I thought death would be silence.
When I pressed the blade to my skin, when I dragged it deeper than I ever had before, I thought everything would finally stop the noise, the pain, the memories that clawed at me every night. I thought there would be nothing waiting for me except an empty black.
But here I am.
I don't feel the sting anymore. I don't feel anything at all. And yet I exist somewhere between gone and not gone, a shadow of what I used to be. Did I do it wrong? Am I really dead?
The thought circles endlessly, but the world around me doesn't answer. All I see is darkness, endless and swallowing. My body feels weightless, like I'm drifting through a void with no end.
That's when I noticed it.
Threads. Thin, glowing lines of blue, wrapping around my wrists, curling over my arms and chest. They pulse faintly, alive, as though they're breathing with me. No not with me. Around me. Guiding me. Pulling me.
The more I drift, the tighter the lines wind, tugging me forward. My heart if I still have one begins to race.
Then, below me, something flickers. A soft light.
At first, it's faint, like a candle flame burning in the distance. But with every second, it grows stronger, brighter, spilling against the endless black. The threads strain, pulling me closer, dragging me down.
My stomach twists as the darkness falls away, swallowed by the blinding glow.
And suddenly…
I'm falling.
Faster. Faster. The light rushes up to meet me, swallowing me whole. Panic claws at me. My hands reach out, desperate for something to hold onto, but there's nothing. Just the roaring brightness and the rush of air as I plummet.
And then…
The light swallows me completely.
The impact knocks the breath from me.
I crash hard against something soft yet solid, my body jolting as though the air itself slammed me down. For a moment, I can't move. I just lie there, dazed, my ears ringing, my chest heaving with a breath I shouldn't even have.
Slowly, I open my eyes.
The blinding light fades into colors, into shapes, into walls and furniture that shouldn't exist. My vision is blurry, but I recognize the curve of a ceiling, the pale wash of sunlight spilling through a window. A room. A house.
I blink hard, my head spinning. Was it all… a dream? Did I really die? Or… was I blessed with another chance? Another life?
The thought digs into me, fragile and trembling. My hands press against the couch beneath me smooth fabric, firm cushions. Real. So real it hurts.
I push myself upright, my body unsteady, eyes darting around the unfamiliar space. It's simple but warm: books on a shelf, a vase on the table, shoes neatly lined at the door. Not the kind of place that belongs to me. Not the kind of place I've ever known.
And then—
The door clicks open.
I freeze.
A girl steps inside, slipping off her shoes with a practiced grace. Her hair catches the sunlight first long, orange waves that shimmer like fire and autumn leaves all at once. Then her eyes light green, soft and alive in a way I can't look away from.
Beautiful. Too beautiful.
My chest tightens.
Without thinking, I get to my feet, my heart pounding as if it could burst. "H–hey," I stammer, my voice cracking in the quiet. "I'm… I'm Sakurai. I don't know how I got here, but—"
She looks up. Right at me.
For a second, I think she sees me. My breath catches. Maybe she'll answer, maybe she'll smile, maybe…
She walks straight through me.
The air goes cold.
My body stiffens as her figure passes effortlessly where I stand, my words collapsing into silence. I whirl around, but she doesn't even flinch, doesn't even turn. She just moves deeper into the room, humming softly as though I don't exist at all.
And I realize…
Maybe I don't.
The words echo hollow in my head, a truth I don't want to accept. My hands curl uselessly at my sides, trembling with the weight of everything I've lost until I feel it.
A faint tug.
I glance down. Around my wrist, the same glowing blue line coils like a ribbon of light, pulsing faintly against my skin. It stretches outward, humming softly, pulling tight toward her.
Her wrist.
The same thread glimmers there, delicate and quiet, as if binding us together. She doesn't notice it, doesn't even pause as she slips into the kitchen, her presence so alive it makes my chest ache.
Why? Why am I tied to her?
I take a shaky step forward. My body doesn't feel like a body, and yet… I move. The thread tugs with me, keeping me tethered to her as if she's the center of my gravity.
She hums under her breath, a tune I don't recognize, as she begins to tidy the counter. The clink of dishes, the soft rush of running water ordinary sounds, but to me they feel unreal. I drift closer, unable to stop myself.
Her face is clearer now. Pale skin kissed by the sun. Eyes a shade of green that seem to glow brighter than the thread itself. Strands of orange hair fall loose around her shoulders as she leans forward, drying a dish with careful hands.
She's… breathtaking.
Too breathtaking for someone like me, someone who carved his way into death because he couldn't endure the world anymore.
And yet, here I am, watching hers.
I step closer still, so close I could almost reach out and brush the hair from her face. My hand lifts before I can stop it, trembling, yearning.
But it passes through empty air.
I stumble back, the weight of the truth slamming into me again. I can't touch her. I can't speak to her. All I can do is watch.
So I do.
I trail after her as she moves through the house picking up laundry, folding clothes, pausing to water the small row of plants on the windowsill. A simple life, quiet and ordinary, unfolding in ways I never had the chance to know.
And the thread glows with every step, binding me to her, refusing to let me drift away.
I don't know why I'm here. I don't know why it's her.
But in this strange half-existence, she is the only thing that feels real.
Her footsteps are light against the tatami as she drifts down the hall, the faint tug of the blue thread pulling me along behind her. Curiosity gnaws at me, and before I can second-guess myself, I slip into the room after her.
It's small, cozy her room. A desk by the window, stacks of books, a futon neatly made. The kind of space that feels lived in, warm. My eyes catch on little details: a hair clip resting on the desk, a worn plush rabbit sitting in the corner, the faint scent of citrus shampoo lingering in the air.
And then she turns her back to me.
I freeze.
She slips off her sweater in one fluid motion, tossing it aside, and my mind blanks. Her pale shoulders catch the glow of the late afternoon sun streaming through the window, her hair tumbling like fire down her back as she reaches for another shirt.
My heart stutters loud, too loud. Heat rushes to my face so fast it makes me dizzy.
"Ah—!" The sound tears out of me even though I know she can't hear. I stumble backward, nearly tripping over nothing at all. "W–what the hell am I doing?!"
Flustered and burning, I darted out of the room, clutching at my head as if that could shake the image away. My entire being feels overheated, like I'm still alive, like blood still races through me. I collapse onto the couch again, face buried in my hands, trying to cool the storm in my chest. She didn't know. She couldn't know. Still, the shame lingers like fire.
When I finally risk lifting my head, my gaze catches on the walls.
Photographs.
Not many but enough to tell a story. Smiling faces at a school festival, friends huddled together under cherry blossoms, snapshots of laughter and summer sun. All of them filled with warmth.
But something's missing.
No parents. No family. No adults smiling behind her. Just friends.
A strange heaviness settles over me. Maybe she's lonelier than she looks. Maybe her bright smile hides shadows, just like mine once did. I lean back into the couch, staring at the faint glow of the blue thread still binding us. My chest tightens, a strange mix of guilt, longing, and something I can't yet name.
Why her? Why me?
And why does fate insist we're bound together
The quiet hum of the house is broken by the sharp click of the front door. I sit up straighter on the couch, blinking as footsteps approach quick, light, almost hurried. She appears in the doorway, phone pressed against her ear, her voice spilling into the room before I can even catch my breath.
"Come on, please!" she practically yells, bouncing on her toes as though the energy might burst out of her. "Just this once, Aya! You never say yes, but this time you have to. Please, please, pleeeease—"
I blink, startled. The girl who moved like a quiet dream through her chores is suddenly alive with color, her tone sharp with desperation yet bright with hope.
She pauses, tilting her head, waiting for the reply on the other end of the line. And then she adds, her voice dropping softer, "It would mean so much to me… Kazuya can't go alone."
Kazuya.
The name hangs in the air, a gentle note in the chaos of her pleading.
So that's her name. Kazuya. Peace.
It doesn't fit the whirlwind I'm seeing now her pacing back and forth, waving her free hand as though the girl on the phone could see it. And yet, there's something kind in it. A warmth that pushes against the loneliness I thought I glimpsed in her photos.
"Fine, fine! I'll owe you forever, okay? Forever!" she suddenly cheers, throwing her hands up as if she's just won a battle. She spins once in place, grinning, and the laughter that follows is so genuine, so alive, that it stirs something deep inside me.
I can't help it. I smile.
She doesn't see me. She can't. And yet watching her fight so hard just to make someone else feel wanted it makes me wonder if fate gave me a glimpse of the one person who could've saved me, if only we'd met when I was still alive.
The blue thread pulses against my wrist, humming faintly, as if agreeing.
Bound to her.
To Kazuya.