Chapter Text
Qrow Branwen loves despite himself. He is careful with his heart. Maybe too careful. Where others would shine radiantly with the intensity of their love, he might appear dark. His heart might be hidden from view, phasing back and forth, as if fickle or deceptive.
Those who never met him without the burn of liquor on his breath might call him cold, rough, empty of any kind of tenderness for life. It wasn’t that he was unkind; the goodness of his heart still faced the world. The protective, honest part of him was always there, just kept beneath the crude, sarcastic, abrasive veil that he let the world know. His heart was clear but never vulnerable. Never not shrouded in shadow. Those who never gave him more than a passing glance, an afterthought whose presence came and went without much announcement if you weren’t looking, could write him off as broken, sad; bitter for every crater that had worn its way into his life.
And that was fine with him. Really. It was for the best, he’d accepted that. He kept the world at arm's length, only showing the rough edges of himself; clear warnings for people not to get too close, there was nothing there worth the grim fate he would inevitably bring.
But if you really looked, if you caught him when he thought no one could see, when he made himself small, wishing to be forgotten and left to his own pattern in life, you could start to make out the facade. See just how much of his heart he kept hidden from the world, hidden even from himself. Once you knew the true depths of his umbral truth — the fragility of his aching soul, guarded by layer after layer of bleak stoicism — you would swear he was glowing.
Once you really looked, you’d see a kind, dejected, man, who only saw himself as empty, bare, cold, and destructive, unable to see the specular incandescence of the love he mirrors back to the world. Even from within his penitent isolation, he couldn’t keep a crescent of his true radiance from breaking through, betraying the tender vulnerability of his heart that he had tried to deny for so long.
In truth, Qrow Branwen loves quietly, but entirely. He loves in small gestures and signals of trust. He gravitates towards you, without even meaning to. He’s at your side, he’s in earshot, his eyes glance to you, ensuring you’re still there. But he keeps a small distance, he shadows you, caught between keeping you in sight for ease of mind and staying back just enough to draw any darkness that finds him solely around his form, and not yours.
He is tidal. He returns and retreats; his love’s existence always stable, but its easy presence wearing trails of cautious phases. One moment his love is calm and weightless and crystal clear, the next it is crashing waves and shifting sand, tangles of debris washing up trinkets worn with rusted imprints of old heartbreaks buried deep at sea.
He finds you in the dim hours nestled between night and morning. That somewhat sad, lonely, invigorating feeling of having the world just to yourself for a little while.
Qrow Branwen’s love shines subtly, easily missed by those who never really look. His love echoes out not for the world, but for you. He bounces light just to you, staring down with careful reverence, content to keep his distance, to fade in and out, to be a passing wonder, quickly hidden away and unnoticed. He was never one to burst with emotion, to flare and burn and demand for all to see, to feel the strength of his heart. He had long ago resigned himself to feeling only stolen moments, glowing only from the light of others, before fading again on his own. There was safety in guarded hearts and familiar cycles.
Qrow had always loved despite himself, despite his better judgment; so he told himself. And when a bright, confident, frustratingly insightful new partner had started to seek him out, determined to wash such warm, inviting, tenderness over him, Qrow had promised himself he would not let it happen this time.
Qrow Branwen couldn't let himself love Clover Ebi. He didn't even let himself think it. It wouldn't happen. Couldn't happen. But the feeling, as nameless as he pretended it was, still found its way deep into his chest.
It wasn't a slow realization, because he refused to let it be realized at all. He ignored it, denied it. It didn’t just grow bit by bit; a tiny sliver slowly shifting into more and more of the full reality of the space where Clover had somehow managed to root himself into Qrow's life. Well, it did. But if Qrow never acknowledged it, he wouldn't have to face it.
Yes, the pieces fell into place over time, building into an undeniable presence somewhere tucked between his bones, but Qrow had done his best to never look at it for long, never give himself the chance to understand the exact nature of his heart. But slowly Clover was making that harder and harder, and Qrow could feel his resolve melting away. Every kind look and soft touch made the Something He Won't Name demand his acknowledgment more and more. Until he did exactly what he'd promised himself he wouldn't let happen.
Qrow admitted it to himself, silent and cold and alone, the dawning understanding illuminating dark corners of his heart just as readily as they cast looming shadows
He admitted it to himself over and over, hoping that maybe it would stop being true. And each time it rushed through him in a panicked chill, undeniable and no longer letting him refuse to face it.
So, there it was.
The first time Qrow Branwen allowed himself to love Clover Ebi, he felt the persistent flickering warmth that had made this all unavoidable to begin with. And for that small stolen moment, there in Clover's bed, with Clover's arms draped around him, he let himself be happy.
But even then; in that first time in that perfect forbidden moment, the little part of him that still felt the sting of his own betrayal, the fear of all the potential pain that one simple thought could allow, he knew one thing, one last way to avoid inevitable disaster.
Qrow knew there was a galaxy between that silent admission to himself, and the ability to actually say it. And if he could just hold here, be content with his own awareness of this thing he was still scared to unquestionably call Love, that could be enough, and maybe he could still protect them both from this heart that had always managed to love despite himself.
The first time he admitted to himself that he loved this kind, warm, far too generous man, Qrow swore he would never say it out loud.
The moment Qrow called this love, he knew he could never tell Clover.