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jeoseungsaja · 2 years

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🍸 + not a question, but rather please take an equally drunk patrick stumbling over to his dear friend to ask him to hold something for him....it's patrick's hand. that and patrick will also be kissing his dear friend on the cheek once they're holding hands 😊

@ofgentleresolve ♚ from x.

♔ ———–

Once again he’s sitting on the floor, his back pressed to the couch and his hand still holding the neck of a half-empty bottle of Soju. It almost feels like déjà vu, akin to that day where he was sitting right on this spot, waiting for Patrick to come back from the bathroom. The difference is that this time, his dear friend is not the only one drenched in tipsiness but he, too, is drunk to the point of feeling a bit of dizziness swirling in his head.

How did he manage to get like this? Well, the conversation kept flowing and he never noticed the drinks continued to be poured down the glass until part of his speech became a little slurred. Then again, not noticing has become something common when it comes to spending time with his best friend --- Hyuk forgets everything else but the fact that Patrick is there, with him. Why would he focus in the quantity of distilled spirit, when he rather remember the number of times Patrick laughed?

So now he’s here, under the roof of a familiar place, away from the table and stuck to the ground. His eyes close for a second, free hand pressed to his forehead as something similar to a grumble escapes his alcohol-stained lips. One eye opens when he starts to hear the sound of something hitting another something, head tilting to find Patrick clumsily walking and a bag with art supplies (that Hyuk bought recently) toppling over. He thinks he hears his dear friend apologizing (though he doesn’t know if the apology is aimed toward him or the bag); palm moving to be waved in dismissal.

“Leave it there, I’ll....I’ll pick--pick it up ‘morrow.”

Even in this hazy state, he doesn’t want Patrick to make any unnecessary efforts. Besides, what if he tries to pick up the brushes which rolled out of the bag and ends up hitting his head against something? No, no; it’s best like this.

“It’s fine. Could...you...come sit down, here, here---”

And he pats the space next to him; leaving the bottle of Soju somewhere away from his grasp so both of his hands can lazily land on his lap. Seconds later and he’s hearing more stumbling; torpid sight following Patrick’s silhouette making it to where he is. The signs of his dear friend being inebriated are present: red-flushed cheeks, rolled up sleeves; dopey (but vastly endearing) grin...and words that Hyuk can’t fully understand at first, but that must be because the detective is also under the influence.

“What? Y’want me...to hold somethin’?”

He repeats in the shape of a question, Patrick’s sluggish nod confirming Hyuk’s ears didn’t fully fail him. The detective’s hand stretches out, palm up and ready to receive anything his best friend wants him to hold. He doesn’t even hesitate, just accepts his request without even asking him what, exactly, wishes for him to temporarily have.

A plop is heard and the warmth of his friend is felt, meaning that he’s finally sitting nearby. Soon enough, weight is added to Hyuk’s waiting hand; head turning to see what it is. He blinks and frowns. That’s...Patrick’s hand, and he doesn’t feel an item or anything between their hands now clasped together.

Wait. Wait. It takes him longer to connect the dots when drunk. Curse him for being a lightweight.

“This is what y’wanted me to ‘old?”

And he lifts their intertwined hands --- funnily enough, Hyuk doesn’t let go. Not even for a second. A vague nod comes from his friend, along with the sudden planting of a kiss on Hyuk’s cheek. It’s not long enough before pink begins to bloom on his skin, along with a muzzy smile. Does this mean...Patrick is also prone to flirt when drunk? That’s something Hyuk didn’t know about...not like this, at least; a brand new door unlocked due to the stages they’re moving through.

Because, at this point, it’d be insanely silly to say they’re just friends, right? They can deny it all they want, but their hearts would challenge them, wouldn’t they?

Hyuk’s smile widens. He likes this. Likes that he’s getting to know more about another side of Patrick, likes that these lines and actions are aimed to him; likes that he gets to have this moment with his best friend --- likes him, Patrick, more than words can express.

“Okay. I’m taking good care of it.”

He tells Patrick, looking at him and that kind face which tends to send odd sensations (they’re called butterflies, but he’s too rusty to recognize that) to his stomach.

Eyes dance over dear friend’s features; drunken stupor adding a boldness to let his sight freeze on the shape of his best friend’s lips. There they are again, the thoughts, the what if’s, the undisclosed wishes. But instead of letting them win whilst drunk, Hyuk ends up allowing his head to fall on Patrick’s shoulder; temple comfortably pressed there.

His thumb, it begins to draw soft circles on Patrick’s hand; eyes dropping to catch the view of their hands holding each other. It does feel like déjà vu.

Except, except. There is no thoughts of ‘I should let go’. No, in fact, he squeezes his dear friend’s hand. In fact, he decides to twist their arms a little so Patrick’s fist is facing him. And when this happens, he brings the professor’s knuckles to his lips and kisses them. Presses a hearty kiss there, between bones.

“I’m taking good care of it.”

He repeats, his eyes slowly closing; sleepiness somehow kicking in. It’s this peace, he knows. The peace he feels when Patrick’s near --- he’s the one who calms his raging waters; the sea that constantly threatens to lift high waves.

“Good care...of...you. I promise.”

———– ♔

#ofgentleresolve #♔ || interaction (patrick).#♔ || verse three.#♔ || the puzzle of our friendship is the most comforting (patrick).#EXCUSE ME AS I WEEP OVER THESE TWO OMGIWUEDHKASHIWEUDHAKSHDUWEHD #I FINALLY FOUND THE ENERGY AND TIME TO WRITE IF ONLY FOR A FEW MINUTES AND I COULDN'T HELP BUT JUMP ON THIS IN A HEARTBEAT #I'M NOT EVEN QUEUEING THIS I'M JUST GONNA POST IT PLEASE #FERRE HAVE I TOLD YOU HOW MUCH I ADORE THEM AND EVERYTHING THEY ARE #HAVE I TOLD YOU HOW MUCH I ADORE YOU AND HOW THANKFUL I AM OF ALL THE DYNAMICS WE HAVE TOGETHER #HAVE I TOLD YOU!!!!!! HOW I'M CRYIN' AND SOBBIN' AND IWUEHDKASHDIWUHED #oK SORRY I'M JUST A MESS WIUEHKASDHUWIEDHIWEHD #LOOK AT PATRICK BEING SMOOTH EVEN WHEN BEING DRUNK #I also remember that you told me that Patrick is a little bit...flirtatious? When he's tipsy/drunk? So I mentioned that in my reply #I HOPE IT'S OKAY #AND I HOPE??? EVERYTHING I WROTE IS OKAY BUT IF YOU'D LIKE ME TO CHANGE ANYTHING PLS LET ME KNOW #Look at my son --- is it obvious he's all heart eyes over his best friend --- LMAO WIEUDHASJDHWIUEDH #I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WELL FERRE AND THAT!! EVERYTHING'S GOING WELL ON YOUR TRIP <3 #PLS TAKE CARE AND HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY ;W;

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flightofaqrow · 1 year

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kuro

bird!qrow + Clover ( @courtclover )

“I’m taking you out! You’re being naughty!” Clover raises his voice over the crow’s squawking as he walks down the hallway and there’s definitely a few glances and stares from those they pass by. Clover rushes a little faster.

oh! oh! Clover doesn’t want eyes on him for once? really? that’s fine, that’s fine. qrow can be the show off tonight.

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kisses? m-mwaaah!

When Clover said he wanted kisses, he didn’t mean kisses from a big black pointy beak. Ah well, beggars can’t be choosers.

“Don’t play cute now. You know you’re in trouble.” Clover chuckles, trying to be firm with the friendly crow who keeps stealing shiny objects out of Clover’s office.

“You’re being naughty! I’m taking you out.”

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“whaAAT,” comes the caw of a nearly-shunned crow, dropping a fancy twisted metal fishing lure from his beak, as if he’s innocent of all wrongdoing, and offended at any implication otherwise.

“why,” he trills, obligingly steps talons onto Clover’s arm, but as just such is explained and they start moving back into the sterile halls of atlas academy, his feathers start fluffing and he squawks more aggressively, “wot dOOiNG?”

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“Yes you are! You’re being so naughty!” Clover takes the bird to his private quarters. There is less of a chance of anyone stepping into here than in Clover’s office. Clover hasn’t a clue how he would explain himself. The crow just showed up one day trying to steal Clover’s lures.

“There, see this is more fun for a troublemaker like you. Look, here, you can have this.” Clover offers the bird a place to roost and offers a shiny coin as well. Another one of Clover’s lucky charms, but one he wouldn’t mind parting with.

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oh! oh! Clover doesn’t want eyes on him for once? really? that’s fine, that’s fine. qrow can be the show off tonight.

“aahhhAaaAhhHHaa!!” he cackles in the tune of some manic 8-bit video game character as they move faster and he feels the flow of air in his feathers, fluffing and making even more silly cawing noises. while his birdbrain very much keeps control, some part in the back of his human brain also finds amusement at Clover calling him naughty.

especially when they get to his room.

qrow hops onto the raised edge of a dresser, resettles his wings and scrapes his beak on the nearest metal surface, acting disinterested, only out of spite for being removed from his original target, even if beady red eyes glint at new shinies. he flicks his head this way and that before peering at the man again, caw, caw, “hiiii!”

(surely, this is how this magic is intended to be used.)

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“Brothers, you’re such a troublemaker.”

Clover shakes his head, but he’s smiling. He leaves the coin nearby on the dresser, just in case the bird changes their mind later. The crow begins to caw at Clover and there Clover’s smile softens. He’s never had a pet before, never had the chance to care for something. It feels nice.

No. What is he thinking? Clover can’t keep a wild bird in the operative barracks. Even if the crow is cute trying to steal all of Clover’s special fishing lures. For now, Clover will try to keep the bird out of trouble and figure out where he belongs. Bring the bird home.

“Hiii~” Clover responds back to the crow. “What doing?”

The AceOp leader chuckles as he mimics the crow.

“No, seriously, what are you doing? Why do you want my fishing lures for? Crows don’t eat fish, do they?”

Oh great, there he goes speaking to a bird like it’s capable of understanding.

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the crow clicks and rattles contentedly, not contending the accusation in the slightest.

he cranes his neck to preen the top of his wings just so, pleased to stand in the beaming rays of Clover’s smile, pleased he can have an effect on someone so easily for once.

he’ll forgive him for trying to trade prime metal scrap for a good luck coin that will do him no good. especially when he mimics qrow, then, and it’s adorable. his head flicks back in the man’s direction. he blinks as he stands still and listens.

“wat dooing!!” he repeats.

his vocabulary is too limited to give a true answer, which of course is off limits for totally blowing the secret anyway. but in some gremlin vaguery, he lifts a leg and flexes his talons. the ones that wish they were holding a fishing lure. for crafting into something else.

“yeah!” he also adds, in response to all the questions.

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Clover laughs when the bird repeats the same sentence over again. It’s capable of mimicking all kinds of human speech, but the bird prefers asking that one question for some reason. What doing? The crow must have picked it up somewhere. It’s cute.

Clover extends a finger slowly, wanting to pet the crow’s head, but he stops when the bird motions with its talons. Clover doesn’t understand this behavior and he thinks the bird is stretching. The AceOp then notices there isn’t a band of some kind above the crow’s digits. The bird must be wild, but how is that possible? Crows aren’t native to Solitas.

“Well, that settles it then.” Clover decides he’ll give the bird what it wants and maybe having a pet wouldn’t be so bad.

“I should give you a name, huh?” Clover moves to another part of his room and there he searches for the long since forgotten fishing equipment he keeps stored in a closet. He has a box of fishing lures for the crow and he shakes it, trying to entice the crow’s curiosity.

“How about Kuro? For the color of your feathers.“

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qrow’s pushing his limits, his luck, with this disguise he knows, but he hasn’t had such fun in ages. at least, not sober. Clover looking confused is not an image either of his brains will lose anytime soon.

he’s almost tempted to step forward, to encourage what looked like a primed and ready scritchin’ finger, but then that hand moves to grab something even better.

the bird hops; back and forth in place it bounces on both feet, seeing some glint and glimmer even through the plastic baitbox.

happy trills sing in its throat until Clover mentions a name that sounds like a distorted version of his own already, and he can similarly place the inflection of it as more Mistrali. How does Clover know this?

acting as a wild bird, he cannot approve nor disapprove of what anyone cares to call him. he has had many names in his feathered lifetime.

he looks up to open his neck, tries to imitate the sound, but all that comes out is a crackling attempt at “Kh” - a clipped, gargled sound that gets struck in his bobbing throat, kind of like a fish choking on air. he would have to practice to train his chords any further for that one…

“…kh-kh… k…isses?” his voice lands on something more familiar. it’s a failed attempt at communication, but the mischief still directed at Clover from red eyes don’t seem to mind.

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Clover opens the tackle box and he stops, blinking with surprise as the crow attempts to repeat the name. What a clever little bird! It struggles with the sound and doesn’t execute it well with its limited range of vocals, but it still shocks Clover with how the bird is clearly trying.

Perhaps, with a bit of repetition, Clover can teach the crow to say it.

“Hey, good job! You deserve kisses for trying, Kuro.” Clover chuckles and he isn’t scared to lean his head down to kiss such a long beak.

“Mwaaaa~” He mimics the bird again, pulling his head back up swiftly. That’s exactly how the crow gives kisses. Clover wonders where the crow picked that up from. Who else isn’t scared of kissing crows?

“Here, take your pick.” Clover then offers the open tackle box and watches the bird a moment, thinking to himself how he will care for such a small and wild animal. Clover can’t keep it in his room for long. He’s sure the wild and nosy bird would make a mess or hurt itself somehow trying to get out. Clover can’t cage it either.

Mindlessly, Clover takes his finger and gently rubs the top of the crow’s head before a soft smile blooms on his face. Clover doesn’t know what he’s going to do, but he’ll make it up as he goes.

“You know, I have a friend who is named after you. Even his last name has something to do with crows.”

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if Clover thinks it’s cute how qrow tries to mimic him, it’s about ten times sillier to watch Clover mimic his trilling bird voice. he gets a kiss. kisses!! affection freely received and freely given, more types of freedom so much more easily found in his feathers.

he hates to admit how much he enjoys it.

the crow whistles happily and brings his head back at what would be a breakneck angle for a bigger being.

excited wings flap and feathers fluff when presented with his pick of treasures! oh, he recognizes some of these shapes from long gone days, and then some far beyond basic. the human in him appreciates the craft and the wild in him appreciates tools of survival. his head tilts all ways to capture the full picture of the choices spread before him!

his beak pecks at a few, and his talons curl to dig around others and he continues his “k” sounds at hearing the name again.

he absolutely makes a right mess, he has to put on a presentation of feral disorganization after all… any lures with too many dangly bits or big plastic pieces, or absurdly bright colors, he pulls out and scatters aside.

he pauses in his search only to allow those fingers to caress across his forehead, and his eyes close and open slowly in appeased response. the careful, respectful touch makes him feel warmer than it should in any form, but thankfully the only color he wears right now is black, and he’s entirely safe in anonymity to experience whatever emotions and sensations he likes.

he picks a simple steel twist with an opalescent scale-ish sheen, maybe even a bit bulkier than the one he’d tried to steal. “yeah!” he calls triumphantly.

Clover’s last statement hits too close to home, and it could make him laugh if it didn’t scare him, make him feel a slight twinge of guilt in his gizzard. he shouldn’t let him dwell on the idea for too long.

so he ignores it, pretending not to follow that string of language at all. he tosses the lure in his beak, glee lacing some chittering caws while he fidgets and flaps around, focusing all of his attention on the new “toy,” …and sending a few others flying off to the floor in his revelry.

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Clover watches the crow in its mirth and he doesn’t feel any disappointment or annoyance in the mess it’s making; instead, he raises a curious eyebrow and lets a few chuckles escape him. Clover doesn’t know a thing about crows or how to care for them, but it’s not something he can’t handle.

“Hey, careful. You can hurt yourself with some of the metal ones.”

Clover begins to pick up after the bird and once he has a few lures in his hands, he stops to look them over. It’s been a while since Clover had a day for himself and fling a real fishing line into open waters.

He misses a time when he didn’t have so much weight on his shoulders, a time where a hobby wouldn’t feel so selfish to indulge in. However, that time has come to pass and Clover returns the old lures to the box.

“Here, look, you might like this one, Kuro.” Clover finds a green plastic lure in the shape of a worm inside the box and he takes it out for the crow to see.

“Not like the one you gave me, but here.” Clover offers the crow the fake worm. The bird can have this one. Clover doesn’t need the lures anyway.

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deep, emphatic squawks yell from qrow’s throat as he shuffles through carelessly with practiced beak and practiced claws. metal does not scare him. he is a master of steel.

maybe part of qrow’s curse is sucking those around him into the same over-indulgence he once partook in. maybe some of this chaos is him letting a little out. he doesn’t think of this nor realize what goes on in Clover’s mind.

these are things that just happen around him. a spy who leads people to the truth. a crow who leads people to their own demise. a friend who wants to see Clover smile.

“wat wat?” he chirps and turns, more agreeable when given offerings, and drops the metal in his beak into a little pile he’s collecting of his favorites. he hops into the air and flaps his wings with some flair before gliding the short trek back across the table. he doesn’t land on the edge, but right on Clover’s wrist, pecking thoughtfully at the suggested lure in his palm.

he presses his beak to that wrist with smol kiskis noises once more, as if he remembers the prior trade and expresses gratitude, “yeah!”

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Clover softly chuckles and he smiles wide, charmed by the little bird’s adorable antics. He’s also amazed by Kuro’s speaking ability yet again and Clover wonders how such a wild bird picked up those words.

Maybe, Kuro had an owner once or maybe it has lingered too close to humans; either way, it’s incredible. This crow is incredible. Clover hopes he can one day introduce his new friend to his teammates or James and Winter. Why not? He’d love for Kuro to meet them too.

The crow gives Clover kisses again and Clover laughs out loud enjoyably. The bird’s naughty behavior from earlier is easily forgiven.

“You’re incredible, Kuro.” Clover admits his earlier thought and he lifts his arm to speak to the crow on its level.

“I’ll let you back in my office, but no more being naughty, okay?” Clover smiles at the bird.

“Kisses?” He asks the bird to promise.

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it is, very hard to stay mad at an adorable, innocent animal. qrow cannot get away with such things as a human, often. he can be more open and himself in so many ways with this freedom.

he can be closer. the warmth in Clover’s wrist matches his smile. he can bring others more things this way too.

he shouldn’t linger much longer. this form enjoys respectful, careful touch and treats and eyes that shine like seafoam sea glass of washed up wine bottles.

his wings flutter again, part innate response at the rush through his feathers at being lifted, part response to compliment and accusation, and part to shake off emotions that are too big for this body to understand.

“step up. step up!” he squawks, instinct setting off the familiar command that would typically place him on someone’s arm this way. …and a declaration of his intent.

he does not kiss. he does not promise. but he will try.

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Clover’s warm smile could melt the snowcaps of Solitas. Kuro is unbelievably adorable and the bird melts Clover’s trained heart with every flap of its black wings and its crow speech.

Clover imagines having a pet has its responsibilities, but this, caring for something so small, feels indescribable. It feels as if Clover isn’t alone anymore. Can a pet be family?

Kuro doesn’t make any promises as Clover askes, but the crow speaks new words and it takes Clover by surprise once again.

“Step up?” Clover repeats, amazed and chuckling. What a unique bird. He’ll give the crow under the beak finger scratches for that.

Clover then looks to the door of his room and realizes he should be returning to the duties he’s neglecting right about now. However, he doesn’t know whether to leave the crow here or take it back with him.

“I need to go back to work now, Kuro. Want to come along?” Clover asks, which is probably a bit difficult, but Clover also pats a spot on his bed.

“You can stay, if you want?”

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qrow stills to let the warmth of Clover’s dashing, heartfelt smile wash over him, to bask in the gentle stroke of knuckles and more touch, and his feathers flutter in ruffles from head to tail. still, still, it is too many feelings for a tiny bird body, and so

he hops, bounces on bird talons again with glee along the desk. it was admirable enough to watch how Clover cared for the kiddos, but to be the recipient of that tenderness heals and hurts him all at once. these are experiences he simply cannot have as a human. possibly, experiences neither of them could have in any other form.

“step up!” he trills softly as he steps right up onto Clover’s arm, his treasures forgotten by his bird brain, forsaken for what’s in front of him now.

he must come with; he must leave. his only allowance in life is fleeting happiness. he will not stay. he cannot stay.

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Soft, warm laughter spills from Clover at the sight of the bird’s little excited hops. It’s very adorable and it’s hard not to smile at such sweet enthusiasm. Clover almost doesn’t want to go back. He could spend all day playing with the crow and learning more about its brilliance.

Work could wait a little longer.

Clover lifts the crow higher and has more scritches to offer. With a finger, he rubs beneath the crow’s beak and moves down through soft feathers to pet at the bird’s chest. Clover repeats the motion, up and down the curve of its neck and there Clover notices the light red color of the bird’s beady eyes.

“Huh…” Clover sounds. He knows this color. He’s seen it before. How curious.

“Good boy.” Clover compliments the crow and he scritches at the top of its head. The thought of Qrow enters his mind and a soft, warm smile blooms on his face.

#* open and wide and forgiving like a hot meal after a cold night = courtclover *#* suddenly you're ripped into being alive = qrow + clover *#* you've earned it = vol 7 *#* unbirdened *#* how do you think legends and fairy tales get started? = thread archive *#i'm cryin #this thread is a blessing #i don't often get to do serious stuff with birbform

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