Cutting Ties
It happens on the sixth time they meet, the realization shifting his worldview completely, knocking his entire planet off-kilter, its axis interrupted irrevocably. There is no way to recover after this, no way to change the way his life has gone, no way to course-correct and refuse the offer from an old friend to introduce him to a new client.
He should've never met Clover Ebi. It's honestly too bad; Qrow was actually having fun while on contract for the first time in a long, long while.
It begins as an innocent question- one which he has answered time and time again. "Can you see your own soulmate thread?" Clover asks.
Qrow's mouth twitches. "I used to," he admits, feigning happiness after years of practice. He is no longer upset about cutting off his thread, after all. It has been far too many years to still hold bitterness within him in regards to the aching, unbearable emptiness he experienced in those dark days; those memories are just a bit older than his niece, however, and he does not regret how his life has panned out. There is no reason to look upon his decision with bitterness.
"What happened?" Clover's eyes are bright, inquisitive; Qrow has to bite back is laughter as he witnesses first-hand just how quickly the younger shifts from genuinely curious to looking at the situation through the lens of a reporter, his journalistic instinct kicking in, ready to interview this primary resource before it slips away. It is not every day that one can interrogate someone who has lost their soulmate thread, after all.
Rolling his eyes, Qrow leans his chin into his hand, looking over to Clover with a lazy smirk. "Nothing too big," he lies. "I just realized that I was happier alone."
He has long since learned to read Clover's expressions, and tonight is no different; he witnesses the way his brows furrow almost imperceptibly, doubt flitting through green for just a heartbeat before those drooping eyes crease amicably, matching the curve of thin lips forming a kind, knowing smile.
He believes absolutely none of what Qrow says, but Clover is right to doubt Qrow. Someone who makes their living seeing what no one else can holds too much power to ever be absolutely trusted. It is that distrust that makes Qrow feel so at ease with the younger, for he is not a fool, not a simpering idiot who shall trip over himself one day in the name of finding one's true love.
Still, it is clear that they are in a stalemate. Unless Clover pushes further, Qrow shall not share more details, and unless Qrow shares more, Clover's curiosity will never be appeased. It is a dance they have played on multiple occasions over the past weeks- Clover asking more about Qrow's personal life, Qrow asking more about Clover's past relationships which have led him to decide to cast off soulmates forever. Neither of them will budge, so they have no point but to concede and carry on, for there is no point in spoiling a perfectly genial evening in the name of stubbornness.
Their silent agreement to move on is always instantaneous, the air shifting that pleasant evening as Qrow feels a hand climb onto his knee, gentle, questioning. It makes no move to climb higher, to move further; it simply rests, showing off its presence, a large palm reassuringly gentle, teasingly inviting. Qrow raises a brow as he sips his gin. "You need something, boy scout?"
Clover shrugs nonchalantly, as if nothing has happened at all. "Just wanted to see what's going on."
"Eyes up here, buddy," he replies dryly, pointing to his face. However, he does not pull away, instead shifting closer to the other man by the bar. Clover's face melts happily at the movement, at the silent assurance that this is okay- that the moment their contract is finished, that hand shall be allowed to move further, that they will step forward eventually together.
Qrow places his glass back down upon his coaster with a wry smile, glancing down as he readies himself to divert attention away from himself and back to the younger; Clover had been in the middle of explaining the case he was investigating as of late and Qrow is far too engaged to allow the younger man's story to slip away from his attention.
As he looks down, however, his fingers pause as they push his hair out of his eyes, irises locking onto Clover's hand. The tiny band which has always shimmered faintly around Clover's little finger glows now, firm and pure and concrete, tangible- a deep, rich crimson which looks almost mahogany in the dim lights of this bar, contrasting perfectly against his tan skin.
His breath catches in his throat, his relaxed smile growing pointed, feral. Despite the doubt and the questions and the dance they continue doing around one another, avoiding missteps by simply letting things go, Clover has clearly given his heart up to Qrow, for his soulmate string has finally, properly materialized.
It's time.
A part of him pauses, however; there is always the desire to look, to see exactly to whom Clover's string is tied. It is easy enough to do, especially if they are in the area. Now that Clover's heart has opened up, following it shall be an easy task.
Gingerly, Qrow unfurls Harbingers with his left hand, moving underneath the counter by which he sits to lift up the thread using the flat of the spiritual blade. Clover watches him inquisitively, unsure of what is going on until Qrow's grin grows ever-wider; then, green opens up, his entire face alighting with wonder and joy and curiosity. "Can you see it?" he asks, holding his hand out towards Qrow, barely holding back his delight.
Qrow winks at the younger. "Good to see it only took you a few weeks to fall for me, shamrock."
The exasperated sigh leaves Clover's lips with no real malice behind it, so Qrow continues examining the string, carefully raising it to his eye level. It shimmers with an intensity that only belongs to those whose soulmate is nearby, he realizes; that is the only reason for which this cord is so bright its crimson sheen stains Harbinger's blade with its light. Clover's soulmate is incredibly close.
He swallows dryly. "Okay. One thing you need to know- your soulmate is actually very close by."
Clover pauses, doubt flickering across his features once again. "You- you can't be serious, right? What are the chances of that?"
Qrow shakes his head, expression growing somber. "Dead serious." He chews his lips for a moment, then sighs, standing up, waving the bartender over.
The younger stands as well, alarm clear as day upon his face. "What's wrong?"
"I'm not cutting it today," the elder replies simply with a shrug. "It's one thing to say you want to cut your string of fate when there's no way to locate your soulmate without a long journey; when they're this close to you, though?" He snorts, shaking his head again, the irony of it all filling his mouth with bitter regret. "I'm not going to cut it now when you actually have a really good chance." Before Clover can protest, however, he lifts up his hand and stops the younger. "I'll still cut it- we've signed a contract. If that's what you want, then that's fine. But plans have changed. You need some time to think on it. It's not exactly the same situation now that I know that they're nearby."
Something sours in Clover's eyes, his lids falling halfway, mouth twisting in a slight, yet clearly dissatisfied, frown. "I suppose you're the expert," he says quietly. "Alright. How long should I sit on this?"
Qrow tries to give the younger a sweet smile, for he is speaking out of the kindness of his heart; Clover does not respond, however. With a heavy sigh, Qrow taps his credit card onto the machine brought over by the bartender and punches in a tip, muttering, "If you can hold off for two weeks, then I'll cut it."
"See you in two weeks then." Clover does the same, smiling politely at the bartender once his transaction is finished. He holds out his hand to shake as he shifts his bag onto his shoulder, preparing to head out.
Qrow grabs it without hesitation, his gaze strong, true. "I'll send you a message," he says kindly. "Just think about it."
Don't go through what I did if you don't have to, you idiot.
Harbinger itches by his side- that thread is so clear, so fresh, so close- but Qrow stays his hand, looking back down at the thread tied upon Clover's finger-
Only for his heart to stop.
The world rushes to a halt. The noises of other patrons chattering gently in the background of the bar fades away. The lights seem to dim, leaving nothing but a spotlight shining furiously upon the two men, illuminated by the sheer irony of it all, the connection almost blinding in Qrow's eyes.
The string upon Clover's little finger, in all its dark, vermillion glory, is very short; it does not need to be long, does not need to zigzag across the floor like the strings of so many others within the establishment. This string has absolutely no distance to cover.
After all, the other end leads right back to Qrow's own hand- where there hadn't been thread before, there now lies a neat red bow connecting him and Clover together.
Qrow gulps, throat thick, words dying in his throat. Well, shit. This wasn't supposed to happen.