Way Off Track
Fifteenth Attempt
"Clover, has something changed?"
Clover paused. This wasn't the routine conversation. "…Why?" he asked cautiously, immediately putting up a defense.
Still, his mother's tone was soft. "You sound happier these days." There was a world and a half of hesitation in her voice when she whispered, "…Happier away from home, huh sweetie?"
He swallowed thickly, feeling shame rising up like bile in his throat. With a few crisp words, he ended the conversation and put away his phone, allowing himself to rest his forehead in his hands. He had another client meeting soon; he needed to be ready to face them. At the same time, however, he knew where his mother's hesitation came from. He knew why her words shook, voice barely audible on the other end. And that mere knowing was enough to shake him.
She probably understood where the lightness in his voice, his heart, was coming from. After all, he hadn't felt like this in years. Clover was pretty sure that this was what happiness felt like, and it was all thanks to Qrow.
He and Qrow saw each other a few times every week. Friday nights were always spent at Crow Bar- Qrow's treat. Throughout the week, Clover occasionally brought whatever shitty takeout Qrow was craving to Beacon's campus, keeping the man company while he slaved away over presentation slides and marking papers and creating assignments. Not even Robyn's looming, increasingly passive-aggressive texts and reminders to come back to Atlas could ruin the joy that Qrow's presence brought him.
And every single time they parted, Clover would glance around, make sure they were alone, and then he'd kiss the man goodnight. Qrow never shied away- far from it, in fact, that silver stud slipping into Clover's mouth so sensually that he wanted to melt. Qrow, the teasing bastard that he was, would leave him at the station and wink as he said his goodnights, leaving Clover heavy-lidded and wanton, desperate to get home and throw himself into a workout to distract himself from his imagination. Imagination was all he'd allow himself; not until Qrow took another step would Clover dare.
As days with Qrow turned into weeks, this routine carried onwards. The rainy season intensified, with it coming darker days and more bleak cityscapes. A year earlier, Clover hadn't cared about the dip into wintertime, with Vale's winter being nothing more than wretched, icy filth; but now, with Qrow's eyes shining as he commented how he "liked seeing the sunset early" while he worked, Clover finally found himself noticing that the incoming winter of Vale wasn't as terrible as he thought.
James noticed the changes in Clover's demeanor, too. "You're growing softer, Clover," he mused one day as they pored over reports. "Something good's been happening." With a glint in his eye, he offered, "You meet anyone special?"
Clover simply cleared his throat and flipped the page of the packet. "Nothing too significant," he said, face a perfect mask of neutrality. But he could feel James' knowing smile on him for the rest of the meeting, and thus, Clover avoided looking up as much as possible. He didn't want to be asked more details; he didn't know how James would react if he accidentally let it slip that he was gay.
He finally allowed himself to look at the other man when James murmured, "You're doing even better work like this, you know. It's more human. Keep this up, and you'll be getting that solstice promotion for sure."
Clover immediately locked eyes with James, a confident grin growing on his face. "I'll do my best," he replied. Inside, his heart was singing- finally, he would be able to take a step forward on his plan to establish himself properly in Vale.
One night after decimating a trivia game at Crow Bar with Qrow, the two of them had won far too many free drinks than was healthy for either of them, and they stumbled home in a faltering haze. Qrow was a giggly drunk, always laughing and tripping over his feet; Clover was slower to process, somehow steadier thanks to lacking reaction times. Weeks earlier, he had given up on even trying to catch Qrow on their walks back to the station, instead just looping Qrow's arm through his and holding the elder man's hand on the way home to keep him upright.
It was with Qrow's hand in his, the elder giddy and flushed and losing balance by his side, that Clover finally put the want in his heart into tangible thought. I should just ask him to stay the night with me, he thought to himself through his drunken stupor. He'll say yes.
He wanted to bring Qrow home.
His heart was in his throat as they rode the seven stops over to Qrow's usual station, the empty train's squeaking carriage echoing like thunder in his ears. Qrow's fingers were still laced in his, the elder talking about upcoming final exams for the students.
Say it! his dizzy brain implored, but every time he opened his mouth, the words wouldn't come out. How could he say it? He just couldn't find the courage. Not after everything.
…perhaps Robyn's derisive texts were having an effect on him, after all.
So, when Qrow stood up shakily, slurred, "My stop, lucky charm," and dragged Clover to his feet, Clover allowed his pleas of desire and lust and hope to be muffled by the taste of beer and Qrow, metal clinking clumsily against his teeth. Clover allowed himself to be taken in for a long, sweet moment as the empty train slowed to a stop, the doors screeching open as Qrow pulled away at last. "See you later."
The way his heart ached for Qrow Branwen as he walked away each time was beyond anything Clover had ever experienced.
But he couldn't risk pushing further. He had already broken his routine too much. He had already strayed too far away from the confines of his normal life. And even if he did finally ask Qrow to stay the night, what would he have to show for it? A tiny, barren apartment in a poorer sector of town? Qrow's neighbourhood was far wealthier, which made sense if Qrow was able to easily house his nieces whenever he wanted. What if Qrow asked questions, wondered why he had come to Vale with nothing but the clothes on his back and a single, lonely suitcase and shame bearing down on his shoulders like the looming, icy mountains of Atlus itself?
He couldn't risk it. He was content with fingers locked with his, kisses stolen in the solitude of drunken nights. That was more than he could have ever hoped for.
It was with that mix of weary resignation, pent-up desire and heady, blissful joy that Clover finally faced the news of his raise right as first snows began to dust Vale's streets. The word was quickly brought to Qrow, their usual takeout in the Department of Sociology's office turning into full-on dinner plans. "Drinks on me tonight, kid," Qrow insisted, slinging his arm around Clover's shoulders. "You'll be treating me even more from now on, though."
And Clover laughed and hummed, "Of course; boy scout's honour," because Qrow's unfaltering pride in Clover's accomplishment made him feel so damn loved, and Clover would happily dip into his usually-strict budget to put a smile on Qrow's face any day.
To their surprise, as they were leaving the building, a young woman was standing awkwardly at the side of the path. Qrow seemed to recognize her, pulling away from Clover to call out, "Miss Belladonna, what brings you here?" The young woman turned, relief flitting across her face as she held out papers to Qrow.
Clover watched it all with disinterest. She was clearly a student, her voice frantic and worried- black-tipped manicured nails brushed through long black hair nervously. Clover didn't blink twice when he saw her. She seemed like an average kid.
What did surprise him, however, was how his secretary stood right behind her, pointing a finger at Clover in shock. "Boss-man?" Marrow squeaked.
It was 6PM and Clover wasn't paid for any of this anymore. He just wanted to snatch Qrow away from his student and board the subway. But when he looked into Marrow's eyes and saw a slight hint of visible distress, he squashed down those thoughts, let out a tiny sigh, and pulled up his most client-ready smile. A sense of foreboding seized his gut. It's going to be a while before those celebratory drinks, huh?