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Yoshiki woke up to the bright sunlight peeking through the curtain of his window, the faint chatter of other villagers already making their way down the road outside. Mornings in the village were always the same: predictable, suffocating. Before he rolled out of bed, he already felt the weight of the day pressing down on his chest.
He dragged himself up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, sitting at the edge of his bed, and grabbed his phone. He could see his reflection from the screen—hair a mess, eyes still heavy with exhaustion, and those few moles on his face, scattered like faint constellations. He lifted a hand and traced them with the tip of his finger, specifically his pinky.
The older villagers often spoke of the Red thread of fate, an invisible string said to tie two people together, no matter the distance or time between them. It could stretch or tangle, but never break, always pulling soulmates back toward each other. To them, it was proof that some bonds were destined long before the two ever met.
Yoshiki despises the thread they talk about, not only because his fate for love has already been chosen by who knows what, but the villagers keep pestering him about it nonstop.
“Yoshiki, you’re not seeing anyone yet, are ya? You gotta wait for that red string.”
“You’re almost grown now, you should be looking for your soulmate. Maybe that girl down by the shrine?”
“Goin’ to Tokyo, huh? It must be because the red string leads you there, yeah? ”
He could still hear their voices nagging at him, seeping into him like smoke he couldn’t get rid of. Yoshiki exhaled sharply and reached for his uniform, tugging the shirt over his head, carefully wiping down the creases.
“What do they know?” he muttered under his breath while coming down to the entrance of his home. “It’s not like this place ever gave me a choice.”
He bent down to tie his shoes, his thoughts still circling the same sore spot. The soulmate thread. That ridiculous superstition—visible only to the one it belonged to, tying them forever to another person. He had never seen it. Never felt it.
For years, part of him almost wished he had never had a soulmate. Because what if the thread tied him to someone he couldn’t love? What if it tied him to someone he could never have?
He clenched his fists against his knees. The image of Hikaru—the real Hikaru, his best friend, the boy who used to walk beside him to school every morning—flickered in his mind like a ghost. And then, as always, that painful shift. Because Hikaru was gone, and what sat in his place wasn’t him.
Yoshiki swallowed hard, trying to shove the thought back down, when his eyes caught something strange.
A shimmer.
He froze, looking at his left hand. Around his pinky, faint as spider silk and glimmering in the morning light, stretched a thin red thread. It pulsed faintly, as if alive, and trailed away out the door, pulling toward something. Someone.
His chest went cold.
“…No way.” His voice cracked, mumbled in the quiet. “Why now?”
Yoshiki stared at it, his hand trembling, his pulse thundering in his ears. The village’s words clawed at him all over again, but heavier this time. The red thread. His soulmate. After all these years of being asked, of being cornered by expectations—now it had appeared.
But instead of relief, all he felt was dread. Because there was only one person this thread could be pointing to.
And it wasn’t the Hikaru he wanted.
He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, choking back the sudden heat that stung them. “Why does it have to be like this?” he mumbled. “Why can’t it just… why can’t it be him?”
“Yoshiki! Come on, let’s go already!” The boy outside shouted. He jolted, hearing that voice and quickly wiped the rest of his tears away before gently opening the door.
The morning air was cool, the kind of crisp that made Yoshiki’s lungs ache just a little as he stepped out of his house. Hikaru was already there, waiting like always, leaning casually against his bike with that irrepressible grin that never seemed to fade.
But today, Hikaru’s eyes weren’t on Yoshiki’s sleepy face—they were on the faint, crimson shimmer curling off Yoshiki’s pinky.
“Oi…” Hikaru’s voice was full of mischief. He held up his own hand, tugging at the string that bound them together. “What’s this thing? Looks like… a thread or... something?”
Yoshiki froze, blood running cold. His stomach dropped like a stone. ‘I really am bound to him…’ He silently thought to himself. “...Don’t pull on it,” Yoshiki muttered, eyes narrowing as he adjusted the strap of his schoolbag. He could feel Hikaru’s gaze on him, heavy, searching, the way it always did when Hikaru smelled weakness.
Hikaru’s lips curled into a grin, ignoring the warning entirely. “Why not? It’s attached to you, and it’s attached to me, too. It appeared when i was coming to your house too! ” He tugged again, playful, like a child testing the strength of a toy. “C’monnn, tell me what it is! Looks important.”
Yoshiki’s hands curled into fists at his sides. Why now? Why him? Out of everyone in the world… it had to be Hikaru. Or whatever he is. His chest tightened, a sharp ache crawling up his throat. He wanted to shove this Hikaru away, to pretend it wasn’t real, but the tug on his pinky burned with reality.
“…I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered, voice flat, and turned toward his bike. His fingers shook just faintly as they wrapped around the handlebars, gripping hard enough to make the metal creak.
“Don’t want to talk about it?” Hikaru echoed, as if the words were a puzzle he couldn’t fit together. He tilted his head, crimson eyes narrowing, but there was still that teasing lilt in his tone. “So it is something important, then. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be all stiff and serious.”
Yoshiki’s jaw tightened. ‘Why won’t he just drop it?’ He muttered to himself.
Hikaru stepped closer, tugging the string again with a soft hum. “Does it hurt you or something? No… doesn’t seem like it. Then maybe it’s good? Maybe it's—” “Stop,” Yoshiki snapped before Hikaru could finish. His voice cracked like brittle wood, sharp and raw.
For a second, the air between them went still. Hikaru blinked, surprise flickering in his expression. Then, slowly, that grin crept back in place—smaller this time, softer at the edges. “…You’re acting all weird about it, Yoshiki. You never get this worked up unless it really means something.”
It does mean something. It means everything. And that’s the problem.
Yoshiki turned away sharply, pushing his bike forward a few steps. “…We’ll be late,” he muttered. His chest was a storm, thoughts tangling and knotting around each other like the cursed thread at his finger.
Behind him, Hikaru let out a low chuckle. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know that? I’ll get the answer out of you sooner or later.” His footsteps followed, light and easy, as though the whole world was a game.
Yoshiki’s grip tightened until his knuckles ached. No. You won’t. Not this. You can’t. But the thread between them glowed faintly in the morning light, undeniable. And with every tug of Hikaru’s voice, Yoshiki felt it pulling tighter, no matter how badly he wanted to sever it.
He tried to focus on the gravel crunching under the tires, on the rustle of trees in the morning breeze—anything but the burn of Hikaru’s eyes on him. It had barely been 5 minutes before Hikaru decided to cut the awkward silence.
“So,” Hikaru started, voice deliberately casual, “you’re not gonna tell me what it is?”
Yoshiki’s jaw tightened. “No.”
Hikaru leaned forward on his handlebars, grin curling. “Then I’ll just keep guessing.”
“…Don’t.”
“Hmm, let’s see. Is it magic? Some kind of curse? Or—oh! Maybe it’s a locater thing!” Hikaru barked a laugh, tugging at the string again. “Wouldn’t that be funny? The thread is gonna lead me to you wherever you go?”
“Hikaru.” Yoshiki’s voice was sharp, but his ears burned red.
Undeterred, Hikaru hummed cheerfully, roughly tugging his pinky. “What else could it be…? A love charm? Or maybe it’s like..ehh nevermind, i aint intersted in superstitions-"
Yoshiki slammed his brakes, the bike skidding to a halt. His chest heaved with restrained anger as he swung his leg off and planted both feet on the ground. Hikaru nearly toppled trying to stop in time, his grin faltering as Yoshiki’s shadow fell across him.
“Enough,” Yoshiki bit out, eyes narrowing. “You want to know so badly? Fine.” His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms. The words tasted bitter on his tongue, heavy with dread. “It’s called the red thread of fate. The old villagers say it ties soulmates together. No matter how far apart they are, no matter what happens, the string never breaks. It means the two people are destined to… to be together.”
The silence that followed was unbearable. Yoshiki stared at the ground, refusing to see Hikaru’s reaction. There. I said it. Happy now?
Then, a low whistle. “…Soulmates, huh?” Hikaru said, his voice strangely thoughtful. When Yoshiki finally glanced up, Hikaru wasn’t mocking or sneering. His grin was there, yes, but it was softer, brighter somehow. “So you’re saying… we’re tied together. Me and you.” He wiggled his pinky, making the string shimmer. “Guess I hit the jackpot, then.”
Yoshiki’s throat constricted. No. You’re not supposed to be happy. You’re supposed to hate this. To hate me. Because I’m not—because you’re not—
“Hey, Yoshiki,” Hikaru’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, earnest now. “If we’re soulmates… shouldn’t we, y’know… try stuff that soulmates do? Like—” He hesitated, his grin tilting sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe go on a date or something?”
The world went quiet. Yoshiki’s pulse thundered in his ears. A date? With him? His mouth opened, but no words came out. Hikaru’s grin faltered when the silence stretched. His shoulders slumped, his hand falling back to his side. “…Sorry. That was stupid, huh? I shouldn’t—”
Yoshiki’s chest ached. The string pulsed between them like a heartbeat, tugging him forward. He swallowed hard, forcing the words past his dry throat. “...We can walk together tomorrow.”
Hikaru blinked. “Huh?”
“…That’s all i want us to do,” Yoshiki muttered, eyes fixed on his bike handles. His fingers were white-knuckled, as if clinging to something invisible. “Walking together. That’s all I can do.”
For a moment, Hikaru just stared at him, stunned. Then, slowly, a smile broke across his face—bright, unrestrained, brimming with warmth. “Walking together, huh? Lame but fine. I’ll take it.” He hopped back on his bike, pedaling ahead with renewed energy. “But someday, Yoshiki, I’m making you say yes to a real date. You can’t run forever.”
Yoshiki followed behind, the thread tugging gently at his pinky with each turn of the wheels. He wanted to scoff, to deny it—but the quiet curl of warmth in his chest betrayed him.
The last bell had rung hours ago, and the school halls were emptying fast, leaving only the echo of sneakers on polished floors. Yoshiki stayed behind in the classroom, methodically packing his bag, trying to make himself look busy while simultaneously avoiding the lingering feeling of that red thread still clinging to his pinky.
He rearranged his books, then his pens with unnecessary precision, and checked the alignment of his notebooks for the third time. His chest felt tight, a rhythm of unease he couldn’t shake. Just… hurry up and leave. Go home. Pretend today was normal.
A soft thump from behind made him flinch. His head snapped up,slightly turning his head behind his back and for a split second, his pulse jumped—not because anyone else was in the room, but because Hikaru had appeared as silently as a shadow, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy smile.
“You’re still here?” Yoshiki’s voice came out sharper than intended as he focused back to the bag infront of him, zipping it loudly. Hikaru tilted his head, stepping forward casually. “I thought I’d find you. You said you wanted to walk together today, right?”
Before Yoshiki could respond, Hikaru closed the distance in a heartbeat and, without warning, wrapped his arms around Yoshiki’s waist from behind.
Yoshiki yelped, flinching violently. “Hikaru! What—what are you doing?!”
Hikaru froze, then laughed softly, almost embarrassed. “I… thought I’d surprise you.”
Yoshiki spun around to face him and pushed him away, face red, eyes wide, heart hammering. “A surprise? People could see us like this! Do you even understand how that looks?!”
Hikaru’s grin faltered slightly, replaced by a pout that made him look impossibly like a dejected puppy. “I… I thought that’s what lovers do, right?”
The words hit Yoshiki like a stone. Lovers. Just thinking about it made his chest twist painfully. He wanted to shove Hikaru away, wanted to pretend this whole thing—the red thread, the soulmate bond, the fake date—wasn’t real. “I’m not your—don’t say things like that. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea!-
"-Just because we're soulmates it doesn't mean we're immediately lovers!”
Hikaru’s arms slackened when he heared Yoshiki's last words, his fingers brushing lightly against Yoshiki’s sides, and he tilted his head, voice soft now, almost fragile. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I just…”
Yoshiki opened his mouth to reply, but the words were trapped in his throat. There was always something in Hikaru’s tone that made it impossible for him to be angry, no matter how much he tried.
“I’m sorry, really. I just… I didn’t mean to scare you.” Hikaru’s lips pressed together in a thin line, as if he were holding back more apologies. “I won’t do it again. I promise.” Yoshiki’s fingers twitched. His mouth opened, then closed. His heart thudded too loudly. He wanted to scold him, to push him away, to—to run. But… something stopped him.
Hikaru’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a quiet sigh. “I just… thought maybe we could… spend time together. You don’t have to answer now. I just… wanted you to know.”
Yoshiki’s chest tightened, heat crawling up his neck. He had never seen Hikaru like this.
His old Hikaru was always confident, mischievous, and sometimes reckless.
But this Hikaru—always soft spoken, uncertain, almost fragile.
The thread connecting them shimmered faintly, tugging lightly, as if urging him to pay attention. Yoshiki’s hands curled into fists on the desk, and he swallowed hard.
“…If you don’t want to walk together tomorrow, that’s...that's fine,” Hikaru continued, voice barely above a whisper now. “It’s… my fault for… ruining everything. I shouldn’t have—”
He paused his words before turning around to leave, shoulders hunched slightly. Yoshiki’s chest tightened unbearably, and before he could think, his hand shot out. His fingers wrapped around Hikaru’s wrist, gripping it firmly but trembling. The thread pulsed between them, taut, as if acknowledging the contact.
Hikaru froze, a small gasp escaping him. He looked back, eyes wide, lips parted.
“…I… I don’t mind going,” Yoshiki mumbled, voice low, almost inaudible. His cheeks burned. “Walking together, That… date. Fine. I… don’t mind.”
For a moment, the classroom was silent, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights. Hikaru’s eyes lit up immediately, sparkling with a mix of disbelief and joy. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared, and then a grin spread across his face that was almost too big to contain.
“You… really mean it?” he breathed, voice trembling with excitement.
Yoshiki averted his gaze, heart hammering so loudly he was sure Hikaru could hear it. “…Yes. I… I said I don’t mind.”
Hikaru’s grin turned mischievous, playful again, though there was a softness underneath that almost made Yoshiki melt. “Then it’s settled!” he exclaimed, jumping slightly in place. “I… I’m going to enjoy this so much. You have no idea!”
Yoshiki’s stomach turned at the words, a mixture of dread, anticipation, and something that scared him: hope. He tugged lightly on his bag strap, suddenly aware of how exposed he felt, how fragile. Hikaru noticed and tilted his head, softening immediately. “Hey… I won’t push too much. We’ll go at your pace, okay? I… I just really want to spend time with you.”
Yoshiki’s lips pressed into a thin line. He wanted to say something, anything, but instead he just nodded, silently promising himself to hold his composure. Hikaru’s grin widened again, bright and unrestrained.
“Good! That’s settled then!” He released Yoshiki’s wrist, but only slightly, keeping his hand close enough that the thread pulsed warmly between them.
Yoshiki felt the thread tighten slightly, almost as if it were alive, almost as if it were encouraging him. He swallowed hard, heart still pounding. ‘This is insane. I shouldn’t feel like this. But I… I can’t hate him. I can’t.’ He silently thought to himself, Thoughts swarmed his mind like a tornado.
Hikaru’s voice broke the silence, soft and teasing, as if testing the waters. “So… do we set a time? After school tomorrow? Or… today, if you want?” Yoshiki’s throat went dry. He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, shaking his head slightly. “…Tomorrow,” he finally said, voice low, almost a whisper.
Hikaru’s grin lit up the entire classroom again, uncontainable. “Tomorrow it is! I… I can’t wait. I really can’t wait, Yoshiki!”
Yoshiki looked down at the thread connecting them, his chest tight. He wanted to protest, wanted to push Hikaru away, but… he didn’t. The thread shimmered softly, warm and insistent. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Yoshiki allowed himself a small, quiet thought: Maybe… maybe this isn’t entirely bad.
Hikaru, oblivious to the storm of emotion inside him, reached out and lightly tugged on the thread again, playful as ever. “See? The thread approves. We’re supposed to do this!”
Yoshiki felt the tug in his chest again, an involuntary, undeniable sensation. He looked up, meeting Hikaru’s sparkling gaze, and for the first time, he allowed himself the tiniest, most reluctant smile. “…Fine,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Hikaru. “Fine. But just… don’t get any ideas yet.”
Hikaru laughed, a bright and joyous sound echoing in the empty classroom. “Don’t worry! I won’t… too much. But maybe just a little?”
Yoshiki’s ears burned, and he looked away quickly. A little… a little is already too much, he thought, but he didn’t push Hikaru away. He couldn’t. They stayed like that for a moment, the quiet hum of the classroom around them, the red thread between them pulsing softly, tying them together in a bond neither fully understood yet.
As Hikaru let out a small, contented sigh, Yoshiki felt a strange warmth in his chest—a dangerous, forbidden kind of hope. He knew this was only the beginning. Tomorrow, the walk. Tomorrow, the date. And the thread… the thread would be there, guiding them, teasing them, insisting that this connection, however messy or complicated, was theirs.
Yoshiki swallowed hard, pressing a hand to his chest. I… I guess I can’t avoid it. Not anymore.
And Hikaru, smiling so brightly it hurt, tugged gently on the thread one last time before leaving the classroom, leaving Yoshiki with a pounding heart, a thread connecting them, and a quiet, reluctant anticipation he couldn’t name.
Yoshiki woke to the pale morning light spilling through the thin curtains, the quiet hum of the village outside still settling into the day. He let out a soft groan, stretching stiff arms, already dreading the awareness that today was… today. The walk—the “date” with Hikaru.
He sat on the edge of his bed, brushing a hand over his face as he did every morning, fingers lingering over his familiar moles. Don’t think too much of it, just get through it, he silently thought to himself, tugging on his uniform.
When he stepped out of his house, Hikaru was already there, leaning the gates of his home as though he’d been waiting forever. But today was different. Clutched in his hands was a small bouquet of sunflowers, tall and bright, their petals catching the early sunlight. Yoshiki froze in place. His chest tightened. Sunflowers? Why… why would he—?
Hikaru’s grin widened the moment hhe spotted him. “Good morning! Did you sleep well?” He stepped forward, holding the flowers toward Yoshiki like it were the most natural thing in the world. “I brought these just for you!”
Yoshiki’s cheeks burned. His hands twitched, unsure what to do, unsure if taking them would make this… look wrong. “I… I… thanks.” His voice was barely audible. He took the sunflowers with a quiet nod, letting his fingers brush the soft petals before quickly tucking them inside his bag, careful to hide them. ‘Can’t have anyone seeing this… they’ll get the wrong idea.’ He told himself.
Hikaru tilted his head, his grin softening with amusement. “You’re awfully stiff. Come on, it’s just us today. Relax!” Yoshiki could feel the thread tugging faintly between them, gentle yet insistent. He forced his eyes ahead, shoving down the fluster rising in his chest. ‘Relax… yes, sure. Easy to say when you’re smiling like that.’ He silently thought to himself.
For today only, classes wouldn’t begin until nine due to a school event, so the two of them chose to take their time, strolling side by side as the river sparkled at their flank. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fresh grass and the faint warmth of bread from a distant bakery. Hikaru bounced slightly with every step, practically vibrating with excitement.
“So… this is our walk,” Hikaru said, voice bright. “Feels kind of… official, doesn’t it? Like… a proper date. Can’t believe we’re doing this.” He glanced at Yoshiki, eyes sparkling, then grinned. “You’re walking awfully quietly. Nervous?”
Yoshiki’s ears burned. Nervous? Of course I’m nervous. It’s him. The string. The… sunflowers. Everything. He tightened his grip on his bag strap, keeping his gaze on the ground. “I’m… fine.” Hikaru hummed, clearly unconvinced, and a mischievous glint appeared in his eye. “You know… there’s something I wanted to ask you...”
Yoshiki kept walking, shoulders tense. “…Hm?”
Hikaru’s grin turned teasing. “Can I… hold your hand?”
Yoshiki’s heart lurched violently. His entire body stiffened, but his mouth stayed shut. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, and Hikaru tilted his head, waiting. “…Never mind,” Hikaru said finally, brushing it off with a small laugh. “Forget I asked.”
Yoshiki didn’t respond, still staring at the ground, flustered beyond measure. He could feel the thread pulsing faintly, teasing him, tugging lightly at his chest. I… can’t say it. Not here. Not like this.
Hikaru’s steps slowed, waiting for him. Yoshiki glanced around, ensuring no one was nearby. The river path was empty except for them, dappled sunlight glinting off the water. Heart still hammering, he finally—tentatively—extended his pinky.
Hikaru’s eyes widened for a moment before his own pinky intertwined with Yoshiki’s. The thread pulsed warmly, subtly glowing at the connection, and Hikaru let out a small, delighted laugh.
“I'm so happy Yoshiki...” Hikaru whispered, voice almost breathless. “I was worried you’d never…” He trailed off, cheeks tinged pink, a shy smile tugging at his lips.
Yoshiki felt the warmth in his chest grow, a mix of dread and joy that made it impossible to think straight. He avoided Hikaru’s gaze, scanning the river, the trees, anything but him, though he could feel the thread pulling them subtly closer. God, why does this feel… so nice? So wrong and yet… so nice.
Hikaru’s steps matched his now, careful not to pull, just holding the connection. “You know,” Hikaru said softly, almost like a whisper meant for himself, “I’ve been thinking about this thread a lot. About… us. And I can’t stop smiling. It’s… kind of magical, isn’t it?”
Yoshiki swallowed hard, fingers curling around Hikaru’s pinky. “It’s… just a thread.” His voice was low, hesitant. “It doesn’t… mean anything.” Hikaru tilted his head, playful and persistent. “Doesn’t mean anything? Come on, you don’t sound convinced. It’s glowing between us. That’s… pretty special, don’t you think?”
Yoshiki’s chest tightened, heat crawling up his neck. He wanted to argue, to push Hikaru away, to protest that this wasn’t right—but the tug of the thread, the warmth of Hikaru’s touch, the brightness in his eyes—it was impossible.
“…Maybe… maybe it’s special,” Yoshiki murmured quietly, almost inaudible. Hikaru’s eyes lit up immediately. “See! I knew it! I told you it was!” He gave a small, soft squeeze to Yoshiki’s pinky, careful not to be too forward, and Yoshiki’s stomach twisted at the contact.
They walked in silence for a while, the thread shimmering faintly, their steps synchronized. Yoshiki’s mind raced, heart hammering, fingers still linked with Hikaru’s. This is insane. I can’t… I can’t think straight. But… why does it feel… right?
Hikaru hummed happily beside him, cheeks flushed, clearly savoring the quiet intimacy. “We should… maybe do this more often. Just the two of us,” he said softly, not letting go, eyes on the river.
Yoshiki could barely respond, overwhelmed by the combination of sunlight, the thread, and Hikaru’s grin. He pressed his lips together, glancing at the ground, then finally—just a fraction—met Hikaru’s gaze. And Hikaru’s eyes sparkled back at him, warm and expectant.
“…Okay,” Yoshiki whispered, voice low, almost swallowed by the morning breeze. “Okay… more often.”
Hikaru’s grin widened impossibly, bright enough to light the river path. “Yes! I can’t wait, I'm so happy right now Yoshiki!”
Yoshiki’s ears burned, and he quickly looked away, though his fingers stayed locked with Hikaru’s. I… I can’t believe this… I can’t believe I’m letting this happen. But I… I don’t want to let go either. They continued walking side by side, pinkies linked, sunlight glinting off the thread, the river sparkling beside them, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Yoshiki allowed himself to breathe a little easier.
Hikaru’s soft laughter floated on the breeze. “You know… It’s kind of funny. I never thought a silly superstition like a thread could… make me this happy.” Yoshiki’s chest tightened, warmth flooding him despite himself. He wanted to scowl, wanted to scold, but instead he simply nodded, flustered, cheeks hot. 'Happy… I think so. But terrified, too.'
Hikaru leaned slightly closer, just enough for Yoshiki to feel the warmth, the quiet heartbeat beside him, and whispered with a grin, “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you today, okay? Just you and me.”
Yoshiki’s breath hitched. “…O-okay,” he mumbled, voice low, nearly swallowed by the morning air. The sunflowers, hidden carefully in his bag, seemed to glow in tandem with the red thread, as if even the flowers themselves approved of this fragile, tentative, flustered happiness.
The promise had been gnawing at Yoshiki all day. Not loudly, not like Hikaru’s chatter in class or the constant buzz of gossip in the hallways, but in a quiet way that sat heavy in his stomach, like the weight of an unopened letter. A “date.” That’s what Hikaru had called it, so casually, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. As if Yoshiki could just walk into something like that without feeling his chest seize up every five minutes.
Still… a promise was a promise.
The school bell finally rang, and Yoshiki found himself dragging his feet at the entrance gate, pretending to be focused on the ground while Hikaru bounded over like a dog who’d been waiting all day just for this moment. “There you are!” Hikaru grinned, that brightness in his face so blindingly familiar it hurt. “C’mon, let’s go before they sell out. I heard a new bakery just opened, remember? I heard they’ve got melon bread! ”
Yoshiki sighed, keeping his eyes down as he adjusted his strap. “…You’ve been talking about it since fourth period.” “Exactly!” Hikaru puffed his chest out as if that proved his point. “We can’t waste time, Yoshiki. The fate of good bread is at stake here.”
Yoshiki muttered something under his breath about “fate” being an annoying word, but Hikaru only laughed, tugging gently at his sleeve until Yoshiki started walking beside him.
The bakery was tucked on the corner of the shopping street, a small, sunlit place with wide windows where trays of golden bread gleamed like treasures. The air hit them the moment they opened the door—warm, sweet, rich with butter. Yoshiki’s stomach betrayed him with a low growl, and Hikaru immediately elbowed him with a grin.
“See? Even your body knows this was a good idea.”
Yoshiki shot him a look but said nothing, trailing behind as Hikaru darted from tray to tray like an overexcited child. He piled his tray high with melon bread, curry buns, and even a few delicate rolls dusted with powdered sugar. Yoshiki, after some hesitation, picked up a simple anpan and one soft milk bun.
“That’s it?” Hikaru peered over his shoulder. “Live a little, Yoshiki.”
“…I don’t like sweets.”
“Not even a little?” Hikaru pouted, though there was still a teasing glint in his eyes. “Man, and here I thought soulmates were supposed to share tastes.”
The word lodged itself in Yoshiki’s chest like a thorn. He looked away quickly, pretending to be absorbed in the price tags, but Hikaru only hummed, clearly not letting it bother him. They paid, collected their paper bags, and stepped back out into the afternoon.
The river glittered under the late-day sun as they walked, the water carrying flecks of gold with the current. Hikaru tore into his melon bread immediately, crumbs dusting his uniform jacket, while Yoshiki ate slowly, almost deliberately.
For a while, they didn’t talk. It was almost comfortable, the sound of the river, the crunch of bread, the faint chatter of cicadas rising in the background. Almost.
“Hey,” Hikaru said suddenly, mouth half-full, “this is nice, isn’t it?”
Yoshiki glanced at him. “…It’s just bread.”
“No, not that.” Hikaru waved his half-eaten bun like a conductor’s baton. “I mean us, Going on a date.”
Yoshiki stiffened, nearly choking on his bite of anpan. Heat crawled up his neck, and he quickly turned his gaze to the water. “…You shouldn’t say things like that so easily.”
“Why not? It’s true.” Hikaru’s grin was easy, careless, and yet his eyes were watching Yoshiki closely, searching for cracks in his composure. “Unless you hate it?”
The silence stretched too long. Yoshiki hated that Hikaru could always push him into these corners, hated how the string at his pinky seemed to tug harder whenever he tried to walk away. “…It’s fine,” he muttered at last. Hikaru’s grin softened. “Good. Then let’s keep going. I’ve got the perfect spot.”
They left the river path and cut through the back roads until the houses gave way to open fields. The grass stretched out in waves, stirred by the evening breeze, and at the far end of the field stood a massive oak tree, its branches sprawling wide like an umbrella.
“Here,” Hikaru said, jogging ahead, his bag of bread bouncing against his leg. “See? Told you it’d be perfect.”
Yoshiki followed more slowly, his steps cautious as if the ground might betray him. By the time he reached the tree, Hikaru had already dropped to the grass, leaning against the tree bark while patting the spot beside him.
“C'mon Yoshiki, Sit with me!”
“…I’m not a dog,” Yoshiki muttered, but he lowered himself anyway, tucking his knees up as he set his bread bag aside.
The sun was sinking low, painting the sky in layers of orange and rose. Shadows stretched long across the field, and the air had that cooling hush that came just before evening truly set in. The river catches the light like a ribbon of molten glass. Cicadas sang faintly in the grass.
Yoshiki sat stiff beside Hikaru, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs. For once, Hikaru wasn’t talking. His head was tilted toward the blazing horizon, lips curved into a quiet smile. His energy, normally relentless, felt softened by the glow of the fading sun.
“…Hey,” Hikaru said at last, voice low and warm.
Yoshiki glanced at him warily. “…What?”
Hikaru turned his head, catching Yoshiki’s gaze with that open, boyish brightness. “Thanks.” Yoshiki blinked, caught off guard. “…For what?”
“For this. For today. For… saying yes.” Hikaru chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck. “I know I pushed. I know you didn’t really want to at first. But… it made me happy. So… thanks.”
Yoshiki’s throat went dry. The words hung heavy in the air, embarrassingly earnest, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His instinct screamed at him to deflect, to roll his eyes and call Hikaru an idiot, but…
Instead, his body moved before his brain caught up. Slowly, carefully, Yoshiki leaned sideways until his head rested against Hikaru’s shoulder. He felt Hikaru jolt beneath him, stiff as a board. For a heartbeat, there was silence—only the rush of the river, the hum of cicadas, Yoshiki’s own hammering heart.
And then—
“Yoshiki!!”
Hikaru exploded, throwing his arms around him and tackling him onto the grass with all the force of a wild animal. Yoshiki let out a strangled yelp as his back hit the ground, his bag tumbling aside. “H-HIKARU!” Yoshiki’s voice cracked with panic, his face flaming red. “S-Stop—! Someone could—”
But Hikaru was already nuzzling against his neck, arms wrapped tight around his torso like he never intended to let go. “You—You leaned on me! Do you have any idea how cute that was?!” Yoshiki struggled, pushing at his shoulders with burning cheeks. “I-It wasn’t—! I just—! Idiot, let me go!”
“Nope!” Hikaru tightened his grip, burying his face against Yoshiki’s chest with a muffled laugh. “I'm so happy right now Yoshiki! Words can't describe how I feel right now, I really do love ya Yoshiki!” Hikaru’s joy spilled over into rambling laughter, and with it, his mask began to crack; one of his eyes started dripping. the black, shifting substance crawling up Yoshiki’s arms like a living shadow.
Yoshiki’s entire body burned. His ears rang with the imagined horror of someone walking past and seeing them tangled together on the riverbank. “S-Seriously—Hikaru—! Someone could—could see—!”
“Then let them see!” Hikaru shot back without hesitation, grinning up at him with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. “Let them know you belong to me!”
Yoshiki’s breath caught. His heart pounded so violently he thought it might tear through his ribs. “…I-I’m not—”
But the words refused to form, stuck somewhere between his throat and his racing pulse. And Hikaru, oblivious or uncaring, simply pressed closer, basking in Yoshiki’s warmth as if he belonged there.
The sunset deepened around them, shadows stretching long across the grass. The river whispered softly, indifferent to Yoshiki’s flustered protests, indifferent to how the red thread between them pulsed brighter than ever.
And though Yoshiki’s mind screamed this is insane, someone will see, this is dangerous, his body betrayed him. His hands, trembling, clutched the back of Hikaru’s shirt—not to push him away, but to steady himself against the overwhelming tide of Hikaru’s affection.
“…Idiot,” he whispered at last, cheeks burning hot. Letting his head rest against the soft grass under them Hikaru only laughed, holding him tighter, the happiest sound Yoshiki had ever heard.
The house was too quiet. Yoshiki noticed it the moment they stepped inside, Hikaru kicking off his shoes without a care, trailing after him like an overexcited shadow. The absence of Kaoru’s constant background presence, or his mother fussing in the kitchen, made every sound sharper—the soft thud of their footsteps, the creak of the floorboards, even the distant hum of cicadas outside.
Yoshiki carried the futon from the closet, setting it neatly on the tatami with practiced hands. “You’ll sleep here,” he said firmly, not looking at Hikaru. His voice sounded steadier than the frantic pounding in his chest. Hikaru crouched beside him, chin in his palm as he watched Yoshiki smooth the blanket. “Mm. That’s nice and all, but…”
Yoshiki’s hand froze mid-fold. “…But what?”
Hikaru’s grin curved slowly, mischievous, but beneath it, there was something fragile. “Wouldn’t it be warmer if I slept with you?” Yoshiki whipped his head around, eyes wide. “A-Are you out of your mind?!” His ears burned crimson, his voice cracking under the weight of his panic. “You can’t just—! That’s—!”
Hikaru laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean—it’s not that weird, right? Lovers do that kind of thing. Sharing a bed. Holding each other. Isn’t that… what we are?”
Yoshiki opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His face flamed hotter, words tangling in his throat until they strangled him into silence. He turned back to go to his bed, back against Hikaru, tucking the blanket with far too much force, his hands trembling.
The silence stretched. Hikaru’s grin faltered. “…Sorry,” he muttered softly, voice almost swallowed by the room as he crouched by the side of Yoshiki’s bed. His hand fidgeted against the cover. “I didn’t mean to push. I just thought—maybe you’d…” He trailed off, eyes flicking away. “…Forget it. I’ll sleep here.”
The words struck Yoshiki harder than he expected, guilt pooling in his chest. This Hikaru’s tone was hesitant, fragile. Afraid. So different from his old Hikaru. Yoshiki listened to the rustles of the blanket behind him, the faint red thread between their pinkies trembling faintly in the dim light. His heart twisted.
For a long, unbearable moment, he said nothing. And then—quietly, almost inaudibly—
“…Fine.”
Hikaru blinked, turning toward him. “…What?” Yoshiki’s face was turned away, his voice gruff, but his ears betrayed him with their furious blush. “…I said, fine. Just—don’t move too much.” For a beat, Hikaru just stared, wide-eyed. And then his expression broke into the brightest, most ridiculous grin Yoshiki had ever seen.
“YOSHIKI!” he practically shouted, tackling him with all the grace of a hurricane. Yoshiki stumbled, nearly hitting his head against the wall as Hikaru wrapped his arms around him. “Idiot—! Not now—!” Yoshiki hissed, flailing against him, but his own lips twitched with the faintest ghost of a smile.
Hikaru nuzzled against his shoulder, his laughter muffled but full of relief. “…You really love me. Ya really do.” Yoshiki sighed, exasperated, slightly shoving his entire body away from his so they still have space between them because of the heat from the weather, totally not for his own mentally. “…Just shut up and sleep already.”
Yoshiki lay rigid under the covers, staring at the wooden ceiling beams. Every muscle in his body screamed with tension. He’d agreed—why had he agreed?—to let Hikaru share his bed. It had barely been 10 minutes and he already started regretting his answer. The warmth pressed in from his right side where Hikaru had settled, close enough that Yoshiki could hear every breath, every subtle shift of fabric.
“…Yoshiki,” Hikaru whispered, voice low in the dark.
Yoshiki shut his eyes tighter. “What?”
A pause. Then, faintly teasing: “…You’re really stiff. Like… stiff as a log.”
“I-I’m fine,” Yoshiki muttered, but the lie was obvious. His pulse drummed so loud he wondered if Hikaru could hear it. Another pause. Then came the inevitable rustle of movement—the blanket rustled faintly as Hikaru scooted closer.
“Hikaru—!” Yoshiki hissed, snapping his eyes open. He turned his head just in time to see Hikaru’s grin in the dim light. “Don’t—don’t you dare—!”
“I’m not doing anything,” Hikaru said, inching even nearer, their shoulders brushing now. His voice softened, less playful, more tentative. “It’s just… you feel far away when you’re all tense like that.”
Yoshiki bit his lip, chest tightening. He wanted to snap back, to shove him away, but the look in Hikaru’s eyes froze him—the kind of open, fragile sincerity that left no room for mockery. The bed rustled again. Hikaru’s hand fumbled awkwardly under the blanket, brushing against Yoshiki’s. “Can I…?” he murmured.
Yoshiki could only stare at Hikaru helplessly, his body rigid as stone. The silence stretched unbearably long. He knew he should pull back, scold him, stop this before it went too far. But his fingers betrayed him—curling, hesitantly, until they laced with Hikaru’s.
“…Idiot,” Yoshiki whispered while tilting his head away to hide his burning face, voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the dark. Hikaru’s grin bloomed again, audible in the brightness of his voice. “I knew you’d say yes.”
Yoshiki rolled his eyes, but his face burned scarlet. He turned onto his side, finally giving in, letting Hikaru curl behind him. Hikaru pressed close without hesitation, tucking his forehead against Yoshiki’s shoulder, Hikaru's arms tightly wrapped around Yoshiki's waist, seemingly unwilling to let him go.
The room was quiet again—no cicadas, no chatter, just the steady rhythm of two heartbeats syncing in the dark. Yoshiki exhaled slowly, his body finally relaxing. It was terrifying. It was overwhelming. And yet, against all reason, it was… safe.
“…Just go to sleep already,” he mumbled into his pillow. But Hikaru’s laugh was soft, muffled against his shoulder. “Mm. Only if you stay right here.” Yoshiki tightened his grip on Hikaru’s hand, saying nothing more.
For the first time in a long while, The night didn’t feel so lonely.
BONUS:
Morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, painting Yoshiki’s room in soft gold. The warmth of the day should have felt comforting, but Yoshiki was far too aware of the body pressed against his side and the hands still entwined beneath the covers.
Hikaru stirred first, stretching with a yawn that made his messy hair fall into his eyes. “…Hey,” he whispered, nudging Yoshiki lightly. “…Morning.”
Yoshiki stiffened, eyes snapping open. “…Morning,” he muttered, voice tight, trying not to glance down at Hikaru's arms wrapped around him. His chest hammered, His heart repeatedly pounding, seemingly trying to escape his body. His heart beated so loud that Hikaru probably heard it as his grin widened, bright and irrepressible. Hikaru got out of bed, silently stretching his body before asking a question he has thought about for a while. “So… can we… do that again someday?” his voice soft but hopeful, his ears just barely pinked by the sun.
Yoshiki froze mid-breath. “…W-What do you mean… again?” His face flamed, he jolted upright as he turned around to meet his gaze, panic and anticipation warring in his chest.
“That. Last night. You know,” Hikaru said, tilting his head, eyes sparkling with mischief and warmth. “Walking together… cuddling… holding hands… whatever you want to call it.”
Yoshiki’s throat went dry. “…I… I don’t know,” he muttered, voice small, almost inaudible. He wanted to refuse, to claim propriety, but the thought of Hikaru’s hopeful eyes, that grin, the warmth of his body against his own… It’s terrifying how good it feels.
Hikaru nudged him again, more insistently this time, tail-like grin full-on mischievous. “…Yoshiki?”
Yoshiki’s breath caught. He swallowed hard, heart hammering. Finally, in a voice so low it barely left his lips, he muttered, “…O-Okay.”
Hikaru’s reaction was immediate and uncontainable. He bolted upright, practically vibrating with excitement, cheeks flushed, arms waving wildly. “…Really? You mean it? We… we can do it again?” His voice was a mix of disbelief, glee, and puppy-like energy that made Yoshiki’s ears burn.
“Yes…” Yoshiki muttered again, shifting awkwardly as he rubbed his neck, face a deep crimson. “…We… we can.”
Hikaru practically bounced in place, unable to contain himself. “Yessss! I knew you’d say yes!” He lunged forward in a playful hug, pressing his forehead against Yoshiki’s and wrapping his arms around him tightly. “You’re the best! The BEST! I love ya Yoshiki!”
Yoshiki froze, his hands pressed awkwardly against Hikaru’s back. “…H-Hikaru… careful…”
Hikaru tilted his head, eyes sparkling like a mischievous puppy. He just loudly laughed, He squeezed Yoshiki once more like he was claiming his grand prize, then pulled back just slightly to grin up at him, barely containing his excitement.
Yoshiki’s chest burned, heart pounding wildly. “…You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, voice tight but with a faint tremor of affection.
Hikaru laughed, a bright, teasing sound. “Ridiculous? Nah. I’m adorable. And lucky. Super lucky.” He leaned closer, nudging his nose against Yoshiki’s chest. “And I get to do it again, thanks to you!”
Yoshiki let out a long, exasperated sigh, but his hands twitched toward Hikaru anyway, unconsciously seeking contact. “…Idiot,” he muttered softly, the tension in his chest finally easing just a fraction.
Hikaru’s grin widened even more, eyes sparkling with unrestrained joy. “…Yep. That’s me! Your idiot.” And with that, he wiggled closer again, practically vibrating with energy, his red-threaded pinky still locked firmly with Yoshiki’s, anchoring them together in the warmth of a quiet, golden morning.