Work Text:
The door to the bar kept swinging open and slamming shut. Qrow never turned to see who was coming in or who was leaving. What did it matter? It wasn’t who he wanted it to be.
Qrow had long become immune to the burn of alcohol, but there was a different pain alive in his throat. A pain that was coming from the deepest recesses of his chest. He felt as though his heart had a long fissure down the middle—the structure of it compromised. Crumbling. Ripping apart. The pain of that destruction so rattling that he could feel it in his throat, in his gut, in his fingertips, in his temples. It was all-consuming.
The bartender tried to get Qrow’s attention, but his vision was obscured. It was like he was looking through a kaleidoscope but instead of vivid colors and sharp shapes—he saw dusty bottles, the bartender’s scowling lips, and fuzzy tv screens with football games on. Qrow shoved his knuckles in his eyes and pressed until all he saw was white light and dark spots.
“Hey! Scruffy, I’m talking to you,” the bartender pressed.
Qrow let his hands fall from his face.
“Scruffy?”
“I’m cutting you off. You look like you’re one small breeze from tipping over and never getting back up.”
“Who gave you the right to tell me when I can stop drinking?”
“My ABC license and my paycheck. So enjoy that last glass because you’re done after that.”
Qrow growled. He looked down into what was apparently his last glass of whiskey. The amber liquid was still in his glass. His reflection peered back at him—all jagged edges, greying facial hair, and dark circles. He looked as pitiful as he felt.
No wonder Oz left, he thought.
He shook his head. He can’t think about this. It’ll only land him somewhere collapsed in a dark alley with rats nibbling at his shoes.
Qrow looked at the clock. 12:45.
Well, he may as well make his drink last.
***
Oz paced his living room floor. The cramped apartment he had quickly moved into following his silent departure from the home he’d known for years seemed to taunt him. It was so small and yet it was so empty.
The home he had known before—it was full. Of stuff. Too much stuff. Of love. And eventually, of pain.
Oz hadn’t wanted to leave. He would have rather held on to Qrow for the rest of his life, begging him over and over to seek out help, crying silently when Qrow would fall asleep, never admitting the toll it was taking on him. If it meant that he would still be with Qrow, he would have rather done that.
But eventually Oz had to realize he wasn’t still with Qrow. Not the Qrow he wanted to be with. His Qrow had started to deteriorate two years ago. When Summer died. When Raven disappeared. The weight of his grief and regret wore on him until all he could do was drink and mope and hate himself. Oz tried to help. He gave up his own mental stability to be whatever Qrow needed him to be. He would let Qrow throw him on the bed when the pain became too much, and he just needed to feel something else. He would clutch him so tightly his skin would tear, and he’d wake up the next morning with raised red scratches, dark purple bruises, and aching muscles. He let Qrow cry into his shoulder from the moment he came home in the evening until the sun began to rise on the horizon. He let Qrow scream at him—having nowhere else to direct his anger except maybe the Gods themselves. He let Qrow disappear for nights at a time without asking questions. Oz knew he hadn’t been doing anything but searching for answers or wallowing in a shitty motel room by himself. Even after all the pain Qrow had started to cause Oz, he would never have been unfaithful. But that wasn’t enough.
One night, while Qrow was out drinking, Oz packed up his clothes and some other essentials and left. He didn’t even leave a note. Nothing he possibly could have written down on a piece of paper was going to capture the things he wished he could say.
Now Oz was standing in his vacant living room, walking back and forth because the idea of sitting still made his skin crawl. It would have been their anniversary today. If he sat down, he would feel his absence. And feeling his absence every night in his too small bed was hard enough. He couldn’t bear to feel him right now. Just nonchalantly sitting on the musty loveseat with him, smirking at him in that way that drove Oz crazy, his hand resting on Oz’s thigh.
He missed those small intimacies. He craved the times when Qrow would creep up behind him and wrap his arms around his waist, his warmth enveloping Oz. He craved the times when Qrow would come into the study late at night to see Oz asleep at his desk and drape a blanket around him. He craved Qrow’s soft snoring. The simple bliss of walking down the street holding someone’s hand. The feel of Qrow’s tongue licking the froth from his hot chocolate off Oz’s lips. The sound of Qrow’s bare feet padding down the hallway when he’d finally wake up late on Saturday afternoons. He craved waking up to see Qrow’s face.
But now when he woke up, he was seized by false hope. It was like he had forgotten the past few months. Before he opened his eyes, he could still swear he’d wake back up in their home, see the back of Qrow’s head, hear his soft sleepy sounds.
Then he’d open his eyes.
And all at once, that hope was yanked out from under him—sending him spiraling into a pit of heartache and loss and stomach-twisting fear of not knowing where Qrow is now.
He looked at the clock on his microwave.
12:50.
His feet finally stopped.
***
Qrow let the last of the whiskey trickle into his mouth. At this point, he was so drunk that he barely even tasted it. He knows he sat the glass down, but he doesn’t remember doing it. He hears the bartender scoff.
“Alright, buddy. Buzz off.”
“Why don’t you buzz off?”
“Are you always this insufferable?”
Qrow’s mouth twitched. He hears the question in his head again, but this time in a much different voice.
A familiar one.
He heard it a few more times. Each time the visual becoming more and more clear.
Oz asking him that when he was being particularly mopey about some event they were at, Qrow saying “yes, but normally you’re too into me to notice,” and Oz rolling his eyes, cracking a smile, and gasping when Qrow grabbed his collar and kissed him.
That had been their first kiss.
Qrow shook his head.
He grabbed his coat from off the back of his chair, slung it over his shoulder, and wobbled out of the bar.
The chilly night air immediately began to bite at Qrow’s alcohol warmed cheeks. It was early Spring, but the wind was fierce. Qrow welcomed the relief. He sucked in a long breath, relishing in the way it felt in his lungs.
Qrow tried to get his bearings but he tripped over his own feet.
“Watch it!”
Somebody shoved past Qrow, sending him wobbling yet again.
Shit, he was drunker than he thought.
Maybe it was the mix of the booze and his heartache, but he felt like he couldn’t see anything more than a few inches in front of him. He desperately tried to find somewhere to collect himself. He walked briskly by the darkened shop fronts, avoided the few people who were still out only barely, and fought to keep himself upright.
Shit, shit, shit, he thought.
Qrow wasn’t even sure how far away he was from the bar before he finally gave up and leaned against the cold brick of some nondescript building.
He has no idea what possessed him to pull out his phone, click that number, and press call. He has no idea why even after he realized what he had done, he didn’t end the call. He didn’t want him to answer. If he answered, that meant that he’d have to hear his voice. He’d have to say something. He’d have to explain himself.
And say what?
I’m drunk and I need you.
No, I don’t need you because I’m drunk. I always need you. I’m just drunk enough to say it to you.
The time on his phone read 1:15.
Maybe Oz was asleep. Maybe Qrow would be forced to listen to the sound of the phone ringing, ringing, ringing, until finally he’d hear the beginning of Oz’s voicemail and he’d come to his senses and hang up. Maybe Oz would wake up in the morning, convince himself it was a simple buttdial, and delete the notification—going on about his day without thinking about Qrow.
But Qrow knew better.
Even if he never answered this call, Oz would wonder why he had called until eventually he’d call Qrow back and Qrow would be forced to either apologize or never man up.
Man up, Qrow.
The ringing never came.
Instead, Qrow was met with the unmistakable yet bewildering sound of the busy signal.
***
Oz never had the heart to delete Qrow’s number. It wasn’t that he felt like he needed to, and it definitely wasn’t that he wanted to, but he knew it probably would have been a safer option. Still, he never had the nerve.
He stared at that number now. Those ten digits. Separately, they meant nothing. But together and in that particular order, it became something of a ritual. One that for so many nights, Oz would perform. They used to talk on the phone every night for hours. Sometimes those conversations left no gaps. They barely had chances to take breaths between all the things they had to say. Other nights, there were long but comfortable silences. They didn’t have much to say but the knowledge that the other was there was enough sometimes. Oz would do his homework or even read just listening to Qrow breathe or mumble.
He pressed the number.
He did it so quickly he didn’t have time to talk himself out of it. He was so lonely. The kind of lonely that ate away at him, taking fragments of him every day that he spent away from Qrow. It was like a chasm that had opened in his chest, growing bigger and bigger every time he dared remember Qrow. It was warping inside itself, swirling and sucking until Oz was just a hollow suit of skin for his hurt.
And Gods, he needed Qrow.
He knew that needing someone—needing them like this was unhealthy. A person is not supposed to be essential for another person’s completion. But Qrow wasn’t essential in Oz’s completion. Oz existed before he met Qrow, and he would continue to exist if he never saw Qrow again. He has existed all this time away from him. It was that Qrow was essential in the version of contentedness that Oz saw for himself.
Oz didn’t need Qrow in his life to live, or even live happily. He knew eventually that the blackhole in his chest would swallow him completely and spit him back out. Raw, cracked, and somehow new. Missing Qrow would become more like a phantom limb. It wouldn’t be there all the time, but sometimes he’d still feel a shooting pain in the place where it had been. But he wanted Qrow in his life. He didn’t care how. They could be lovers or husbands or friends or people who sometimes spoke on the phone and never saw each other again in real life. He wanted to know that Qrow was going to get better. That he was going to process his grief. That he was not only going to face his demons but bottle them up and seal them away. They could still exist, but they wouldn’t have power over him anymore. That he was going to pour his last bottles of cheap booze down the drain and never touch it again. That was going to smile again.
No, Oz didn’t need Qrow in his life. He needed Qrow to live. That would be what brought Oz real peace.
And maybe that would start with this phone call.
But the only sound that came from the other end was the busy signal.
***
Qrow stared at the screen. He racked his brain for what this could mean. Was Oz calling him? Was Oz calling someone else? Was someone else trying to call him? Was his phone just fucking up at the perfect time, acting as divine intervention?
Qrow swallowed a lump he swore was in his throat, but his mouth was dry and the act left his throat aching.
He stared at the screen until it went black.
He stared at it until it lit up again—Oz’s number staring back at him.
***
Oz wasn’t sure what to think of the busy signal. Frankly, he didn’t care to let it eat at him.
He had to try again.
Even if Qrow didn’t answer. Even if Qrow never returned the call. Oz had somehow found the resolution to do this, and he wasn’t going to let this busy tone sway him.
Even if he was going to spill his guts out to Qrow’s answering machine—he was going to do this.
He waited for a moment, allowing enough time to pass that he shouldn’t hear that same tone, and he pressed call again.
***
“Hello?”
Qrow was surprised at how easily he got the word out. He felt like he was stuck in a dryer, spinning and crashing into cold hard metal over and over. Or maybe it was the world that was spinning. Either way, he could not move from the comfort of the brick wall.
“Qrow. Hi.”
The sound of Oz’s voice cut through him like a machete in the jungle. It wasn’t clean but it was effective. Qrow felt as if the axis on which he existed had shifted.
“Oz,”
Qrow wanted to say more but his tongue felt heavy. Words seemed to race around his brain and then die before he could get them out.
“Is it a bad time?”
“No, no. I’m just… a little dizzy.”
“Are you okay?”
“I feel like I can’t walk.”
Qrow hears it. The sigh. Oz had realized that Qrow was drunk and that sigh was everything Qrow remembered it to be. It still dug into his heart the way it used to.
“Qrow, I… I had hoped…”
“What had you hoped, Oz? That after you left me, I’d clean up my act? That’s pretty rich,” Qrow said. He hadn’t meant to sound so angry, but he suddenly was.
Oz had left him. Without a word, without a note. He just disappeared.
***
Oz squeezed the phone. He told himself not to take it personally. Qrow was drunk and it was late, and Oz had left him with no answers. Oz would be angry too.
“I always hope for you to get better, Qrow. But that wasn’t what I was going to say.”
The other man grumbled.
“Yeah? And what were you going to say?”
The words coming out of Qrow’s mouth were slurred but slow. Qrow was trying his best to actually have this conversation.
The next thing out of Oz’s mouth surprises them both.
“Did you just try to call me?”
***
Shit.
How did Oz know that? Is that why he had called him? Oz had said he was hoping something. Was he hoping Qrow had tried to call him?
Was he missing Qrow as much as he missed him?
“I… I don’t know what…”
“I tried calling you. All I got was the busy signal. I thought maybe—I apologize. You were probably calling someone else.”
“You were calling me?”
Qrow can hear Oz suck in a breath.
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“I was trying to call you. I’m drunk and I don’t know where I am, and I called you.”
Oz went to say something, but Qrow didn’t give him the chance.
“I’m drunk. I’m always drunk, I know. But I need you. I always need you. Do you know what day it is?”
“Yes, I—”
“Why did you leave, Oz? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to? We were happy.”
“We were… you think we were happy? Qrow, after Summer and Raven—”
“Don’t…”
“Qrow, I was miserable. I cried all the time. I couldn’t stand to see you circling the drain. I wanted to help you. I tried. But eventually, you stopped letting me even try. I had to go. I had to let you go.”
“After everything we’ve been through, you were able to leave just like that?”
“Just like that?! It killed me to go. I loved you, Qrow. I love you—”
Qrow couldn’t hear anything after that. Reality had shattered. He hadn’t heard those words in months, and it left him obliterated.
Qrow tried to stop the bile from coming up his throat, but his efforts were futile. He lurched forward, the contents of his stomach emptying out into the street.
“Qrow? Are you alright?”
Qrow wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand.
“I need you.”
“Stay there.”
***
Somehow, Qrow had managed to stumble through the process of sending Oz his location despite his inebriated state.
During the entire drive across town, Oz loudly reprimanded himself.
“What are you doing?”
“This was supposed to be one phone call. ONE PHONE CALL!”
“I was supposed to check on him. Tell him I’m sorry. Try my hardest not to cave and tell him I want to try again.”
“Gods, I didn’t even think he’d answer.”
“What am I doing?”
Oz found Qrow sitting on the ground, his back against the wall of an Italian place. He was staring up at the sky, a lost and wistful look on his face.
His face.
Oz hadn’t seen it for months.
Oz had to steel himself before he got out of the car. His fingers flexed around his steering wheel.
Qrow didn’t look away from the sky, even when Oz appeared in front of him and held out his hand.
“The sky… it never ends, does it?”
Oz let his own eyes travel upwards.
“No, it doesn’t.”
Qrow took a deep breath.
“It never ends,” Qrow repeated, this time softer.
Sparks of electricity danced on Oz’s tongue. He knew Qrow was saying something else, but he wasn’t sure what. He did know that he wanted to hear it.
“Come on, Qrow. Let’s go for a walk.”
Qrow finally looked at Oz. The wistful look in his eyes changed. He no longer looked lost. His gaze, which had been glassy, was suddenly intense. Oz didn’t deserve that look anymore. That was a look for a lover. Oz might have squirmed, but he instead he forced himself to keep the eye contact.
Qrow’s hand slapped against Oz’s and an explosion went off in Oz’s body. Blinding light wrapped around him, red hot and warm. As Oz lifted Qrow off the ground, Qrow stumbled into his chest. At the point of contact, Oz closed his eyes. The smell of whiskey and vile hit his nose, but there was still the underlying scent of Qrow. The smell of sand against rough hands. The smell of the hot summer sun. The smell of rain as it falls from the gutters.
Oz forced himself to take a step back. He needed to put space between the two of them. He needed to feel the space because after all this time, having Qrow this close to him was dangerous. They had gone from months and miles of space to nearly none in just one hour.
All this time. Only a city apart.
Avoiding the places they went together.
Avoiding everywhere he thought he might see him.
And now, after one, no technically two, phone calls, here they were.
And Oz’s feelings hadn’t changed.
Qrow, apologetic, also took a step back.
“S-sorry…”
Oz shook his head.
“Let’s just go.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just follow me.”
The urge to keep Oz’s hand in Qrow’s, to walk down the street hand in hand like they used to, was largely present in Oz’s mind. But he fought it. Instead, he grabbed Qrow’s sleeve and walked him away from the pile of vomit and down the street.
***
Qrow let Oz lead him. Ever since he had let himself look at Oz, his sobering up process had accelerated. He thought that if ever saw Oz again, he’d need more alcohol than his body should be able to hold. But now that he was in this position, he wanted to be sober.
What once was just asphalt, streetlights, and nameless buildings to his drunk brain was becoming the city he knew again.
The laundromat.
His favorite place to get coffee.
One of the three pawn shops within walking distance.
With every step Qrow took, lumbering behind Oz, his senses came back to him. And they came back strong.
His vision was becoming sharper than it had been in months. Even in the 2 am moonlight drenched streets, Oz’s hair was a brilliant silver.
Qrow took a deep breath. This time, the way the air felt in his lungs was almost painful. It was as if he had only been taking half breaths since Oz had left, and now his chest wasn’t able to expand as much as he needed.
But he welcomed the pain.
“How are you feeling?” Oz asked. His voice was as dulcet as it always had been.
“Better.”
Oz simply hummed in response.
Qrow looked ahead of them and realized where they were. They were walking towards the park they used to sit in on bright Sunday mornings. Where Oz would read to him, his fingers brushing through Qrow’s hair. Where Qrow would make Oz laugh by shouting obscene things at the pigeons. Where they would share a soft pretzel and drink fresh lemonade.
Qrow felt himself waver. Oz looked over his shoulder to check on him.
Qrow offered him a lopsided smile. They were already here. There was no point in not seeing where this was going to end up.
***
They sat in the grass. It was cool and soft, freshly manicured but already sprouting some dandelions.
They sat facing each other, their legs crossed and inches apart. Oz rested his hands on his lap while Qrow raked his fingers through the grass. Oz could swear it was as if Qrow hadn’t felt grass in years.
“Why did you come find me?”
Qrow had finally asked the question that had been hanging in their air between them. Oz furrowed his brow as he thought of how he wanted to respond. He didn’t want to tell Qrow that he didn’t know why. He didn’t want to tell Qrow that he knew exactly why.
“You said you needed me. And I was worried about your state.”
“Hmm.”
Qrow wouldn’t look at Oz. He stared at his own hands as he moved them through the grass.
“Qrow?”
“Hmm?”
I think about you every day. I still fool myself into thinking you’re next to me in bed. When I hear birds in the distance, I always think about you and outlining the tattoo on your shoulder blade. I don’t drink hot chocolate anymore because it just feels wrong. Sometimes I call Tai and ask him if he’s seen you and how you are. I rip myself open with my fingernails when I find myself craving your touch. I tell myself that I’d rather hurt than go numb, but I dream about the day where I don’t feel like this anymore. I wish I hadn’t left, Qrow, but you gave me no choice. You weren’t going to stop destroying yourself and I couldn’t stand by and watch anymore. I couldn’t keep trying to bandage what you were ripping open and infecting. I loved you, Qrow. I still love you.
Oz took a long, staggering breath.
“I’m… not sorry I left.”
Qrow’s attention snapped towards Oz. He could see the break in Qrow’s eyes. It hurt to say, and it hurt to watch Qrow hear it, but he needed to say it. Qrow needed to hear it.
He needed to hear it all.
“Please, listen. I’m not sorry for leaving because if I had stayed, I was eventually going to be collateral damage to your undoing. You were going to die, and damn it I was going to die with you. I didn’t want that for us. For you. I thought if I left, I could heal, and it would maybe provide you with a wake-up call. I didn’t leave a note because that would mean I’d have to face what I was doing. If I had tried to tell you why I was doing it, I might have lost the nerve. I would have had to remind myself what you were going through and how much I loved you and it would have made me stay. And I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for not dealing with what leaving was going to mean. I should have told you as soon as it started to weigh on me,”
“I’m sorry for just becoming your emotional punching bag. I became passive because I thought that’s what you needed. I thought I was doing everything I could, but I wasn’t. I should have pushed you more. Not harder, but more. I shouldn’t have given up on you. I’m sorry.”
The break that Oz had seen in Qrow’s eyes shifted. His soul was piecing itself back together. Oz saw remnants of the old Qrow, his Qrow, in those red eyes. Oz’s apology had changed something within him. Like the words that he finally managed to string together was all Qrow needed to ground himself. The weight of Oz’s confession becoming Qrow’s center of gravity.
Oz waited, unmoving, for Qrow to say something. To move. To react.
Moments passed.
Qrow simply looked at Oz, and Oz simply looked at Qrow.
Finally, Qrow let out a broken sob. He crumpled into himself, his hands covering his face. Oz wanted to reach out, to hold him, but he forced himself not to.
The sound of Qrow’s guttural cries were clawing at his heart though. Oz had the feeling that Qrow hadn’t truly cried since before he moved out, and now that dam had broken. Every bad feeling Qrow had been suppressing came flooding out in those sobs. He choked in air, screamed, and clutched at his hair.
Oz couldn’t take it anymore. He lunged forward so quickly and with so much force that the two men fell back against the grass. Oz wrapped himself around Qrow, both of their sides pressing into the grass. Qrow’s body shook violently as he cried, but Oz held steady.
He didn’t realize he had started crying too until Qrow had exhausted his throat and his eyes.
They clung to each other. Qrow muttered apology after apology into Oz’s neck. His voice was weak and cracking, but he wouldn’t stop. Even when Oz had tried to shush him, he kept apologizing.
“I’m sorry, Oz. After what happened to Summer, after Raven left, I just… snapped. I pushed you away. I pushed Tai away. I thought that somehow… that would make things easier for everyone. You guys wouldn’t have to take care of me. But I was an idiot. I may have still been around, but I abandoned everyone—same as my sister. I looked for answers and comfort in the wrong places. I fucked up, Oz. And I can’t say I’m sorry enough. But I don’t want to keep going on like this. I don’t think I can. I need real help. I need to let myself grieve. I need to be there for Tai and my nieces. I need…”
Qrow trailed off, pushing away from Oz’s embrace to look up at his face.
Oz’s eyes caught his.
“I called you because I needed you too. I haven’t stopped,” Oz finally said.
Qrow’s mouth stretched into a smile bigger than Oz had seen in a long, long time.
***
Those words made Qrow feel invincible. Not the fake sort of bulletproof that alcohol often offered. Really, authentically, steadily invincible. Oz holding him and telling him that even after all this time, he hadn’t stopped needing him was like a suit of armor. And it was sterling silver, strong, and light. Qrow could ride it into the battle against his demons. He didn’t need to be alone to heal.
He knew that now.
It was okay to take Oz’s hand. To ask for help. To say sorry.
He didn’t have to take on the world alone and hate himself when he wasn’t able to.
He just had to try to get better.
No, he had to work and improve.
Really get better.
He used to think that was impossible. That he was doomed to drink himself to death, never having closure on his lost friend or runaway sister or with Oz. He saw it differently now.
The road ahead wasn’t going to be easy, but Oz was there. This time, they wouldn’t give up on each other. They’d heal together.
When the sun had started to come up on a new day, on what would have been their old anniversary and what will continue to serve as their anniversary, Qrow quietly asked Oz if he could kiss him.
“Well, I should think you better,” Oz said.
Qrow grabbed Oz’s face and their lips crashed together. Qrow held on to Oz’s hair, still slightly afraid that he was going to slip away if he didn’t.
***
“I’m not going anywhere, Qrow. Not this time,” Oz whispered against his lips.
Qrow smiled.
“Me neither.”