a/n: *cackling madly*

Qrow shifted his position on the couch, trying desperately to be comfortable in his inebriated state. His arm slid from his pounding head and slipped on the floor, toppling the empty bottles of alcohol scattered unceremoniously not too far from where he lay. The drunk huntsman groaned in frustration, the fuzziness he felt intensifying at the annoying clinks the bottles made.

God, he was wasted. He was so damned drunk, and he couldn't remember why.

He vaguely remembered the ache in his chest before he started chugging bottle after bottle. He might have cried and laughed at the same time somewhere in between. How pathetic.

Distantly, he recalled Russell griping about him retching his guts on the coffee table the first time he vomited. The second time he did, the boy had threatened to skewer his ass with his swords. The third time, he'd been splashed on the face by a glass of freezing water. By the fourth time he'd emptied his stomach, his head had been dunked in the toilet bowl. Qrow could still remember crawling in the shower and being forced to rinse himself by a stern faced little devil spawn while a dozen mundane blades circled his head. The jackass. He didn't even adjust the temperature of the water. Fucking asshole.

Was it morning already? It was still dark when his flask ran out of content, and then his secret stash followed. That must have been yesterday. No, that was the day before yesterday, yeah. He wasn't sure, though. He'd missed work for two days straight, or was it three? He couldn't tell anymore. Work, what was his work again? Fuck work. Working sucks.

Qrow tried to turn over on the cramped couch. He felt like his shoulder got twisted and his neck was fucking painful.

"Fuck," Qrow cursed sharply, his eyes heavily closed. "That damned brat..."

That fucking brat. This was all his fucking fault. Bastard.

Qrow had lost his bedroom when he and his charge fought. The little overpowered boy had made sure to defend his precious kitchen and the room he claimed, but directed the destruction towards Qrow's. The raven-haired Huntsman had been too angry to notice, and now he was paying for it. Russell was seriously piling up offenses against Qrow, and this one was at the top of the mountain; the most recent.

"I'm gonna boot his fucking ass one of these days," Qrow grumbled languidly.

Damn. Why was he wasted again? Qrow's alcohol tolerance was pretty fucking tough so he rarely ever got shit-faced drunk. It must be Russell's fault, too. That goddamned kid was more trouble than he's worth. Seriously, that brat must be the personification of his fucking Semblance.

Or is this how all parents feel?

He must have been doing an awesome job as a father if he's getting drunk because of that ungrateful brat.

Qrow's headache throbbed when a knock on the door echoed all over his skull.

Fuck. Go away...

Qrow grabbed the pillow bent on the couch's armrest and clapped it over his face. Russ must be doing something to make his life miserable again. Damned bastard. Where the fuck is he? Oh yeah, Russell still couldn't reach the knob yet. He'd have to stand on a stool. Qrow snickered to himself when he remembered that one time the boy had unlocked the door for him, and then he'd pushed it open, smacking the kid on the face and making him fall head first to the floor. Sometimes, his Semblance could be fucking hilarious. Now, if only the fucking thing could be controlled, or at least affected his charge more than him, his life could be a bit more worth living.

When another set of insistent knocks resounded inside the house and broke his musings, Qrow gingerly sat up and glared towards the general direction of the source. Who the fuck would come calling at such an ungodly hour?

What time is it, anyway? Qrow blinked, noting the darkness in the gaps of the patched up wall that led to his destroyed room. Night it is, then.

The drunk huntsman stumbled on his feet, his vision swimming. He lost his balance twice before he'd succeeded in grabbing the knob. Qrow shook his head when the person on the other side of the door knocked again.

"What the fuck do you want?" Qrow demanded in a slur once he'd swung the door open.

Half-lidded red eyes met silver ones.

Qrow stared at the figure in front of him.

She was exactly as he'd pictured her in his dreams; pure and ethereally beautiful. Her wide eyes were moist with uncertainty as she held his gaze, the iconic hooded coat she always wore flapping in the nonexistent wind. Her face was smudged with grime and dirt, her clothes appearing a little battle-worn. She looked like she just came back from a mission.

This must be a dream. After what Russ had done, imposing his selfish feelings to this amazingly beautiful woman so suddenly, he had resigned to himself that they would surely never talk to each other again.

If he'd already lost her, then what's this? A ghost, a figment of his imagination? It must be one of those gossamer in white that taunts and disappears with the merest touch. Disappointment plummeted in his gut.

"Qrow," her melodious voice sounded real. The drunken man smiled fondly when she fidgeted, leaning on the door frame as he memorized every detail of her. "I, I... I forgot my key. I mean the spare key you gave me, so I'm sorry if I disturbed you. Are you sleeping still? Well, obviously, I think. I just want to talk to you, and I, well I-you, I mean..."

Qrow watched as a blush of embarrassment blossomed on her face. In his alcohol addled mind, he had reached out a hand to touch her cheek, and she'd looked up at him with tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. Qrow thought she was really, really beautiful. He wondered what would it feel like if he'd kissed her.

The drunkard smiled serenely.

She's not real anyway...

When Qrow woke up the next morning, it was to the cluttering noise from the kitchen and the usual headache that came with excessively drinking. Half-asleep as he was, he dismissed the irritating noise as his asshole for a charge beginning his everyday routine in earnest. The huntsman ignored it in favor of trying to go back to sleep, but when he snuggled on his couch, his chin brushed onto soft hairs. Qrow tensed, his eyes snapping wide open when he realized that he was holding a body trapped between himself and the couch's backrest. Numbly, he felt something else in his anatomy waking up when the soft breathing on his shoulder shifted to his neck, a nose nuzzling his bobbing Adam's apple.

Qrow's eyes widened further at the sight of the red-streaked black head jutting from the white cloth that measly covered their naked bodies. Summer's legs were tangled with his own underneath what now seemed to be her cloak, one of her petite hands skimming up his abdomen gently and fisting on his chest in her sleep.

What the actual fuck?

Russell walked inside the living room with a smug smirk plastered on his annoying little face, absolutely unperturbed by the scene of his guardian and his honorary aunt practically naked on the living room couch. He held a glass water on one stubby hand and a tablet on the other, which he both set on the coffee table. Qrow absentmindedly observed that the whole living room had been set into rights; the bottles of alcohol were nowhere to be seen and the coffee table and floor were wiped clean. Heck, even their discarded clothes were folded neatly.

"Nes' time, be mow quiet, wi'you? (Next time, be more quiet, will you)" Russell told Qrow shrewdly.

The raven-haired huntsman watched as the boy walked back to the kitchen, mind-blown. He couldn't decide whether he should feel grateful or abashed.

a/n: I'll be back later... Next chapter would be a nine year timeskip.