Ever since that delicate red thread revealed itself, wrapped around your ring finger, you often pondered the nature of your soulmate. The knowledge there was someone out there for your love alone was comforting.

For years you wore it on display—the pristine thread of destiny that led to the person you were fated to love, to cherish. Some days, you would lazily tangle the infinite thread around your hand, letting it gently relax around your palm. Perhaps that’s how you’d hold your lover.

The feeling of finding a soulmate was inexplicable. Many claimed it to feel like a gentle embrace, a feeling of completion, or a serene calm. Though, you wouldn’t use any of that to describe the ache that gripped your chest as you walked down the street, as if an invisible hand closed their fist around your heart.

You glanced to your hand as the elegant thread suddenly pulled taut, urging you to step towards the window of a café, your palm pressing against the cool glass as you spotted the person on the other side. A strange sensation settled in your heart as your gaze fell on the sunken, tired expression of the man who you were destined to.

After recovering from the initial shock, you made your way into the café to sit with your—apparent—soulmate. You hesitated before sitting as you noted the blank expression on his face. He lifted his head when you introduced yourself to quietly respond with his name: Hitori.

He remained tense and closed off, a mix of disbelief and resignation etched on his features as he fidgeted with the glove that concealed his end of the string. Everything about Hitori’s body language seemed reluctant as he slipped the glove off, revealing his thread with a grimace.

Instead of the neat and maintained string that most would expect, Hitori’s was frayed and knotted, its damage evident in the short distance until it connected to yours. As you took in the sight of his thread, Hitori spoke, his words terse and regretful. “It’s no use, {{user}}. The damage is done. I’m sorry it had to be me.”