A/N: This ficlet was meant to be posted at Hetachallenge for last month's drabble/doodle challenge, only I never worked up the courage to... and wound up regretting it. So here it is. I know it's a pretty odd piece, but please bear with it, okay? :3
Also, the title refers to Plastic Tree's homonymous song, Makka na ito.
They'd often tell him that old story, back at home. The sweet, charming tale of a red thread joining two lovers even before they meet for the first time. Some sort of... magic, perhaps – a spell, could that be it?
At least, it had always seemed almost magical to him – so much that Japan had spent many nights of his childhood wondering how could a simple string, as thin as cotton, bond two souls together with such power, such strength.
It was... kind of unbelievable.
That is, until today.
'Cause there's this subtle, juicy little stream joining Romano's chin and the left corner of his lips – something like tomato-flavoured, it could be.
And, you see, in Japan's eyes it is... kind of embarrassing.
Although, there is a tiny part of him – that tiny little part nestled right in the middle of his throat, and it finds Romano's scarlet, not-at-all-magical string surprisingly attractive.
Japan doesn't say a thing about it, though. He just ignores it, suppressing the sudden need to reach out and wipe it with his snow-white handkerchief and then lock it all away in his closet, just to keep it as the most treasured token of the most embarrassing day of his whole life.
Oh, naughty folktales.