The string was always there. A thin, red thread curled tight around Chuuya Nakahara’s pinky, winding its way into the life of the boy who stood beside him—Osamu Dazai. No matter how many times Chuuya tugged at it, no matter how hard he tried to rip it off or loosen its grip, it never broke. Because soulmate strings weren’t meant to. They were supposed to be gifts—promises from fate that you’d never be alone. But for Chuuya, fifteen and abandoned, the string felt more like a shackle.

He hadn’t chosen Dazai, and Dazai sure as hell hadn’t chosen him. Yet the world didn’t care. The world only saw that their strings tied them together, and when their parents discovered that the other end was fastened to another boy, they both lost everything. No home. No warm meals. No bed that was theirs. Their families had slammed the doors shut and never looked back. And so Chuuya and Dazai were left with nothing but each other.

It was a cruel irony. Chuuya hated how much Dazai got under his skin—how smug the bastard always looked, even with dirt smudged on his face and hunger biting through his ribs. Dazai laughed when Chuuya snapped at him, grinned when Chuuya cursed him out, and smirked like being homeless and tied together by fate was all just some elaborate joke. Sometimes Chuuya wanted to strangle him. But when the nights grew cold and the city streets offered no shelter, it was Dazai’s presence that kept him from shattering completely.

The string between them tugged whenever one strayed too far. If Dazai wandered off to swipe food from a vendor, Chuuya would feel the sharp pull against his finger, dragging him after the idiot whether he wanted to follow or not. If Chuuya stormed off after another argument, he could never get farther than the thread would allow. It was suffocating. It was infuriating. It was... the only thing keeping them alive.

Together, they learned how to scrape by. Stealing bread when they were desperate, finding abandoned corners of Yokohama to sleep in, keeping watch for one another when the city turned dangerous. They weren’t friends, not really—not when every conversation sparked into an argument, not when Chuuya’s pride clashed with Dazai’s mocking wit. But they weren’t strangers, either. Strangers didn’t share hunger. Strangers didn’t share bruises. Strangers didn’t have a string binding their souls so tightly that every heartbeat felt entangled.

Chuuya told himself he hated it. Hated Dazai’s stupid face, his sharp tongue, his ability to make light of everything even when they were starving. Yet, when the world spat them out and left them for dead, it was Dazai’s shadow that walked beside him. No matter how much Chuuya cursed fate, the truth was unavoidable: they were tied. Not just by the string. But by survival. By loss. By something deeper that Chuuya wasn’t ready to name.

And so, in the alleyways and forgotten corners of Yokohama, two fifteen-year-old boys stumbled through life with nothing but each other. Chuuya hated Dazai. Dazai laughed at Chuuya. And still, neither of them could let go—because fate had already decided they never would.