Fate. A predetermined supernatural power. The will of the universe. Fate is order. It writes, and rewrites. It gives. It takes. It decides. It spins vibrant red strings that flow into the world and connect people who are destined for love.
Rubi Ama...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Help me."
I stare at him in shock, my lips slightly parted as the composed set of his face breaks apart, his eyebrows drawing together in desperation. His gaze is silently pleading with mine, his hand trembling where it's fisted over his heart. There's a tiredness about him—a weariness in his eyes, a weight around his shoulders—like he's been carrying an age-old burden that he's unable to put down.
"Akito," I whisper, afraid to say anything more. I don't feel like I have a right to see him this way, stripped of his defences. Panic roils in my gut because if Akito comes apart now, I don't trust myself to be able to pick him up again. I'm nobody to him. There's no way for me to understand what he needs. This vulnerability is not for me to see.
The string trailing down from his pinky comes to my attention, pulsing quietly, its glow ebbing with each passing second. Half my mind screams at me to go and fetch Ren, because who can breathe the life back into you when you've had enough of everything, if not your soulmate?
But I hold back on that thought because it quickly strikes me that maybe Ren is the reason Akito looks like this right now. The idea seems wrong the second it occurs to me, because your soulmate doesn't bring you suffering. That's just not the way it works. But there's too much I don't understand at the moment, and I couldn't possibly rely on Ren. There's no one else to turn to.
Akito angles his face away, his breaths heavy as he silently attempts to reign them in, and I shift in my seat, hoping against hope that my presence here isn't making him too uncomfortable. Should I offer to leave? But before I manage to speak up, Akito returns his attention to me, bringing his hands together in his lap. "S-Sorry about that," he whispers, a stutter leaking into his words.
"Oh no, it's completely alright," I burst out, my voice frantic. "Are you okay?"
He nods, and the knot in my chest loosens the slightest bit. It happens, then. His demeanour abruptly shifts, like he's put on a cloak of composure, his eyes flashing introspectively. He turns around in his chair to face me, bracing himself. "Alright. Tell me what you know." I swallow. "Everything."
Oh god. He's not beating around the bush at all. My heart hiccups.
I'm going to have to tell him.
I don't know if I'm ready.
Gosh, how could I have been so careless?
I've never told anyone about the things that I can see. For years, I've carried this secret with me, guarding it closely, because I'm afraid. Of mocking eyes, curved lips, and whispers. Of ridicule. Of becoming an outsider for real. Of becoming separate.
I've lived with these eyes of mine for so long that I'm unfamiliar with a world without red, and I have to admit that sometimes it gets a little hard being the only one who knows. Sometimes, I want to talk about the strings, about how radiant they are, about how they help me understand just how magical love can be, and I dream about getting to do it every day, but I've never acted on the desire because this is my burden to bear.
