Tied by Red Strings | T. Kageyama

I didn't sleep. I couldn't.

Not deeply. Not really.

Something kept tugging at me—not a thought, not a feeling. Something real. Subtle, steady.

Around my pinky, the red thread stayed. Not metaphorical. Not imagined. I could feel it in the dark, like a pulse just beneath my skin. Quiet but alive.

I didn't know where it led.
But I was starting to suspect I knew who.

⸻

In the dream, I stood in a sunlit playground.

The air smelled like old bark and sun-warmed metal. The squeak of a swing rocked back and forth somewhere behind me.

A volleyball flew toward me. I jumped to meet it. My hands were smaller. My knees were scraped. Someone was cheering, laughing.

Across from me—someone else.

A boy.

He laughed again when I hit the ball back. "Again!"

But his face wasn't there. Not blurry. Not even shadowed. Just.. unfinished.

The only thing real was the ball. And the thread.

Red. Around my pinky. Glowing faintly. Stretching toward him, anchored to his pinky.

We were children. We were serious. And I was tying the thread between our fingers like it meant everything.

Then I said something, clear and high like only a kid could:

"Promise me you'll never forget. Even if I do."

He looked down at the thread. Then back at me.

"Okay. But if you forget, I'll remind you."

⸻

I woke up to gray light and a heart beating too fast.

The thread was still there. Not visible—but wrapped tight around something I hadn't touched in years.

⸻

Classes passed like fog. The words on the board were noise. I wasn't in my seat—I was still in that promise. Still in the knot I'd tied as a kid.

Still in the memory.
Still in the way the thread had tugged yesterday, like it was reacting to someone.

Even if no one else noticed.

⸻

"You wanna come watch practice?"

Yachi's voice pulled me back to the present.

I blinked. "What?"

"Practice. Volleyball. You're already half-adopted by the gym, might as well go full send."

I raised an eyebrow. "Because I drink milk and lurk near the court doors?"

"Exactly."

I laughed quietly. "Fine. Let's go."

⸻

The gym felt louder today.
And warmer.

Whistles, voices, sneakers—everything overlapping like a storm of sound.

But beneath it all, that same pressure. That same thread-pull. Constant.

Yachi led me in. "You'll love Kiyoko. Don't be intimidated. She could level you with a stare, but she's chill."

Kiyoko stood near the wall, clipboard in hand, gaze scanning the court with calm focus. Regal, almost. Like nothing escaped her.

"Hey," Yachi said. "This is—"