to trust Clover Ebi.
As a crow, however…
He hates how warm Clover's touch feels upon his frigid feathers. It provides exactly the kind of reassurance he has been looking for all night- a sense of safety, a sense of peace.
What he hates more, though, is that despite the fact that Qrow is soon to leave, flying around the tall spires of the academy with as much haste as he can to escape the frigid, biting air of Atlas, he can still feel Clover's fingers gently stroking his throat and collar and shoulders even after transforming back into a human. His touch does not go away.
And Qrow sleeps better for it.