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Clover looked at his reflection and held up a shirt in front of himself, wondering if maybe this one would work. He’d heard Qrow occasionally make the occasional pun, usually under his breath. Maybe one of his more casual t-shirts would work. After all, he didn’t have to be in his uniform all the time.
‘Born to fish, forced to work’ stared back at him, a gift from Elm that had been delivered with a suspiciously innocent grin.
He tossed that one aside too, slowly building up a pile on the bed. He wanted to make a good impression. He may have been a workaholic, but in his own apartment, he could tone it down, treat Qrow like a friend and not just a colleague.
He was amazed that the old spy had actually agreed to come over, but if Elm’s friendship had taught him anything, it was that there was no better way to get a visitor then to offer something home-cooked and delicious.
Which was why Elm was currently snickering at him from where she leaned against the door frame, since his luck only went so far when it came to cooking, and he wasn’t going to risk it. Not on something important like this.
“What, no fishing jokes?” Brown eyes sparkled cheerfully at him, Elm in her own casuals. A pastel lavender apron protected her cream sweater, her hair out of the usual ponytail and giving her a softer look. “How about this one?” she held up a tank top that said ‘sleeves are for nerds’.
“Absolutely not,” he laughed and grabbed it out of her hands. “He wears sleeves, in case you haven’t noticed. Calling him names doesn’t make a good impression.”
“I don’t know, flexing to assert dominance might up your chances,” she mused, flicking her bangs out of her eyes.
He snorted and threw the shirt back at her face. “This is a friendly hang out, Elm.”
“Clover, when you arrested him you ignored the very important Relic just so you could stand over him spinning your horseshoe.”
“But I looked cool, right?”
“You’re a show-off.” She grinned and started folding the pile of shirts tossed haphazardly on his bed.
“You’re one to brag, miss ‘jumped off Atlas for a dare’. It’s been what, ten minutes since you mentioned that?” He helped her set them aside in neat piles to be put away later. Order and cleanliness were important.
“Okay, so we’re both braggarts. Now do you know what you’re going to wear?”
“At this point I may as well wear my fishing vest and beanie.”
“Absolutely not.” Elm held up one of his white dress shirts. “Do you still have that green waistcoat?”
He hovered around his kitchen as he waited for Qrow to arrive, alternating between looking around his small apartment to make sure that it was neat and taking deep inhales of the divine smell of tonight's dinner. His scroll sat next to his speaker, smooth Mantle jazz filling the air as he kept throwing hungry glances at his oven.
He heard a knock on the door and scampered over to get it, feeling oddly nervous. Sure, he hadn’t exactly dated in a while, especially not since the Fall of Beacon, but he’d had plenty of on and off relationships and dates over the years. Perhaps he just felt somewhat rusty because of the year of throwing himself into his work as part of Ironwood’s inner circle.
He opened the door and felt his heart stutter a little bit. Qrow-
Wow.
Qrow had dressed up as well, it seemed. A dark red button-up, the same colour as his cape, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his usual rings adorning his fingers. His hair had been slicked back, which was a pretty good look if Clover did say so himself. He’d left the top two buttons undone, a necklace with a sideways cross hanging between the divots of his collarbones. Clover recognised the necklace as one that Qrow had worn when he’d first arrived in Atlas. It suited him.
Clover felt incredibly glad that he hadn’t taken Elm’s joking advice to wear a shirt with a bad fisherman pun on it. “Hello, Qrow,” he smiled at him, green eyes bright.
Qrow gave him a once-over that Clover hoped was appreciative and tossed a careless smirk at him, a faint slouch to his shoulders. “So you can wear sleeves.”
“If I have to,” he grinned, his usual armband wrapped over the shirt. “And you went without the cape, I notice.”
“Unwillingly. Ren stole it before I could put it on.” Qrow rolled his eyes. “Brat.”
“You didn’t steal it back? I thought you’d be good at that.” He stepped to the side a little bit. “Come in, dinner’s just ready.” Elm had left simple written instructions because she clearly didn’t trust him.
Qrow slank in past him, looking around the place with some sort of look that Clover was used to seeing in a set of lavender eyes. Clover would put money on the bet that Qrow had just spotted everything shiny and/or valuable in his apartment, and also every single point of entry. “Nice place. I was expecting something spartan, I won’t lie.”
Clover smiled proudly and closed the door. “Well, I find that having a home I actually like being in is an excellent reason to not spend all night working.”
Qrow hummed in what was probably agreement before he snorted. “Wow. The fisherman aesthetic doesn’t just stick to the weapon?”
Clover followed his gaze to his fish tank, set against the wall and large enough that his little aquarium was bright and lively. He had the water heated to provide a comfortable temperature for his fist. Danios, Platies, Swordtails, and Tetras filled the waters, darting about the habitat he’d made for them.
“I like fish,” he shrugged innocently. He’d leave out the fact that he’d named each and every one of them for now.
“Okay, I have to ask, do you actually fish?” Qrow raised a brow.
“I do, actually. One side of my family are fishermen in Argus.” He looked at his bookshelf, the top row filled with pictures while books were stacked in the other three. “My mother’s side, specifically.”
“Huh. I’ve been there.”
“I heard.” He really hoped it was exaggeration.
“... I’ve been there other times besides that. Normally I don’t get caught.” Qrow’s eyes held a teasing glint that definitely caught Clover’s interest.
He grinned back and decided to take the obvious opportunity. “So I got lucky?”
“You’re a terrible person,” Qrow snickered, watching Clover’s fish swim around.
“You think I’m great.” He flicked his pin and hoped he was right.
Qrow looked at him like he was about to answer before the alarm Elm had set went off, cutting through the Mantle jazz with a demonic screeching. Both Huntsmen jumped and immediately reached for weapons they didn’t have, attention focusing on the sound.
Clover relaxed first and strode towards the kitchen, looking at the instructions pinned to the fridge to make absolutely sure before he turned off the oven and grabbed a tea towel, reaching in to grab the shepherd’s pie. He chanted ‘please don’t burn’ in his head as a mantra and mercifully, fortunately, fantastically, it came out totally fine.
He placed it on the stove top to cool, taking a moment to just bask in the awe of Elm’s cooking skills, before he turned to grab plates and crashed headfirst into a curious Qrow Branwen, who had been looming behind him to try see what the enticing smell of dinner was.
Their skulls knocked together with a loud clonk, both of them stumbling back from the impact. Clover swore as he stepped back, one hand coming up to touch his forehead as the other went behind him, just barely avoiding the pie.
Qrow tripped over the table, sending the cutlery, both glasses of water, and a candle that Clover really should have never even got out of a cupboard over the floor and himself. Water splashed, glass shards went everywhere, a table leg snapped, and one of the napkins caught fire.
Qrow lifted his hands from where they had been clutching at his forehead, took one look at the absolute destruction he was now the centrepiece of, and let out a long-suffering groan of existential weariness. He didn’t even bother getting up, even as water soaked into his shirt.
Clover stared, gobsmacked, before he panicked and started moving his hands in useless fussy gestures. “Holy shit are you okay? I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there- how many fingers am I holding up?” What if he’d concussed him?
Qrow blinked at him, looking rather done with the situation before he threw up a hand. “Help me up?”
A smidge of colour crossed Clover’s cheeks as he realised he probably should have led with that, clasping Qrow’s wrist firmly as he pulled him to his feet. “Sorry, I should have paid more attention.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Qrow pushed his soaking wet hair out of his eyes, the back having fallen out of his usual swoop to cling to his neck instead. “I have quiet footsteps.”
Clover gave him a cursory glance, checking for damage. “I have shirts you can borrow if you don’t want to stay in something soaked,” he offered, before he processed what he was saying. Qrow in one of his shirts? With their… specific sort of camaraderie?
Qrow quirked a brow at him before a wickedly sharp grin slashed across his face, one that deepened the blush painted across the bridge of Clover’s nose. “Sure thing, Shamrock.” Clover could see nothing but future disaster in those mischievous, beautiful eyes. Qrow continued like he wasn’t being an absolute hazard to Clover’s heart health. “Just point me where I’ll find them then I’ll help you clean up.”
Clover swallowed and kept his voice steady. “My room, just to the left of the main room. The door on the right. There’s folded clothes on the bed, you can borrow one of those if you need to.”
Qrow patted his shoulder, let go of his wrist, and sauntered off, stepping gracefully around the broken furniture.
Clover looked at the disaster that had been his table and made an executive decision that Elm’s cooking was and always would be more important. He fetched two plates and some cutlery, dividing the shepherd’s pie neatly in half before serving it up. He carried the plates out to his living room, setting them on his coffee table with the cutlery before fetching more water.
He didn’t know what Qrow’s story was with alcohol, but he’d said that he’d given up, so Clover wasn’t about to serve him some for dinner. That would be in very poor taste.
He waited for about a minute before he heard Qrow’s husk. “Hey, Shamrock, where do you keep your towels.”
“Linen cupboard, I’ll grab you one.” He got off the couch and made sure to get the softest one he had, rapping his knuckles on the bedroom door.
Qrow pulled it open and grabbed the towel, immediately rubbing his hair with it. Clover looked at the shirt he was in and wanted to go stab himself with Kingfisher’s harpoon, ‘fishing saved me from becoming a porn star. Now I’m just a hooker’ emblazoned over black fabric in swirly gold letters.
He should have put the puns away.
“Dinner’s ready?” He tried, feeling rather more flustered than he was used to.
Qrow smirked at him and strutted by with an absolute lack of shame, practically crashing down onto the couch as he grabbed a plate. “This smells fucking good. You make it?”
“Elm. My skill in the kitchen begins and ends with stews and boiling things. Even my luck can’t do everything.” He’d cop to it.
“I’m banned from cooking anything that isn’t breakfast foods or microwaveable. It’s nearly impossible to fuck up breakfast food.” Qrow took a big heaping forkful of the world’s luckiest pie and shoved it all into his mouth in one big bite. Clover couldn’t quite make out what the next words were, they got mangled somewhere between the cheesy potatoes and the meat stew, but he hazarded a guess that it probably involved appreciative swearing.
Clover did the same, and had a moment to realise that Elm had definitely outdone herself on his behalf, before he fully committed to clearing his plate entirely and buying Elm something nice.
Talk was dead. There was only them, the pie, and the fucking beautiful moment they were having with it. Before long, the plates were cleared, and Clover was left to stare at the fishing joke on one of his tops as it mocked him.
He’d had a mission plan. He hoped that the backup option of sitting on the couch wasn’t too far a step down. “I’m sorry again, about before.”
“Don’t worry about it, it was my semblance anyway.” Qrow rubbed his hair with the towel again, and Clover spotted a faint scar on his right bicep, something his longer sleeves usually covered. “The couch is comfier anyway. Better view.”
Clover raised a brow. “Oh?” Did Qrow mean him?
“Your fish.” Qrow nodded at the tank. “They’re pretty cool. I have a dog at home. He’s Tai’s dog, really, but I’m part of the pack.”
“I’m glad that plan B worked out.” Clover had been a little too focused on the food to be worrying about fish or Qrow. But he was glad to know things still went well.
“Definitely.” Qrow picked up the plates. “I’ll help you clean up.”
“No, you don’t have to, you’re a guest.” Clover shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out later.”
“Later, huh?” Qrow grinned. “But we just had dinner.”
“But we haven’t had tea,” Clover wagged a finger at him with a returning smile. If nothing else, he was going to show Qrow his collection of novelty mugs. The other Huntsman would probably get a kick out of that. “Tell you what, you tell me about your dog, and I’ll point out each fish in my aquarium by name.”
Qrow barked a laugh and shifted so he was resting one knee up on the couch, turned attentively towards Clover as he lounged there like he owned the place. “Deal. So his name’s Zwei…”
Clover waved Qrow off, still in the borrowed shirt, with his own soaked dress shirt under his arm, and felt like he could be floating with how light his chest was.
He dialled Elm the moment he'd closed his apartment door behind him, grinning like he'd just found a pot of gold at a rainbow's end. She picked up, just as quickly, and he could practically hear her massive grin over the scroll. “So, how’d it go, fearless leader?”
“I got a second date!” It was totally a date.