Cutting Ties
It never takes long for Qrow to find his rhythm with new clients. There is a pattern, after all; once the initial introductions are finished, all that remains is to figure out what makes them tick. His goal is not friendship, nor even camaraderie, although they will never realize that. It is naught but closeness, the act of growing so emotionally intimate with another than their red string may materialize, so that this little piece of their soul would grow distinct and open and vulnerable around Qrow.
It is for that reason that Qrow believes he should be far more lauded than he is. He's the best actor, after all; he can pretend that he is invested in a million and one things which mean less to him than a fly on the wall, remembering the tiniest details and regurgitating them at exactly the right time. He has played the role of countless people, filling in the gaps in his clients' lives which they never knew they wanted, creating the safe space for their strings to finally appear.
This is his calling, without a doubt.
And yet, with Clover Ebi… it is different.
The first evening they spend together in that bar, Qrow finds that for the first time in years, he loses track of time with his client. No longer are his words calculated, nor are his expressions guarded, playacted. No, Qrow finds that he is genuine with the younger man, laughing and teasing and growing genuinely engaged with his story. Clover is unlike the simpering fools who tend to use his services, as well as the rare clients too heartbroken to be truly engaged as people beyond their shattered shells and their betrayal. Instead, the green-eyed man is vibrant in a way Qrow cannot explain; he speaks with vigour and charm, confidence and wit enough to match Qrow's own, leaving their conversations more like inquiries, debates, full-on spectacles of words flying between them as they each try and find chinks in each other's armour. It's a jarring thing, to be sure; finding how halfway through his third drink that he is completely at ease with the younger, enraptured as Clover shares exactly how his last investigation went, is not exactly how he had expected to spend his evening with his new client.
He even finds himself speaking of his own personal life; he does not mention their names, but Ruby and Yang's antics are brought up more than once to justify Qrow's constant fatigue, and Clover seems just as amused by Qrow's nieces' antics as Qrow is with Clover's coworkers. It feels… natural. Right.
He messages James about it. His old colleague merely replies, "Clover's a good guy. I can imagine you two becoming good friends."
For once, Qrow has to say that he agrees with James. He doubts materializing Clover's string shall take more than a month; any longer, and something will have gone wrong.
That, or Clover is secretly an axe murderer who is stellar at hiding his true intent. Either way, Qrow is going to end up with an adventure to break up the monotony of his usual clientele, so he shall take it.
And so, their semi-weekly meet-ups begin. The moment Qrow realizes that Clover is just as relaxed as he is, he ditches the fancier locale in favour of a small dive bar in the dingier corner of the city. Crow Bar always has the cheapest food and the best deals on pitchers, and as Clover clinks glasses with him during their first visit there, it is clear that Qrow has made the right choice.
It is during their third visit, a full week since their first meeting, that Qrow realizes with a sickening wave of nausea what this feeling truly is; after all, seeing a crisp, handsome visage step through the front door of the bar, the bell clanging above his head in welcome, should not bring Qrow as much excited, anticipatory joy as it does. And yet, there truly is no other way to describe what is happening, for his heart glows in response to Clover's voice ringing through the air in greeting.
"You mentioned freedom," Qrow murmurs during their fourth meetup, playing with the umbrella on his drink idly. The margaritas they have bought for fun are surprisingly delicious, and nothing is quite as funny that day as seeing Clover leave his sunglasses on in jest so they can pretend they are on an exotic vacation and not in the downtown back alleys of Vale; he sips his again and adds, "Tell me more."
Clover shrugs, an easygoing smile on his lips as he leans his head onto his hand, watching Qrow with a simple smile. "I mean, what's there to say?" he chuckles, musical voice thoughtful, curious. "I don't know how else to put it. I've seen soulmates go terribly wrong time and time again- whether it's from people falling in love with the wrong person, or from soulmates growing toxic, or from people turning away happiness for fear of losing out a chance on 'perfection'." His expression grows sour as he speaks, bitterness evident in every word. "It's so rare to find someone who can actually see the string of fate- I can understand why you keep your little business under wraps-" Qrow raises his glass in cheers to that, for Qrow has no desire to be put into the spotlight for fear of losing his anonymity, "-so people instead tend to go too far."
"They suffer for it," Qrow agrees, watching ice crystals melt somberly, condensation rolling down the side of his glass.
Clover hums, nodding wearily, the world's weight upon his shoulders. "Not to mention the amount of deluded people who think they've found their soulmate, only to actually be trapped in the world's worst relationships."
Qrow sighs, nodding. He has seen far too many people with abusive lovers thanks to his powers. The idea of a soulmate is indeed tantalizing, but the power of the red string… He shuddered just thinking about what it has made people do, what it has given people the power to do.
After all, claiming someone is one's soulmate is an easy way to gain control over their lives. It is horrifying business.
Harbinger thrums, vibrating with an energy so desperate to be released as he thinks of this. That is why Harbinger exists- to destroy those decrepit bonds, to find the truth.
To his surprise, Clover continues- in the exact opposite way Qrow could have expected. "Besides," the younger man adds, reaching over to place a hand over top of Qrow's ringed fingers, expression heating up behind his cool façade, "without a soulmate, I could do this without fear of betraying anyone."
His breath caught in his throat. Swallowing dryly, he raised a brow. "I don't play with clients."
"I'm not looking to play, Qrow."
"I doubt it."
"Fine." Squeezing his fingers gently, Clover finally lets go, grabbing his drink and taking another sip. "No worries. I'm a patient man- I'll just wait until we're no longer in a business relationship."
The frankness of those words stuns Qrow. When was the last time someone had hit on him?
And, more importantly, when was the last time Qrow had liked it?
He does not remember. He does, however, find himself eagerly awaiting the day Clover's hand begins to glow, the faint, shimmering strand upon his little finger solidifying for Qrow's awaiting blade.
Yet, that glimmer of doubt still lingers on. "You don't realize just how crushing it can be," he murmurs. "Cutting away the string means cutting away a part of oneself. I do need you to be really sure you want to do it, Clover. This isn't a game."
Somberly, Clover nods. "I know, and I'm quite certain about it."
"Even though you'll likely need some support afterwards?"
The younger shrugs, broad shoulders straining against the fabric of his denim jacket perfectly. "I mean," he murmurs, leaning his elbows onto the countertop, "a little bit of pain for an overall better quality of life. Less worry, less anxiety."
"More regret."
"Perhaps." The confident grin sent his way makes Qrow's heart flutter, much to his chagrin. "But I'm a grown man. I'm sure I'll figure it out- it won't be the first time I've regretted a big decision. I doubt it'll be the last."
Qrow can only raise his glass, for he recognizes that sentiment far too well. His worry still remains, after all; he knows firsthand how painful it is to lose one's soulmate, and has inflicted that same pain onto others time and time again. Those strings, while rarely reconnected to others based on the whims of fate, usually withered away, leaving a part of the soul empty.
He does not wish this same fate onto Clover. He does not deserve it.
And yet, the heat in Clover's eyes, his touch, when they clasped hands before parting ways that fourth meeting eases some of his doubts. At the very least, he knows that after the string is cut, his bed will likely be warm for even just a little while. It shall be a nice change. He almost looks forward to it.