Way Off Track
Eleventh Notice
The weekend was one of many victories. Clover woke up without a hangover the next morning for one, which was already an amazing start to the day, considering how his liver had given up on him years ago. He was able to actually get in a good workout session at the gym both days, feeling a lot calmer each time- whenever he worked out, he was able to push everything to the side and calmly analyze what was going on in his life. Granted, he didn't have much to ponder lately days, other than the fact that Qrow was even better than he had imagined, and Qrow was as interested in him as he was in the professor.
At least, Clover assumed Qrow was still interested, if the texts popping into his inbox, filled with humorous but annoyed bitching the next morning as Qrow nursed his hangover, were anything to go by.
Even the hot water in the apartment ended up getting fixed without major delays. Maria, the tiny waif of a woman who ran the building, managed to catch him on the way back from the gym Sunday afternoon to tell him the good news.
Clover smiled politely, inching up the stairs as subtly as he could. "That's great, Mrs. Calavera," he said. "I'm very grateful."
"Oh Clover," the woman cooed, "it's a victory for us all! I managed to get new glasses-" and she tapped on thick-framed lenses that looked... exactly the same as her old pair, "-and I managed to get a bunch of attractive young men to come fix the boiler room. Ooh, a good weekend indeed!" She tittered, pleased.
Clover could not be more uncomfortable. At the ripe old age of eighty-two, Maria Calavera knew exactly how to make him feel like he needed to hide for his own safety. "That's great to hear. Your glasses look wonderful."
She pouted, pointing her old, rickety cane at him. "Young man, are you sure you don't want to go on a date with my little-"
"Very sure, ma'am," Clover replied smoothly. "I'm not interested in seeing anyone right now, so I wouldn't want to lead her on." He reached into his pocket, discretely silencing his phone. If I fake a work call right now, will she be convinced? Can I escape?
Thankfully, she seemed to have had enough for the night. "Oh alright," the elderly woman huffed, waving a hand dismissively at him. "I suppose that's fair. But let me know! I'd like a handsome young grandson like you."
He smiled, all customer-service friendly. "You're too kind, Mrs. C. I'll chat with you later then."
Once he was back in his apartment, he was able to relax at last, pushing away the older woman's words from his mind. She had been harping on him meeting her granddaughter since he had moved in. That's probably why she even gave me the keys to this place, huh? he thought wryly.
After he had showered and made dinner, he was surprised to see a few messages awaiting him. He wasn't big on texting- other than client calls and the weekly conversation with his mother, he usually had no need to use his phone in the first place, aside from listening to podcasts on his commute.
The first message was from Qrow. The man asked if he wanted to get coffee sometime that week. Clover's heart swelled in his chest, beating like mad.
The second message soured his mood in an instant. The sender wasn't saved on his phone, although he had memorized that number years earlier. There was no way to not know who the sender was; what they wanted from him, however, was a different story.
He frowned, opening the message tentatively. He could just delete it, pretend like it didn't matter at all- move on with his life and act as if nothing had happened-
But what if something's going on with Mom?
He groaned in defeat, then opened the message.
As usual, he was greeted by a long diatribe. The writer didn't announce who they were, didn't begin the conversation with anything remotely amicable; instead, the message boiled down to just a few key points.
Why aren't you coming home for the reunion?
Why are you being an ass to mom?
Why won't you just move on, it's been years-
"Robyn, you never change, huh?" he muttered, more weary than upset. He had cut ties with her years ago; he'd changed his number when he moved to Sanus, too. Had his mother decided to give her his number, despite all his efforts to leave Atlas behind?
He didn't need to respond to her message. They were fully-grown, individual, well-established adults now. There was nothing tying them together if he didn't want there to be, aside from a mother whose well-wishes would never undo the damage she'd helped to cause.
So, rather than dwelling on Robyn's text, he instead focused on replying to Qrow. He named a time and place for dinner one day instead of coffee. He had been saving up for sixteen months- he could easily afford a nice dinner for the older man. And, after a moment of hesitation, he openly referred to it as a 'date'.
Qrow said yes.
With that planned out, Clover allowed himself to settle in for the evening. He had a few prospective clients that week whom he needed to research, and a few other things he had to wrap-up before the end of the quarter. James would be coming in for another check-in by the end of the week, and he needed to ensure all of their paperwork was in by then.
Absentmindedly, he also made a note to check in with Marrow. I wonder if that family emergency worked out alright? Clover had been so distracted by Qrow that he hadn't delved further into it. It was probably best to speak to the young man come Monday morning.
Either way, the wrinkle in his mood left from his half-sister's message smoothed out over the course of the evening. It was hard to stay upset when he was so focused on his work. The entire time, he listened the Qrow's soothing voice on that podcast, relishing in the comparisons his memory conjured up between the calm, well-articulated professor shown to the world, and the rambunctious, silly, flirtatious creature with the beautiful smile he'd spent Friday evening with. Both were captivating.
And for once, Clover felt a glimmer of hope in his heart for more than just his simple future goals. Maybe there was something else he could look forward to on the horizon after all.