Way Off Track

Seventeenth Drink

The celebration of his raise was a lonely one, spent hunched over a bottle of whisky that depleted far too quick to be healthy. Clover didn't care, barely even registering what he was doing as he numbly drank, allowing himself to just fade out of his plain, almost oppressive apartment and focus solely upon the memory of Qrow's shock, surprise, acceptance… heartbreak.

Qrow had walked away without a second thought. Clover had made a mistake.

The amount of bitterness in Qrow's eyes, in his resignation as he had stepped off the train, hung hollowly in Clover's heart; but what was Clover supposed to have done in that situation- allowed Qrow to kiss him in public? What if someone had seen, what if someone had found out- he couldn't jeopardize Qrow's career, he couldn't go through this again-

His phone buzzed. For a fleeting, drunken moment, he lunged at the device laying on the opposite end of his small dining table. It was for naught, however, as he opened up his messages only to see Robyn's name on the screen. A bark of a laugh slipped past his lips. Had she somehow sensed his complete self-loathing from across the world and decided to dig the knife in deeper? Grimacing, he put the phone down and ignored the messages, downing the rest of his glass and placing his forehead on the table, feeling cool wood against his lightly sweat-streaked forehead, the anxiety roiling within him dulled only slightly by the alcohol.

Had he lost Qrow?

The mere thought of it was enough to almost shatter him, and that fact in itself threw him completely off-kilter. Somehow, the older man had slipped past all of Clover's defenses and, despite the initial attraction having been solely based on curiosity and physicality, the idea that Clover would never again have Qrow's laughter in his ear, his wit and frustration and humour and sweetness in his reach, was terrifying.

So, he drank. And the next morning, it took all of his willpower to get him out of bed and dressed for the day, the downpour of rain and wind biting against his jacket, tossing his umbrella this way and that as he fought the weather with a spinning head and reddened eyes until he made it to a slightly-flooded, reeking subway station. The smell was enough to turn his already-weak stomach, nearly causing him to vomit into a nearby trashcan; he managed to hold down the bile, keeping his balance by a hair as the train rushed into the station and wafted a new wave of the stench of poverty and disrepair into his face.

As he settled into his usual seat, pressing his forehead against his bag to try and regain some sense of stability as the carriage jostled and swayed, an idle thought popped into his head.

Well, at least I'll be able to afford moving out soon.

The thought didn't bring as much joy as he would have liked. After all, although he would never have admitted it to anyone, he had wanted Qrow to be there when he finally moved- he had wanted Qrow to come home with him then.

That… probably wasn't going to happen.

Wait, what am I even doing? Am I a kid? He groaned, lifted his face and fishing out his phone from his pocket. I need to message him. There was no point in weeping without reaching out, and as he unlocked the device, he began to curse himself for being so blinded by his visceral shock the night before to not have done so earlier.

What greeted him was Robyn's slew of messages he had previously ignored, detailing exactly when the large family reunion that his mother had been chiding him about for almost a year was finally going to take place. It was important, he knew; lots of stakeholders and field professionals and military officials would be present for what would culminate in a charity event put on by his parents, and it reeked of every bit of conservative bureaucracy and false generosity and tainted pretenses that made up everything he hated about Atlas. He wasn't going to respond, wasn't going to give her the time of day, not after everything she had done.

He stared at her name forlornly, feeling exhaustion well up in his bones beyond measure. It's because of what you did that this is all happening, he thought weakly. He knew it wasn't exactly true, but it felt good to project his anger away from himself for once. He was so tired, and he needed to fix that before client meetings that day.

With pounding temples and his heart sitting in the soles of his feet, he finally opened up Qrow's contact and sent him a message. Fingers flew across the keyboard. Hey, I wanted to- he erased the message. How's it- no, that wouldn't work either. He typed sentence starter after sentence starter, unable to find the words to say that could adequately express his confusion, his fear. He didn't want to be weak in front of Qrow. He didn't want to lose him, either.

Finally, he settled on, Hey, how did working on that paperwork go? You doing alright?

Qrow didn't seem to even read it. As they rolled into the fifth station on Clover's route, no red eyes or cool smirks entered his vision. Clover spent the rest of his trip alone, taking deep breaths and praying he wouldn't vomit on the shoes of the other passengers nearby.

Once in the office, he pulled on the most professional façade he could before approaching the counter, trying to keep some level of calm in his voice as he asked Marrow, "How's your cousin doing?"

Marrow smiled uneasily. "She's doing alright," he said, expression strained. "It's not a great situation, but we'll figure out, don't worry."

"Just know, the professor you two saw yesterday is looking into ways to help her should she need it, so tell her to reach out, okay?"

Relief bloomed on his face. "That's awesome! Thanks, boss. I'll let her know."

"No worries." He paused, wincing as his empty stomach protested, his mouth dry and sour. "Also, can you make another pot of coffee?"

"Sure thing!"

Clover gave him a smile and a nod before walking into his office, allowing the door to close completely before he let out the sigh which had been building up for what felt like the entire journey to work. The pounding in his temples wasn't going away- he was going to have a long, long day.

One long day turned into two, and two turned into three, filled with discomfort and a vague sense of dread and loss hanging over his head like a shroud. Qrow never responded to that message, and although Marrow perked up a little after Clover's words, Clover could not feel at ease. Even working out wasn't enough to soothe his nerves. How could he relax when one careless phrase had ruined everything he had been building for weeks?

All of his fear turned into relief in an instant the moment he stepped outside of AST on Friday after work, for leaning against the wall across the street was none other than the professor that hadn't left Clover's mind all week. His eyes were fixated on the sky, watching the rainfall distantly from under the overhang that protected him. Clover's heart jumped up into his throat, and he found himself pausing at the crosswalk across the road, taking in the sight that had become a normal fixture of Clover's Friday evenings.

What was he supposed to say to Qrow? Why was he waiting for Clover, even after Clover's accidental rejection?

Still, the light turned white, indicating that he could go forward. So, Clover stepped out, biting his lip nervously, hands gripped tightly around the handle of his umbrella and the strap of his bag. His steps were hesitant, but eventually, he was standing in front of Qrow. "Hey, you," he said softly. "How are you? Didn't see you this morning." The question was soft, containing none of the bluster and bravado and wit he usually was able to project with the older man. Qrow's face was too haggard to pretend to be anything but genuine.

Bloodshot eyes creased as Qrow yawned before finally looking at Clover. "You were worried?"

Clover's mouth opened and closed, trying to find words to regain some sense of control. For a brief moment, he wanted to ask why Qrow hadn't responded to his messages, why he had left Clover floundering for something to hold onto, to tell himself that their growing, yet undefined relationship hadn't crumbled in an instant. He could not find the words to do so, however, for simply seeing Qrow waiting for him here filled him with such profound relief that he just didn't know what to do. He finally settled on a soft smile. "Of course."

Qrow's expression was still troubled, but eventually, the man pushed off the wall, brushing damp strands out of his eyes. He didn't have an umbrella with him. Clover held out his own, beckoning Qrow to join him. "Drinks," he said firmly. "My treat. You can tell me what's been going on."

The smile that Qrow gave him was so oddly timid that Clover could have melted. "I thought I needed to treat you," he said.

"We can save that for next time. Well… if you're okay with that."

Please understand.

Letting out a weary sigh, Qrow tucked his hands into his pockets and stepped forward, joining Clover under his large umbrella. "Let's go, boy scout," Qrow said.

And while Clover had a million and one questions swirling around in his brain, having Qrow's body next to his, his footsteps in time with Clover's, was good enough for then.