A/N: Am I stretching this first meeting out too long? …maybe. Oh well. Welcome to the slow burn (but not really, it'll pop off soon just you wait). Leave a review if you're reading along!

Way Off Track

Fourth Read

Clover only had two stops before he had to exit the train. He glanced at the platform disappearing in a blur behind him as the subway trundled along, carriage shaking and passengers too weary to take notice. The paper in his hands had been marked, all covered in red underlines with an encircled grade at the top; the man probably needed to give it back to the owner soon.

He glanced at his watch. There was no time to jump off at the eleventh station and grab a train back. Even if he did, it would be for what? How could he possibly find the stranger in an entire university campus? He had never even been to Beacon University, not even to see the famous gardens or museums. He'd get lost without a doubt.

His indecision ate up the rest of his time, and soon, he was trudging out of the train at the twelfth stop, dejectedly tucking the paper into his bag. He could figure out a plan later.

However, the knowledge of the paper's presence in his bag was ultimately a distraction. Every chance Clover got, he longed to rip the paper out and take a look. In his daze on the train, he had yet to look at the actual contents of the page. Once he did, he'd likely see the name of a professor for which it was written, and the thought of finally putting a name to that face made Clover's spirit burn with more curiosity and fire than any of his meetings could. Still, he kept it inside, maintaining his calm demeanor the best he could until the end of the day.

Of course he had had meeting after meeting that day, preventing him from having even the slightest respite.

The moment his final meeting ended and he had closed his office door, he let his calmness slip, rushing forward and retrieving the paper. It was a short piece, barely reaching the bottom of just one page. Was it a summary? A short critique?

He had to bite back a laugh at the savage commentary left in scratchy red scrawl, barely legible with all the bumps and jagged lines likely left by the moving train carriage. The paper seemed to be an analysis on the sociocultural implications of some action in a novel- was the man a literature professor?

This kid's going to fail, huh. The final grade was not pretty.

Clover finally allowed his eyes to travel to the header on the paper. The student's name meant nothing to him. The two lines below it, however, meant all the world.

Dr. Q. Branwen

SOCI 2207

Clover let his eyes linger on those words, tracing each line on the page so many times they engrained themselves into his mind. Dr. Q. Branwen. Okay. His thumb brushed over the crinkled page, trying to smooth it out to no avail. SOCI- sociology? He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine the stranger discussing income inequality and arguing about racism at the front of a large lecture hall. A small smile quirked his lips, the image solidifying in his mind, taking shape. He could see that.

He had two options: this Dr. Branwen could be a completely different prof and the stranger was simply a teaching assistant, or the stranger was a Ph.D in something related to sociology.

It didn't matter. All that did matter was that Clover finally had a thread to grasp onto.

He was halfway through his train ride home when he realized how odd the whole affair must have looked to any outsider- a grown man silently clutching a single piece of marked-up paper, grinning on and off like a fool. At least he had had the sense to put it in a clear protector rather than just attempt to keep it dry and damage-free despite the rain.

Was it weird that Clover was so invested on finding out more about the stranger? It couldn't be. After all, who in the world had red eyes? Gazes like that belonged on villains in horror movies, not handsome, grizzled professors.

Even if his fascination with the situation was a little odd, Clover justified it to himself with ease. I'm just trying to return this paper to him. No point in making him remark it.

When was the last time he had actually looked forward to something after work?

That thought lingered for a moment, but he brushed it away, allowing himself to focus on the calm music playing in his ears and the rhythmic tapping of raindrops on his umbrella. Although it had soured his mood all morning, the rain was hardly an issue as Clover strutted down the street. He hadn't felt so enthused to go home in months. Even stepping in a large puddle in halfway to his apartment building didn't get him down.

Clover raced through his routine once he was back home; showering, getting dressed, and cooking up the stir fry he had defrosted from the countless pre-portioned meals he had prepped that weekend and stored in his freezer. There was little by way of distraction in his apartment; no knickknacks nor pets to take his attention away from the task at hand. Just white walls and sparse furniture watched his hurried movements until his food was plated and his water bottle was filled. Then, with his bowl of food unceremoniously perched on top of an empty box of protein bars, Clover opened up his laptop and began his search.

It took barely a minute to land upon the Department of Sociology's faculty page on Beacon University's otherwise-confusing website. Portrait after portrait was laid out in neat rows. Clover frowned, chewing absentmindedly on a limp piece of onion. Then, he finally scrolled down far enough, spotting the face occupying his thoughts all week.

Dr. Qrow Branwen, Ph.D, MA, MEd, BA. A charming, polished image smiled back at Clover through the screen, and Clover felt himself melt.

Qrow Branwen was indeed the name of the stranger, it seemed. In his photograph, a clean-shaven, charming smile glinted in the light, sharp cheekbones highlighting his grin. His hair was brushed back effortlessly off his face, a slight quirk to his brow that seemed almost teasing. Set underneath clean brows were those red eyes, half-lidded with a devilish glint in them.

Clover swallowed his food, leaning his face on a propped-up hand as he looked at that face. Calmly, he took in an inventory of himself.

He found Qrow Branwen attractive. Intelligence and looks, and those eyes? Check.

He needed to give Qrow back his student's paper. Perfect reason to see him.

He had been told by James, by everyone, to go explore Vale. It was high time he followed their advice.

Beacon University occupied a substantial part of Vale's grounds, extending well out of the town centre and northerly towards the sprawling forests of Forever Fall. Based on his knowledge (and a quick skimming of the tourist locations he had never bothered to care about beforehand) there were multiple museums, gardens, sports arenas, and theatres on campus grounds. It was veritably a city within a city. And now, Clover had all the reason in the world to go there and win over the stranger- Qrow. What an odd name. It didn't matter, though- Clover was made to win people over. That was his job.

He stretched, loosened up his shoulders, and began his work. It was the first time in a long, long time that he was curious about his client, and he couldn't wait to learn more.