His hand drifted to his pocket, fingers brushing the edge of a cigarette pack. He didn't light one. He rarely did anymore. It was just something to hold onto. Something to keep his hands from trembling when the old memories clawed their way up.

He turned a corner onto a wider avenue. A black limousine was parked haphazardly by the curb, engine still purring. The rear door opened, and a man stepped out. Short. Vibrant red hair that caught the dim streetlight like a warning. A black hat. He was laughing at something someone inside the car said, voice loud and brash and annoyingly alive.

Akutagawa's step faltered. Something prickled at his left hand. He scratched absently at his little finger—a nervous habit he'd never been able to shake, even after he'd stopped believing the threads were real. For him, at least.

The red-haired man turned. Their eyes met.

A jolt. Like static electricity racing up his arm. Akutagawa looked down.

A red thread, glowing faintly and impossibly, had coiled itself around his pinky finger. It tightened gently, insistently, and stretched across the distance between them—tying him to the stranger.

The wind died. The street sounds faded. For the first time in his twenty-one years, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke had found his soulmate.

And he had no idea what to do about it.