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When Shinji was little, the strings curled around his world. No matter where he looked, he could see a string; sometimes, it was just a red string swooping through the living room, tying two romantic soulmates together despite the distance. Sometimes, it was an orange string tied to the pinky of the woman on the bus in front of him. More rarely, he would see the occasional black string in the corner of his vision.
He didn’t really know what it meant, only that it was dull and lifeless compared to the sunset-rich shades of the other strings.
All he knew was that everyone had at least one string. Mama was only tied to Papa with a red string. But Papa was tied to Auntie Mika, his best friend, with a bright orange string. Colorful threads were promises. They meant love and happiness, friendship and commitment.
When he was twelve, he finally discovered what a black string meant.
He was in junior high, playing baseball with his team when one boy—the second baseman—stepped up to the plate at the top of the first inning. Shinji hadn’t noticed it during warm-ups, but the boy had a black thread tied around his bicep. When the bottom of the inning came around, Shinji saw that the black string connected the second baseman to the shortstop. Only, the black string wasn’t tied to the shortstop.
It hovered around the player like a gentle aura, coming close but never touching, staying near but never intruding. It was only when the shortstop came up to bat in the second inning that Shinji noticed he had a red string tied around his pinky; the black string had no place.
The other end of the red string took off somewhere east, but it was bright and thick. The shortstop had already met his soulmate and was probably in a relationship.
Shinji spoke to the second baseman after the game, coincidentally finding a time when neither of their teams were nearby. “I know this sounds really intrusive— but do you have a crush on your shortstop?”
The second baseman flushed red. He nearly dropped the crate of equipment he was carrying. “M-maybe? I don’t really know— he’s one of my best friends. But he has a girlfriend and they’re really happy together. I don’t want them to break up because of me.”
“Oh.”
The second baseman tipped his head down and signed deeply, sounding much older than his years.
That’s when Shinji knew. Love was red like Mama’s lipstick and ripe apples in the fall. Friendship was orange like the warmth of the sun, like the flowers lining Mrs. Suzuki’s fence. Unrequited love was black and soulless. Cold and unforgiving. A winter storm sweeping over the city in the night. A black thread meant you didn’t belong.
Now eighteen and swimming in a world of red and orange strings, Shinji wonders why his own thread isn’t black. He wonders why the universe had to promise him unconditional love and happiness in the form of cherry-red thread when he was destined to suffer. Black seems much more fitting for a life as desolate as his.
Mei likes coming back to visit.
Mei’s been with the Giants since he graduated high school, moving straight to the NPB and becoming one of their most reliable relief pitchers. Shinji, now a third-year and the ace of Inashiro as they prepared for Koshien, agreed to spend his time with Mei as often as possible, as he found comfort in his senpai’s presence. Mei often came by the school just to give some advice or hang out with the team on his free days.
“No offense, Shinji, but I can’t believe you’re still single,” Mei says in the bullpen one day during a free practice, right as they agreed to take a break. Their bullpen catchers have both left to grab a snack from the locker room, leaving Shinji and Mei all alone to their own devices.
Shinji nearly drops his water bottle, fumbling his grip a little. He hopes it wasn’t too noticeable, cringing as he takes a drink and composes himself. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, for one, you’re really loud but it shows that you’re passionate,” Mei shrugs, sitting down on one of the coolers. He tugs off his mitt and places it next to him. “You’re also the ace of a prestigious baseball team. You’re good looking, taller than most people, baseball training has given you a nice body—”
“Should I call Itsuki-senpai to let him know you’re going to be staying with me tonight?” Shinji teases, raising an eyebrow and fixing his cap.
Mei hisses and throws a balled-up paper cup at Shinji. The red string tied around his left pointer finger—the other end attached to Tadano Itsuki’s right pinky—twitches irritably, mirroring his emotions. “Stop changing the subject. No one spends three years playing baseball at the highest level and comes out a virgin unless they’re saving themselves for something. I mean— for God’s sake, you were the ace of Inashiro in high school. You went to Koshien three times. Your face has been plastered on the front pages of newspapers and magazines for an entire decade and you still turn away any person who would willingly spread their legs for you.”
“Okay, first of all, ew,” Shinji shakes his head, dispelling the image. He did not need to have a sex conversation with Mei. “And second of all, why do you care? What I do in my free time is none of your business, senpai.”
“You don’t like Tomobe?”
This time, Shinji really does drop his water bottle. It lands in the clay with a heavy thump but thankfully stays tightly shut.
What?
“Say that again.”
“You’re in love with Tomobe. You have been since your first year in high school. You think I haven’t noticed?”
“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, senpai.”
Because there was no way Mei understood; his soulmate was his battery partner, a teammate who he spent hours on end with. They were destined to be together and fell in love right from the very start. There was no way Mei understood the predicament Shinji was in.
“Don’t dismiss things because you’re scared to admit it.”
“And what would I do if I let myself accept it!?” Shinji bursts out, nearly in tears. “You know full well that Tomobe is in a relationship. I can’t just— who am I to break the two of them apart? I can’t be that selfish!”
“Yes you can!” Mei protests. “Be selfish! Fight for him! If you love him, then don’t just accept the fact that he can’t be yours.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
And he really didn’t.
You doesn’t understand, he wanted to scream. Your whole life, your whole relationship was handed to you on a silver platter, you don’t get it—
“Shinji.”
Shinji stares down at his left hand, at the thin red string tied around his wrist. The other end of the thread heads east, somewhere towards Yakushi wherever Tomobe is practicing with his team. The tiny red thread that had once connected them as partners—as soulmates—now only existed to accentuate the vast distance between them. Two aces of rival schools. Two strangers who were “destined” to be more, but never would be. Destiny is a funny thing.
“What were you staring at?”
“Hmm?” Shinji averts his eyes from tracing the string to return to Mei’s piercing blue eyes. “Nothing important.”
His string meant nothing if Tomobe didn’t love him back.
“Can you see them too?”
Shinji’s heart drops into his gut. Mei stands up, delicately crosses the distance between them. He reaches over and slides his fingers around Shinji’s left wrist; right above where his string is tied.
“Shinji,” Mei begins, gripping his wrist tightly, “you can’t give up on your soulmate. You can’t give up on Tomobe.”
But I already have, Shinji tugs his wrist away. He tries not to notice how vibrant Mei’s thread is compared to his own. How the red of his string seems to pulse with life, swaying gently with each of Mei’s sweeping movements. On the contrary, Shinji’s thread is dull, the red looking more like a graying maroon. The thread is painfully thin, too. Like it would be easily snapped with too hard a tug.
Mei can see the strings too. He must think Shinji is pitiful for not being worthy of his own damn soulmate.
Destiny is a funny thing. It makes promises and thinks people like Shinji won’t feel heartbroken when those promises aren’t fulfilled.
“You’re Tomobe Sakito, right? From Chounan Senior?”
“Yeah. You’re Akamatsu.”
“You recognize me?”
“You’re literally the tallest person in the Senior League right now, how could I not?”
Shinji pouted. If there was one thing he was self-conscious about, it was his height. And the fact that Tomobe brought it up in such a careless manner made him want to slouch.
The string connecting Shinji’s left wrist to Tomobe’s right twitched excitedly, sensing the close proximity. Or perhaps it was simply reacting to Shinji’s pounding heart. In any case, Shinji was just happy to be in the presence of his soulmate.
“Is that the only reason you recognize me?”
“No,” Tomobe shrugged, readjusting his duffel bag strap. “Minamisawa Senior is one of our biggest rivals and you’re the ace. Of course I know who you are, and of course you know who I am. Aces just know one another.”
That’s not the only reason, Shinji wants to say. It would be so easy to tell Tomobe what they are to one another. To describe the way the red string shimmers and dances with every tiny gesture Tomobe’s hand makes. To pull him into a hug and feel the bond strengthen and solidify into something tangible.
But that felt like cheating... didn’t Tomobe deserve the chance to fall in love with Shinji the normal way? Without feeling pressured to date him because they were soulmates? Didn’t Shinji at least owe that experience to his soulmate? He could wait a little longer.
Mind made up, Shinji pulls out his phone. He could wait a little longer. Maybe when they were in high school and already dating. He would come clean then. “Could I have your email address?”
Shinji doesn’t know why he tortures himself.
I have a date with Hikari again this weekend. Which jacket should I wear? [IMAGE1.png] [IMAGE2.png] [IMAGE3.png]
It’s always a date with Hikari. Seriously, does Yakushi never practice on the weekends or something? It seemed all Tomobe did was hang out with his girlfriend. Regardless, Shinji goes through all three images and types up an email in response.
You’re seriously coming to me for fashion advice again? Can’t you just ask your old senpais or something? Even underclassmen? It’s probably better if someone saw them in-person.
I could, but I’d rather ask you. Don’t tell Sanada-senpai, but I value your opinion more.
That’s not fair… Shinji laments to himself, throwing his phone across his bed and burying his face in his pillow. He takes a few moments to collect himself. Then, he reaches for his phone and responds once more.
Alright then. The second one. You look good in loose clothes.
:) thanks
Shinji doesn’t know why he tortures himself. Why he decided to wait. Why he let the love of his life walk away from him and into the arms of another person. It’s all his fault, of course. His stupid middle-school brain made the decision to wait.
He glances at the smiley face. At least Tomobe is happy. If Tomobe is happy, Shinji can live with the pain. If Tomobe is happy, maybe Shinji can be, too.
Shinji has been in high school for exactly two weeks and two days when he gets his first confession. It’s by a girl in his class, a petite little thing that has to tilt her head far up to meet Shinji’s eyes. She’s nervous and trembling and stutters when she speaks. Her red string, a delicate and pretty thing just like her, veers off somewhere high into the sky, eastward. Her soulmate is probably overseas, all the way in the Americas or maybe even somewhere beyond, like in Europe.
Shinji turns her down as nicely as he possibly can, speaking softly. He explains that there is someone else out there for her, someone who will love her like she deserves to be loved—her soulmate. But Shinji is not that person.
She apologizes and scurries away, head bowed down in shame. Shinji wonders when he will feel loved.
Confessions come with no shortage for people like Shinji: tall, handsome, athletic, a star player on the baseball team’s first-string. He turns them all down, however. All the girls who were urged on by their friends, the few brave boys willing to take a chance. None of them feel right.
None of them are Tomobe, a malicious little voice in the back of his head whispers.
The next confession comes just three days later, by a boy who sits in the seat next to Shinji. He’s nice, smart, and relatively good-looking, so Shinji agrees to hang out with him on a free day after class. Just a trip to the nearby convenience store to buy ice cream and talk a little.
The boy’s name is Honda Toshiya and he is on the tennis team. He has an orange string on his ankle tied to his best friend on the tennis team, and a black thread on his index finger. All that Shinji knows other than those small pieces of information is that he has a pretty smile, a beautiful laugh, and makes the ache in his chest ease up just the tiniest bit.
Toshiya asks Shinji out on another date, next Friday after practice.
Shinji accepts with a wide smile.
Do you remember that yellow t-shirt I always wore in middle school?
The ugly faded one? Yeah, of course I do. How could I forget that stupid shirt?
Shinji guffaws, shaking his head. After seeing the pictures, he burned the shirt and attempted to delete all the evidence of its existence. Of course, pictures always turned up and Tomobe always took the opportunity to tease him about it.
Ouch. Anyways, I have a green one in the same style. Should I wear it?
Are we talking about annoying radioactive green or like a nicer green. Because there’s a very big and very important difference between the two.
Here’s a picture, you tell me [IMAGE.png]
Hm… I think it should be fine. The color probably suits you. What’s the occasion?
I’m going on a date!
It takes Tomobe an agonizing twelve minutes to respond. And when he does, it is with only two words, packed with so much nuance:
A date?
Don’t act so surprised, asshole!! I can go on dates too!
With who?
A classmate. His name is Honda Toshiya.
Have fun.
I will.
Shinji wonders if it’s just him, or if Tomobe’s emails have gotten colder.
I need your help.
The email comes just after lunch one random Tuesday, and Shinji pulls out his phone around a bite of onigiri and a conversation with Toshiya. He apologizes to Toshiya with a sheepish smile and types out a response.
With what? More fashion advice?
No. Someone told me Hikari’s not my soulmate.
The breath catches in Shinji’s chest. What were the chances Tomobe would come across another seer while one a date with Hikari? And what were the chances they would mention the mismatched strings?
...oh yeah. Someone saw the two of you together? And saw your strings?
Yeah. I was wondering if you knew anyone who can see strings.
Should Shinji confess? Should he give up everything he’s been working towards for the past five years?
I can. I can see strings.
And you knew we weren’t soulmates? And you didn’t tell me earlier? I’ve been dating her for two years.
Soulmates don’t always work out. I thought you deserved the chance to find out if yours would or not. And besides, Hikari makes you happy.
Of course, Shinji knew that better than anyone else. Soulmates didn’t always work out. He was experiencing it firsthand.
So can you do it?
Shinji furrows his brow. He only has time for one more email before he has to put his phone away and start class.
Do what? You never told me what you needed help on.
Can you cut my string and tie it to Hikari’s?