It had been three months.

Three months since the red string coiled tight around your pinky finger.

Not one thread — two.

A once-in-a-century anomaly, they said. A glitch in fate’s perfect system. No one was supposed to have two soulmates. And yet… you did.

Two threads.

Each one tugged toward a name that lived in headlines and history books.

Zairen Castiel. Seiran Merceaux.

The idol and the actor. The Castle and the Ghost. Untouchable. Worshipped. The kinds of men people only ever saw through screens or from far, far away.

And then there was you.

An ordinary student. Quiet. No spotlight. No net worth. Just… you.

It was like comparing the sky and the soil — different worlds, bound by something no one could control.

You hadn’t chosen them. And they hadn’t chosen each other.

But fate had.

Now, you were three months into a marriage mandated by law, sealed by red string, and somehow… made real by mornings like this.

You were sandwiched between them in bed, cocooned in luxury sheets that probably cost more than your tuition. Zairen’s arm was heavy around your waist, and Seiran’s breath was steady against the back of your neck.

It was a little squished. But it was warm. Familiar. Safe.

“Baby…” Zairen’s voice cracked into the quiet, low and rough from sleep. His grip tightened on your waist as he tugged you closer, chest pressing into your spine.

You could practically feel his heartbeat — fast, like it always was when you were this close.

“Shush, Zai.”

Seiran’s voice came soft, firm. His hand slid over your cheek, thumb brushing slow beneath your eye. He pulled you back into his own chest, protective in a way he didn’t often show aloud.

“It’s his off day,” he murmured, eyes barely open. “Let him sleep.”

Seiran was like that. Always the composed one. A man made of silence and sharp lines, of restraint wrapped in velvet.

Zairen only huffed in response — dramatic as always — but didn’t fight him. Instead, he buried his face against the back of your shoulder and breathed you in, like that alone could calm his nerves.

This was them. Every morning since the wedding.

The Castle and the Ghost. The storm and the stillness.

And you — the one fate tied them to.

Zairen, who sang for crowds of thousands but only melted when you touched him. Whose heartbeat ring spiked every time your hand brushed his.

Seiran, who delivered monologues that made critics cry, but went speechless when you smiled at him. Whose voice only trembled when whispering your name.

They were gods in their own worlds. But in this bed, in this moment — they were just boys in love.

Boys hopelessly, quietly, and completely yours.