Chapter Text
You can see the red strings tying people together by their pinkies
At first, you see it on your parents, but they’re not tied to each other, just the remnants of short string tied to their fingers, the connection frayed and short. Going nowhere. You think it means they ended up with the wrong person, they chose each other over who they loved or maybe they loved each other once and the only thing keeping them together is simply an obligation to you, their children.
You once met a man with several ties around his fingers, but they’re black and burnt looking the ends also frayed. He unsettled you, his smile was creepy, predatory. You made sure to keep away from him and made sure your brother did too while he was in the house
You go to a play with your family, sit next to your brother and watch awestruck as a connection forms before your eyes. It starts so faintly, glowing light pink that it looks like a trick of the eyes. As the play progresses the color gets brighter, a more brilliant red solidifying and painting the scene red. It tangles around the dancers as they move across the stage creating an intertangled web.
A boy comes to your class and plays guitar for all of you when he should be off doing something else. There are already several ties to him when he walks in the room. When he sits down and sings you see why. Your eyes meet, for maybe half a second, and brilliant red shoots from your own hand but then it’s gone in an instant. Fleeting, you’re half convinced you imagined it. You look around the room, embarrassed convinced that someone else will have seen it. As usual, it seems you are the only one who sees them.
High school feels like life and death, you notice the red strings all around you. Fleeting, going off in multiple directions tying half the student population together. It makes you feel all the more alone. But there’s a girl in your physical education class who notices you masochistically picking at the scabs on your knees. You see the concern there but she doesn’t voice it, but she starts to sit next to you as you wait to be let into the gym. Not offering much more than silent companionship. It’s all you can manage.
You go hard during games and you can see the amusement it brings her. It makes you feel something again, maybe pride or competitiveness. You wear your bruises like a badge of honor. Evidence that you’re alive, evidence of how much you can take. Sometimes in the right lighting out of the corner of your eye, you feel like you see a faint pink connection between the two of you as you persistently make attempts to steal the ball from her. But if you try and look at it directly it’s nowhere to be found.
It’s one of the only things that keeps you going that year.
You’re on a school trip when you notice a food truck with stands in front of it. It’s too early to be open, you’re up late with another bout of insomnia. There’s a red string connecting you to someone you have to keep reminding yourself is a friend. Friend friend friend. You keep on repeat like a mantra in the back of your mind. But with each passing day, the string gets brighter and more brilliant. You don’t want to drive him away so you don’t bring it up. Inside your chest is this aching yearning every time you think of him.
You keep hoping you’ll wake up one day and the string tying you to him will be gone. You don’t know how you’d feel if that actually happened. You don’t know what the string means in terms of connection. You don’t know if it can be formed if it’s a one-sided thing. Frankly, you aren’t sure if you do want to know or if you’d want anything to come of it. You’re a coward, you have trust issues. You don’t think you can trust him with your heart.
The man who serves you is tied to the cook in the truck, he’s an older heavy guy with a beard. He watches you pull out what measly cash you have and holds up a hand and tells you it’s on the house. Suddenly feeling over emotional you’re fighting back tears as you stumble through thanking him. He shakes his head, tells you it’s nothing, and sets about helping his wife.
You watch the connection between them, swaying like seaweed drifting in water. It moves as they move, slow and graceful like it’s dancing. It’s bright like neon, lighting up the inside of the truck. When he turns to you with your food in his hand he follows your eyes to the space between them.
He tilts his head curiously before handing the greasy, delightful-smelling food off to you. “You can see them too can’t you?”
You blink at him, so surprised you nearly drop your food. He chuckles at you as you fumble with it, stuttering again through a question, what does he mean? He couldn’t possibly mean what you think he does. Your whole life no one else has seemed to see what you see. You tried explaining it before and no one but your younger brother has ever believed you.
The man holds up his pinky finger, the glowing red string tied securely around it. “Curious, isn’t it? I see you have one too,” self consciously you hide the hand that ties you to Cam behind your back. Something like understanding crosses the man’s face.
“This food truck is like that string around your finger, not everyone can see it. But it still exists. There are more people like us, who can see things other people don’t. My wife can see the dead." he says casually, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at his wife behind him that's... more than you think you can process right now.
When you return to the bus you see your cousin awake too, you think he might be crying. You sit across from him, still dumbfounded
“Do you ever wish-“ he cuts himself off, eyes peering into yours over his knees. “Do you ever wish you’d been born as someone else?”
Yes. Yes, that one was easy, numbly you nod at him. He holds his hand out and you take it, offering comfort. Your cousin’s hand is untethered, has been his whole life. You feel his loneliness. You’ve been there, sometimes you still are despite the red sting lighting up the space you’re in.
It almost hurts the reminder.
“Do you think-“ your cousin starts, you can see the fear in your cousin's eyes, afraid to continue to speak. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze, and he continues. “do you think you cou- could call me Lauren?”
It’s a surprise, but you can see the pain he.. she’s? in so you give her a smile. “Alright, Lauren.”
She starts crying again but these tears are different and you offer her companionship, like the girl from your PE class. It isn’t much, just sitting together but it’s enough.
One day Lauren shows up in a dress, she looks comfortable in it and happy. You think, maybe if Lauren can be honest about herself you can too.
You follow the string with your eyes, from your hand to the one beside you. It looks unassuming, drifting peacefully between the two of you. You used to stare at it wishing it away when it was still pink and faint.
“What are you looking at?” Cam asks, a little amused, a little concerned. Silently you close the distance between your hands, slipping your hand into his. The string ties around your hands lazily winding up your wrists tying you together more and more. Cam accepts your hand without comment just peering down at them as well.
His hand squeezes yours. You’re not brave by any means, but this is a good first step.