Tied Up In Knots
Every person in the world has a soulmate out there somewhere. Their kindred spirit, their true love, their other half—whatever you call it, everybody has one. It's symbolized from birth by a small red string tied around their left pinky, and when you find your soulmate, your strings tie together and link your souls for all eternity. It's beautiful. It's sacred. It's a bond to be cherished and honored and celebrated.
That's what they say, at least.
Kozume Kenma thinks it's a load of bullshit.
First of all, he can't believe the world puts so much stock in a mystical little thread that nobody can explain or figure out. The string has properties that defy all logic and reason as well as several laws of physics and has stumped scientists for centuries.
Secondly, the string isn't even foolproof or universal. There are stories about people who get tied and discover they can't stand each other or just aren't interested or find a platonic lifelong bond rather than the traditional romantic one. And even if they do fall in love, sometimes circumstances get in the way.
Thirdly, he thinks it's ridiculous that people make such a big deal over it, like it's the only thing that matters, like this one stranger somewhere in the world is somehow more important than your family or the people and friendships you choose to invest your time in.
But what Kenma thinks about it doesn't really matter, because Kenma's string is frayed.
He didn't notice at first that his string was different than anyone else's. As usual when it comes to differences among kids, it wasn't until some bullies pointed it out and decided to use it as a weapon against him that he became aware of it. They turned it into a game, chasing him around the playground and seeing who could tackle him first. Kenma was never an athletic child, so the pursuits never lasted long.
"Kozume's string is broken!" they called gleefully while sitting on him and wrenching his left arm high into the sky so others could see.
"Nobody's gonna love you," they'd tell him as they pinned him to the ground with their knees in his back.
"Do you think the gods just forgot about you?" they asked, picking and pulling at the string until he cried from the pain.
The bullying went away toward the later end of elementary school, partially because he hid from others as much as he could and also because of his new next door neighbor Kuroo Tetsurou, who'd appointed himself Kenma's friend and personal protector. As much as Kenma likes to grumble and complain about Kuroo's tendency toward boisterousness and his insistence on making Kenma do things he doesn't want to, he's more grateful for Kuroo than Kuroo will ever know.
But even though the physical bullying stopped, the rumors persist. They press in on him from all sides, never letting him forget that he's committed the ultimate societal sin by simply being different.
For the most part, it just results in people avoiding or pitying him, which he can deal with. He doesn't care for their approval or their friendship. He has his parents and Kuroo and his online friends and the volleyball team he's been reluctantly dragged on to. Not having a soulmate doesn't mean he'll be alone for the rest of his life. It just means every person in his life is someone he chooses to be there.
There is one rumor that bothers him, though, and it's the one that says frayed the string himself.
String mutilation is highly taboo. It's viewed as the ultimate act of selfishness and egocentricity. To cut off your string is to cut off your own soul and turning your nose up at the gods, at fate. But it doesn't just hurt you—it also hurts the person you're supposed to be tied to. It's as bad as aggravated assault in society's eyes.
The string itself has its own defense mechanism to prevent this as much as possible. If you try to do anything to it—untie, pull, or cut it off or have someone do it for you—it tightens and tightens until you can't get underneath it and your pinky feels like it might just fall off instead. There are those who manage it, though, and there is something…off about those people.
He's only seen a few of them in person, but their eyes are cut off and dark, skin sallow and ashen. They're slow and apathetic, clearly just going through the motions. And sure Kenma isn't as energetic or enthusiastic about life as most other people he meets, but he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to feel nothing.
Some people, rather than cut the string off entirely, trim the tail off or fray it in the hopes that the tying will be avoided. People say that doesn't really work, though. The strings still stretch out and link together, but the bond isn't quite right. That's what Kenma's heard, anyway, and that's what some people think Kenma's done to himself.
Still, Kenma tries not to let it get to him. He doesn't give two shits about other people's disdain or unsolicited criticisms or pitying looks. He's not even upset about missing out on the great love story that most kids his age dream of having, because he can still date if he ever wants to. He can do anything that people with soulmates do. He just won't be forced into it like everyone else.
Sometimes, though, he thinks it must be nice to know there's someone out there matched to you, to know you have a destiny greater than yourself, even as he isn't all that interested in it. There's got to be some modicum of comfort in that level of faith and surety. It makes him feel a strange kind of excluded, like he wasn't invited to a party he probably wouldn't have gone to but would've at least appreciated an invite.
That's what Kenma thinks. But what Kenma thinks is about to get turned on its head.
/ / /
Kuroo Tetsurou: Dont be late!
Kozume Kenma: i wont
Kuroo Tetsurou: Ill sit on u if ur late!
Kozume Kenma: what if i just go home instead
Kuroo Tetsurou: KENMA
Kozume Kenma: cant be late if i dont show up
Kenma feels his phone buzz several times in quick succession as he puts it back in his pocket, snickering to himself at the thought of Kuroo losing his mind over Kenma possibly skipping the first volleyball practice of the year. It's crossed his mind, he admits, but he owes it to Kuroo to try out even if he's certain he won't make it. He's been to Kuroo's games and seen the effort and skill displayed by Nekoma and by their opponents, and he knows he'll never level up to that caliber.
He leaves his classroom and heads for the volleyball clubroom, following the directions that Kuroo had given him. The clubroom is empty when he arrives, which was his intention. While he isn't technically late yet, he knew that everyone else would be excited and overeager and likely get there far earlier than him. The result is a quiet space to change in peace, and he sighs with contentment as he slips into the school athletic suit.
When he approaches the gym, the hubbub reaches him from even three meters away. He tenses in anticipation, already feeling exhausted by the idea of meeting so many energetic new people at once. At least Kuroo will be there. He always seems to know when Kenma needs an introvert shield.
Kenma steps into the gym quietly to avoid any immediate attention being drawn to him, but as it turns out he needn't have worried. The source of the loud chatter is immediately apparent to him: two boys from the team appear to have just been tied.
"What are we supposed to do?!"
"There's nothing we can do," says a voice that Kenma immediately recognizes as Kuroo's. Kenma easily spots him in the crowd of volleyball players. Not only is he still one of the tallest boys there, but his ridiculous hair also sticks ten centimeters above his head.
"The practice match with Shinzen is next Friday," says another boy. "We can't be out two new wing spikers!"
"Well…they could just cut it."
"Don't even joke about that," snaps a short boy with light brown hair.
"Okay, okay, but—"
"No buts, they just have to wait until it releases," says a completely different voice—one that came from beside Kenma.
The commotion dies down immediately as everyone suddenly turns toward Kenma, who feels like he's suddenly been thrust onto center stage with no script and no costume. Kuroo smiles widely at him, clearly just noticing that he'd arrived, but Kenma doesn't feel comforted. Instead, he shuffles to the side away from the man who'd appeared beside him, who must be the coach based on the reverence and respect with which the boys are treating him.
"We'll make do against Shinzen, we always have," the coach continues good-naturedly. "And they can join practice if the string allows. Congratulations, by the way," he adds with a kind smile at the two boys.
"Th-thanks," stutters one of them.
Kenma turns his attention toward the pair of boys. He thinks they're about the same height, although it's hard to tell with the relaxed slouch that one of them stands with. The one that spoke has broader shoulders and a stronger presence, which, combined with the dark hair styled into a short mohawk, makes Kenma think he's trying to come off as some sort of delinquent, but the timid blush across his cheeks kind of ruins the impression. The slouching one is also blushing, though his is much more apparent given his incredibly pale complexion.
"You boys are welcome to stay if you want, but you can leave too. I imagine you have a lot to talk about," the coach continues.
The mohawk boy looks conflicted. He's probably the type who wanted to show off his powerful spikes and wow the third years on the first day, so he doesn't want to leave, but there's not much point in sitting on the bench for the first day of practice.
They look at each other, and the slouching one nods toward the exit. The mohawk boy sighs and nods, and together they start heading to the doors. Behind them, the older boys begin conversing urgently, likely trying to come up with a game plan for the upcoming practice match. Kenma doesn't understand the sense in having an exhibition game after just two weeks into the school year, but Kuroo previously told him it's a tradition for the Fukurodani Group.
Kenma just begins to daydream about the game and practices being cancelled until the two boys' tying is resolved when he suddenly feels a tightening around his pinky. He looks down and sees that his string is…quivering. It's contracting, and the tail sticking straight out like it's trying to pull him somewhere.
His heart starts pounding. He knows what this means, or at least knows it in theory. He's watched enough movies, played enough dating sims, heard enough stories to recognize the quintessential sign of a nearby soulmate.
Kenma shakes his head. This can't be right. He doesn't have a soulmate. His life isn't dictated by fate or the gods or the whim of the universe. He's free of all that.
But just as he's raising his hand to inspect the string more closely—maybe there's a breeze, or his hands are swelling, or something, anything but this—the pair of boys walk by him on their way to the door. His hand jerks forward like it's being tugged by some invisible force, and then the two boys stumble off their intended trajectory, hands sticking out toward Kenma. There's a pause, and a swish, and then all three of them are connected by a delicate triangle of red thread.
The gym is quiet for half a moment, and then it absolutely erupts with noise. The volleyball team swarms them, all staring and gently poking at the red string connecting the three first year boys. Kenma flinches violently and tries to pull away from it all, but the string is unyielding and he's not strong enough to pull the two taller boys with him.
"Break it up, break it up!" Kuroo is shouting, trying to pull the boys away as they clamor for a better look. "Give them some goddamn space!"
"Settle down," the coach calls. "Kuroo-kun is right. Let them breathe."
Kenma still feels rattled, but the air comes a little easier into his lungs when the press of the crowd isn't all around him. He senses Kuroo behind him even before the heavy hand lands on his shoulder.
"Y'okay, Kenma?" he asks quietly.
He can't speak, so he just nods.
"I knew it," Kuroo tells him happily. "I knew there wasn't anything wrong with your string."
But there had to be something wrong, because Kenma doesn't feel relieved in the slightest.
/ / /
Apparently, Kenma learned later that day, multiple soulmates actually aren't a complete anomaly. After the chaos of the three of them tying, the coach gently forced the trio to leave practice and walked them to the school behavioral counselor, where she piled pamphlet after pamphlet into their hands.
"They're exceedingly uncommon, of course, but generally not unheard of," she told them. "Long ago, multi-matches were seen as greedy, the result of manipulating the string for personal gain, or even a sign of the devil. But modern thought is shifting toward the positive as more is learned about the string and its nature.
"Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of data on these matches since they were so frowned upon for so long. Many haven't been reported through the decades, but I believe the current known record is nine people in a tied polycule. Can you imagine?" she'd asked with a thrilled little laugh. "They weren't all connected to each other, though, but they were connected through and around each other."
Kenma already hates the idea of being tied to two people. He'd rather not imagine adding six more to the mix.
Now the three of them are standing outside the school, with the sun setting in the background, trying to figure out what in the hell they're supposed to do now.
"So, uh," says the one with the mohawk—Yamamoto Taketora, Kenma reminds himself. "Whose house?"
"Mi casa es su casa," says the other one, Fukunaga Shouhei.
"What?" Yamamoto asks, befuddled by the foreign language.
Fukunaga just smiles. Earlier in the gym, Kenma had thought his wide-eyed stare was because of the tying. Now Kenma suspects that's just his face.
Kenma closes his eyes and tips his head back, staring up at the sparse clouds covering the sky. He doesn't want to do this. He wants to go home and lay in his bed by himself and forget this day ever happened.
Suddenly there's a sharp tug at his pinky and he's forced to take a step forward toward Yamamoto and Fukunaga.
Yamamoto points an accusing finger at him. "You were thinking bad things!"
"I was not!" Kenma snaps, slapping Yamamoto's hand away from him. "Stop that!"
He feels the string pull again, and he tries to resist, but it only tightens more until he finally gasps out in pain and takes a few steps forward. The string doesn't stop shrinking until he and Yamamoto are chest to chest and glaring at each other, their left hands joined at the pinkies in front of them.
"Me too!" Fukunaga says, stepping forward and placing his hand over both of theirs despite the fact that the strings connecting him to them are still nice and loose.
It breaks Kenma and Yamamoto out of their staring contest. They look at him in bewilderment, and he smiles widely at them. Suddenly Yamamoto starts laughing and pats Fukunaga on the back with his free hand. The atmosphere around the three of them softens, and Kenma feels himself begin to relax just slightly. As he does so, the string lengthens, and he and Yamamoto can pull their hands away from each other, but only by about fifteen centimeters.
"So…" Yamamoto says once his laughter has died down, "where to?"
Kenma resists a sigh and tries to think positively, lest the string react to his deep desire to run in the opposite direction away from these two boys. According to everyone he's ever known, once the string is tied, it retracts and stretches of its own accord, generally based on how willing the partners are in getting to know each other. And the string will stay tied until it deems that enough emotional development has happened, at which point it will loosen and slip off their pinkies entirely, trusting the partners to figure their shit out on their own from then on.
It's a significant moment in most relationships. In the movies it always happens when they have their first kiss, but it's been known to happen after an emotional truth is shared, whether positive or negative. And, of course, people can attempt to cut the string that's joining them, but that has the same disastrous effect as cutting one's string off prematurely.
Once the string releases, it loses all mystical properties and acts just like any other piece of thread. Some people fashion mementos out of it, like jewelry or embroidered things. His parents have their string framed and mounted in the living room right next to their wedding photos.
This all effectively means that the three of them are stuck together for the foreseeable future until the string decides to give them a break. Tyings have been known to last anywhere from a few days to several months, with most landing somewhere between a week and a month, so it's anyone's guess as to when they're going to be free of each other.
"Whose parents are less likely to freak out?" Kenma asks.
"I don't know if there's really a metric for that considering our…situation," Yamamoto says, glancing down at their feet. Three pairs of shoes, because the three of them are tied.
How did I go from no soulmate to two soulmates? Kenma wonders tiredly. The string around his pinky gives a warning pinch.
/ / /
In the end they decide to go to Fukunaga's house after all since it's the closest walk and none of them want to deal with attempting to ride bikes or the stares they'd inevitably attract on bus. Kenma shoots a text to his father to tell him he's spending the night at a new friend's, and his dad is so pleased that Kenma's actually socializing with people that he doesn't even question the sudden change in behavior.
When they arrive at the Fukunaga's house, Kenma learns that his parents are more talkative than Fukunaga himself, and once they assess the situation they express nothing but acceptance and excitement. Fukunaga also has a little sister, but she mostly hides behind her mother and peeks out at them when she thinks they're not looking. Kenma finds it cute.
They crowd around the low table in the dining room to do their homework while Fukunaga's parents bustle around setting up futons in Fukunaga's bedroom and changing up dinner plans to accommodate for two extra mouths. It turns out Fukunaga and Yamamoto are in the same class, so Kenma will likely be the one to switch classrooms so they can all sit together, which he finds annoying. Yet another way the universe was trying to tell him what to do.
His hand suddenly shoots forward across the table, and then all three of their left hands are piled on top of each other in the center of the table.
"Really?" Yamamoto asks, raising a thick eyebrow.
"Shut up," Kenma grumbles. "It's not my fault."
Yamamoto snorts good-naturedly, and after a few minutes they're able to sit up straight again. Kenma's hand feels warm when he pulls it back.
After homework and dinner, which they miraculously managed to get through without anybody's hands being magically moved without their permission, it's time for bed. They collectively decide to forgo showering, and Kenma and Yamamoto are provided with spare toothbrushes and clothing. Kenma wears Fukunaga's old pajamas, which are comically long on him, but Yamamoto is too bulky for them and has to borrow some of Funukana's dad's clothes.
"Now, boys, we know this is very exciting for you," Fukunaga's mother says from the doorway, "and you probably want to explore all sorts of things, but keep in mind you are still very young. So we just ask that you please be responsible and respectful, both of each other and the others in this house."
"Okaa-san," Fukunaga whines in embarrassment, and it's the first glimpse beneath the placid, happy-go-lucky exterior that he's shown them so far.
"Okay, okay," she says with a smile. "Sleep well."
"Thank you," Kenma and Yamamoto chorus, and then she closes the door.
The bedroom is a decent size but definitely not made for two futons to comfortably occupy the floor. Kenma somehow ends up on the middle one, with Fukunaga perched on the edge of his bed on one side of him and Yamamoto on the other.
An awkward silence fills the air, and if Kenma were the kind of person to be excited about being tied, he would probably jump at this chance for a private conversation with his soulmates. As it is, though, he just pulls his PSP out of his backpack and sits cross legged with his back against the bedroom wall as he loads up the game.
"So…it's kinda cool we all play volleyball," Yamamoto says to break the silence.
"Yeah!" Fukunaga agrees, nodding his head in an enthusiastic bob.
Kenma merely grunts.
"We're both wing spikers," Yamamoto continues eagerly. "What position do you play?"
"Setter."
"Sick, dude. Oh it's gonna be so awesome being soulmates with my setter," Yamamoto gushes. "Right Shou?"
Fukunaga blinks at him, and Yamamoto blushes as he realizes what he's said.
"I-I just—well since we're tied—I should've asked first—"
"I like it," Fukunaga interrupts with a big grin.
Yamamoto breathes a sigh of relief. "Cool. What about you?"
"Fine," Kenma replies, mashing the buttons on his device. "I don't care about name stuff anyway."
"Kenma and Shouhei," Yamamoto says, so happily that Kenma glances up at him and is momentarily stunned by the soft look on such an otherwise intimidating face. "And you guys can call me Tora."
"Rawr," Fukunaga replies, raising his hands and flicking his wrists forward in an imitation of cat paws in reference to the meaning of 'Tora.'
There's a beat, and then Yamamoto snorts and starts cackling. Even Kenma can't resist a quiet huff of laughter. Fukunaga looks positively gleeful, wiggling slightly with joy.
"You're funny, dude," Yamamoto says once he gets himself under control.
"I like making people laugh," Fukunaga admits shyly.
"Well, I like laughing, so we really are a good match!"
A smile Kenma hadn't even registered he was making melts from his face at that. He glances down at his game and frowns at his reflection in the dark "YOU DIED" screen. He'd forgotten to pause the game when he'd been distracted by Yamamoto, but that's not why he feels upset.
What does fate think he brings to this trio? He's not good with comedy, and he doesn't like letting loose enough to laugh as loud as Yamamoto does. They both seem more into volleyball than he is, and, more than that, they're actually pleased about the tying.
Maybe this is all a fluke, he thinks to himself. An accident caused by a fresh tying that my string somehow reacted to.
"You like video games?" Yamamoto asks, and it startles Kenma. He'd somehow crawled onto Kenma's futon without him noticing and is now looking over Kenma's shoulder.
"Uh, yeah," Kenma replies as he restarts the level.
Yamamoto inches closer and their shoulders brush, causing Kenma to instinctively tense up. The taller boy pulls away immediately. "You good?"
"I…" Kenma pauses and waits for the string to react, but for once it seems to be respecting his personal space. "I don't generally like being touched."
"Oh, sorry. Is…is this okay?" Yamamoto asks, settling against the wall like Kenma but leaving several centimeters of space between them.
"Yeah," Kenma replies, genuinely touched by the gesture and the immediate acceptance of his boundaries. Most people liked to ruffle his hair or breathe in his ear when he told them to back off.
To his surprise, Fukunaga climbs off his bed and comes to sit on the other side of Kenma, also leaving space between them.
"Is it hard to play?" Fukunaga asks.
"Um…" Kenma glances back at the screen, not used to talking about this stuff—about anything really—with anyone other than Kuroo. "This part is. I'm trying to clear the final dungeon, but I've been stuck for a while."
He reloads the game and patiently answers the questions that Yamamoto and Fukunaga have as he plays. They exclaim over the exciting parts and fawn when Kenma does something that seems impressive and groan with him when he gets hit or loses battles. It's companionable and nice, and Kenma finds himself actually enjoying being with these two strangers.
An hour later Kenma feels a head drop on to his shoulder, and he freezes. Fukunaga has fallen asleep and slumped over against him, short soft hair tickling Kenma's cheek. Yamamoto looks over when Kenma pauses the game.
"Oh, want me to move him to the bed?" he asks around a yawn.
"Um, no," Kenma says quietly. "It's fine." His heart is racing in his chest, but he doesn't hate this. He doesn't even hate that Yamamoto has shifted closer to him from leaning over to look at Fukunaga.
"We should probably sleep soon though," Yamamoto says, pulling away and stretching his arms above his head. Kenma notices the flex of the muscles in his arms and then immediately scolds himself, turning back to focus on the game while ignoring his red cheeks. Beside him, Fukunaga gives a sleep-soft sigh and he blushes even more for some reason.
"I'll be up a while longer," Kenma tells him.
"What? But we have morning practice."
Kenma gives him a face and Yamamoto snickers. "Aren't we, like, excused though?"
"I guess, but…what, you don't want to go?"
"Not if I don't have to," Kenma mutters. "Who would?"
"You're a weird dude, huh," Yamamoto says, and it causes Kenma to tense even though he doesn't sense any malice in the statement.
"I stay up late most nights anyway," Kenma tells him, picking back up the beginning of the conversation. "You can sleep if you want to. I'll turn the sound off."
Yamamoto gets up and turns the light out, the string stretching easily to let him cross the room, and then returns to his spot next to Kenma. "Maybe in a bit."
Kenma keeps playing and Yamamoto keeps watching and Fukunaga keeps sleeping. After a while, though, Yamamoto nods off too, and he also ends up laying against Kenma. He's basically stuck sitting against the wall now, which he'd normally be pretty pissed about, especially since he has not one but two people using him as a pillow, but instead he just feels…nice.
What a bizarre day he's having.
/ / /
In the morning, Kenma's watch alarm wakes him up and he finds himself curled in a ball on his side, which isn't unusual for him. What is unusual are the two bodies curving around him. Taketora has his face pressed into the back of Kenma's neck with an arm thrown over his side, and one of Fukunaga's hands is tucked up in the crook of Kenma's bent knees, holding him close. It's nice and warm and surprisingly comfortable, but then Kenma's sleepy brain fully realizes the situation. He flinches instinctively and curls in on himself in a useless effort to get away, then feels the string immediately begin to tighten.
No, stop, please, I didn't mean it, he pleads even as the other half of his brain also begs to get away from the two boys sandwiching him between them.
The string doesn't believe him, which is valid. Yamamoto's arm shoots forward, snaking underneath Kenma's neck, and Fukunaga's is pulled away from Kenma's knee to join Kenma's where it lays in front of his face.
"Wha?" Yamamoto mutters, trying and failing to sit up since Kenma's essentially laying on his arm. "What happened?"
"Sorry Kenma," Fukunaga whispers, immediately scooting as far from Kenma as possible until the only point of contact between them is their left hands.
"Oh shit," Yamamoto says in realization, and then he too is pulling and somehow manages to extricate his arm out from underneath Kenma's head.
Kenma lays there, motionless, and surprisingly feels worse once he's no longer being touched. Part of him is grateful that they're respecting his boundaries, but now he just feels some awful mixture of guilt and wrongness. He wants to take it back, wants to ask them to touch him again, but the shame and embarrassment burns like bile in his throat, so he stays quiet and focuses on the warmth of their hands on his.
"It's fine," Kenma says after a moment, dragging himself into a sitting position. "It's fine, I—I was just startled."
Yamamoto nods, and then they look at their joined hands. They sit apart from each other like three points of an awkward triangle, each preoccupied with whatever thoughts are running through their minds, when suddenly Fukunaga's stomach lets out a loud gurgle.
"Feeeed me," Fukunaga says in English, which Kenma only vaguely recognizes as a reference from an American musical, but it gets Yamamoto laughing like usual, which makes Kenma smile.
/ / /
Kenma wishes he could say the day only got better from there.
In certain ways, it did. Fukunaga cooked for them since his parents were already at work, and his little sister no longer seemed scared of them. She sat perched on the counter, handing him whatever spice or cooking utensil he asked for, which seemed to be a regular routine for them. After a delicious breakfast, they managed to make it to school on time for morning practice on Yamamoto's insistence, and that's where the nice part of the day ended.
When they arrive at the gym, they're immediately surrounded by their new teammates, who all ask fairly invasive leading questions about what they did after leaving last night. Yamamoto indulges them, which annoys Kenma because it's not any of their business, but Fukunaga doesn't seem bothered, so he doesn't say anything. In the back of his mind, Kenma wonders if Fukunaga's ever bothered by anything, but he's distracted from this thought by a hand on his shoulder.
"Kenma!" Kuroo says. "You never texted me back!"
"Didn't want to," Kenma replies, feeling only marginally bad for ignoring the 50+ text messages that Kuroo had sent him yesterday.
"How'd your parents react?"
"Haven't told them yet," Kenma mumbles, glancing down at his left hand and the strings that lead him to Yamamoto and Fukunaga.
Kuroo whistles lowly. "You gotta tell them soon. They're gonna be happy for you. You know that, right? We're all happy for you."
Kenma knows. Of course he knows. They're probably going to be over the moon with joy for him. He just doesn't know if he's happy for himself.
The string reacts almost immediately. It doesn't pull them all the way together, but it does shorten enough that he only has about thirty centimeters between his hand and theirs. The string between Yamamoto and Fukunaga is noticeably slack.
"Ah, damn," says a boy who Kenma thinks is the captain, if he's remembering what Kuroo told him correctly. "Does it stretch easily for you guys? I was hoping you could play soon. We don't have an official setter without you, and Watanabe's been filling in but he kinda sucks."
"Hey!" protests another third year who can only be Watanabe.
"Shut up, you know it's true," the captain replies, and the two exchange good-natured smiles. "Anyway, how about it? Think you guys can play?"
Fukunaga begins nodding enthusiastically as Yamamoto says, "Yeah!" while at the same time Kenma says, "I dunno."
All eyes swing to him, and Kenma wishes could go back in time and flat out tell Kuroo no when Kuroo asked him to consider continuing volleyball in high school.
"I…it—it does this a lot," Kenma says, choosing to blame the string as if it isn't reacting to his own thoughts and feelings about the tying.
"But—but we can deal with it!" Yamamoto says eagerly. "And we can probably still do like the workouts and things!"
Kenma scowls at the idea of working out needlessly, and Kuroo muffles a snort.
"Okay, yeah, I guess that's all we can do," the captain says. "But work on it, eh? We need you guys."
Work on it, Kenma thinks. As if it's that simple, as if any of them know what it's like to be in their situation.
The coach arrives then and blessedly takes control, leading the other players' attention away from the trio. The string loosens for them, and to Kenma's resentment he's quite literally dragged into participating as much as he can. Running laps is the worst, as usual, but this time it's a particularly exquisite kind of torture since Fukunaga and Yamamoto are both faster than him thanks to a combination of longer legs and greater athleticism.
At first he's grateful when practice lets up and they can go to class, where Kenma can zone out and daydream about how to best the final boss in his game, but he forgot about having to deal with the rest of the school.
The whispers are immediate. A tied couple in high school is enough to catch anyone's attention, as tyings don't tend to happen until people's adult life once they begin travelling and meeting more people. Add to that the fact that there's three of them and you have enough material to feed the gossip mongers for at least a solid week.
"Wait, did you see that?"
"Oh my god, there's three of them."
"Are you sure?"
"Eurgh, can you imagine?"
"They're all boys too."
"Isn't that the kid who frayed his string?"
"Move, I want a better look!"
"Is that even allowed?"
"Fucking weird, man."
Kenma hunches his shoulders and stares at his feet. He'd gotten good at ignoring stares and rumors, but that was after he'd accepted his fate as a soulmate-less anomaly. This is an entirely new ocean, and his boat is quickly taking on water.
"Kenma."
He's jerked out of his thoughts and turns to look at Fukunaga, who'd spoken.
"It's okay," he says with a smile.
"I—what?" Kenma asks, suddenly feeling defensive. "I know."
Fukunaga says nothing but nods at their hands. Kenma hadn't noticed, but the string is slowly constricting, drawing their hands together.
"Quit thinking bad things," Yamamoto says. "Just ignore them."
Kenma bristles. He knows that. It's just not easy when every person around him is voicing his insecurities and innermost doubts about himself. It's not easy when the three of them have to crowd around a single table in Yamamoto and Fukunaga's classroom because the string just won't let up. It's not easy when Yamamoto insists on going to afternoon practice and Kenma has to sit next to him on the bench and feel him practically vibrate with longing while knowing it's all his fault that the string is keeping them on a literal short leash.
"Can we stay at mine tonight?" Yamamoto asks once practice lets out. "My parents really wanna meet you guys."
"Yeah!" Fukunaga agrees easily, and Kenma grunts his affirmation. He fires off another text to his father, informing him he won't be home again tonight, then ignores the subsequent text asking why he's staying out two school nights in a row.
Yamamoto's family is just as loud and energetic as he is, and once they're all seated around the chabudai for dinner it becomes clear that they all feed off each other's energy. The noise and vivacity in the room just builds and builds until Kenma feels like he might be crushed under the weight of it all.
A shoulder presses in to his, and he looks up at Fukunaga, who blinks at him in question. Kenma belatedly realizes that he's asking if the physical contact is okay, to which he nods. It hadn't even occurred to him to pull away, which gives him pause. But he doesn't dwell on it. Instead he simply leans in to the contact and allows Fukunaga's gentle presence to protect him from the Yamamotos.
/ / /
The rest of the week continues along the same vein. Kenma spends most of the school day antsy, snappish, and on edge while the evenings with just Yamamoto and Fukunaga feel calm and comforting. It makes him wish they'd befriended each other outside of the string, that the soulmate situation wasn't there adding pressure and confusing everything in Kenma's brain.
But, on the other hand, he can't honestly say he would've tried to befriend the boys if it weren't for the string. It's not in his nature. It probably would've been months of forced interaction solely via volleyball before he'd even attempted an actual conversation with either of them.
So, okay, maybe the string has something of a good point. But he's still bitter about it.
"Whose place tonight?" Yamamoto asks as they start departing from the high school.
"Mine," Kenma mutters, remembering the, You're coming home tonight, no excuses, text he'd received from his father that afternoon. He supposes he should be grateful his parents didn't put their feet down until now—they did let him spend four school nights away from home—but he wishes they'd waited just a little longer because he still hasn't told them about the tying, and he doesn't know how to.
Yamamoto instantly lets out a loud cheer of excitement, startling Kenma half out of his skin, and Fukunaga throws two hands up high in the air. He frowns distastefully at them, but it just makes them smile wider. They're learning how to see through his expressions, and he's not sure how he feels about it.
"What?" he asks, trying to channel as much annoyance as he can into his voice.
"We're excited," Fukunaga says, stating the obvious.
"Why?"
"We've spent the night at our houses twice, so…we're just excited to see yours," Yamamoto says with a shrug. "And your school uniform's starting to smell."
Kenma scowls at him but can't deny the truth. He's been wearing it every single day for five days in a row now, and despite the fact that the string's been stretching enough to let them each shower without a problem, it's not enough.
"Besides, it's almost like a mystery now, like you're trying to hide something," Yamamoto continues.
"Skeletons in the closet."
"Dead bodies under the floor."
"A servant who does all his homework."
"You're both dumb," Kenma states, which gets the two of them laughing. Despite resisting with all his might, he can't help but smile back. It fades quickly, though, when he thinks about the two of them coming home with him—meeting his parents, being in his bedroom, existing in his personal space. He knows it'll probably be fine, but…
The string pulls their hands close together, and they stop walking. Yamamoto frowns, causing Kenma to tense as he waits for Yamamoto to accuse him of thinking bad things again like he has been all week.
He knows Yamamoto is frustrated with the progress they're making, and he knows it's all his fault. Yamamoto's been chomping at the bit to play volleyball again, and he's expressed hopes about joining the practice match against Shinzen at the end of the week if they get the string to cooperate with them enough. But with each passing day that seems less and less likely to happen.
"Sorry," Kenma mutters before Yamamoto can say anything. "Um, we can still walk, I—"
A fourth hand joins the mix, and Kenma realizes that Fukunaga is reaching in and taking Kenma's hand in his right. Fukunaga then wiggles the fingers of his left hand at Yamamoto, who takes it without hesitation.
"Maybe it'll loosen if we show it we're staying together anyway," Fukunaga says.
Kenma and Yamamoto stare at him with wide, round eyes, and he squeezes their hands and smiles. Sure enough, seconds later, the string extends and they're able to walk side by side and hand in hand to the train station so they can ride to Kenma's house. They attract countless stares, but Kenma just focuses on Fukunaga's hand: the wide palm, the long fingers, and how it completely envelopes his. Distantly, he wonders what holding Yamamoto's hand is like, too.
/ / /
"I'm home," Kenma says when walks them through the front door.
"Kenma!" his mother calls, and he hears her moving through the house toward where he stands in the genkan fishing guest slippers out for Yamamoto and Fukunaga. "Where have you been all week? I want to hear all about high school! What did—" She appears in the hallway and blinks at the three teenage boys in her house. "Oh, you brought friends, how—that—" Her eyes track the red strings joining the three of them, and then she claps a hand over her mouth. "Kenma! Oh my—Toshiro! Come quick!"
"You didn't tell your parents?" Yamamoto murmurs to Kenma, who hunches his shoulders in response.
His mother rushes forward and wraps him up in a hug, then reaches out and pulls Yamamoto and Fukunaga in too. She's laughing and hiccupping, which means she's crying, and then his father there too and staring at them with a slack jawed expression.
"Hi, Otou-san," Kenma mumbles.
"He's tied, he got tied, he's not—he's not gonna be alone," his mother says, breaking away from them to clasp her husband's hands.
Kenma's face twists in a scowl. He can feel Fukunaga and Yamamoto's questioning stares burning holes in his back.
"You're…tied?" his father asks. "To…wait, to two people?"
"We're going to my room," Kenma says, forcing his way past his parents, his arm stuck out behind him as he forces Yamamoto and Fukunaga to follow him.
"O-oh, but—" his mother starts.
"We'll come down for dinner."
"I-it's very nice to meet you!" Yamamoto calls as he stumbles up the stairs.
Kenma slams the door behind them once they make it to his room, and all he wants to do is flop over face first into the bedsheets, but he can't do that right now because he's stuck to two other people.
"Why didn't you tell your parents about us?" Yamamoto asks. "And what was that about you being alone?"
Kenma shrugs it off. "Wanna play a game?"
Yamamoto frowns, and Kenma gets ready for him to push the issue, but Fukunaga suddenly exclaims over Kenma's video game collection. It startles Kenma, as he hadn't realized the string had lengthened enough for Fukunaga to wander so far away from them, but when he looks down it's plenty slack. That follows the trend, though, of it being more flexible when it's just the three of them.
"Can we play this one?" Fukunaga asks, pointing at one of the game cases. His eyes are practically sparkling, so Kenma resists sighing.
"Sure, we can play Mario Party," Kenma replies patiently.
Yamamoto opens his mouth, probably to complain about the game choice or to demand they play Smash instead, so Kenma purposely steps on his foot as he walks over. He squawks, and Kenma smiles.
/ / /
Usually, at least once per day, Kenma wishes he could just sequester himself away in his bedroom for the rest of his life and not ever deal with the outside world again. Today is no exception, but for the first time he finds himself thinking he wouldn't mind two additions to his lifelong solitude.
"You son of a bitch!" Yamamoto exclaims, tossing his controller away and hooking an arm around Fukunaga's neck. Fukunaga snickers as Yamamoto ruffles his hair. "Don't steal my fucking stars!"
"Don't hate the player, hate the game," Fukunaga replies, which Kenma snorts at.
He's surprised to find he really enjoys being around Yamamoto and Fukunaga, a feeling which has only been growing as the week's progressed. He likes when Yamamoto acts like a sore loser, and when Fukunaga is deceptively cunning. He likes Yamamoto's energy and Fukunaga's serenity and how they balance each other out. He likes that they seem to like him, even though they have no reason to. Even though they probably shouldn't.
The string twitches, but he's distracted from that train of thought by a soft knock at his door.
"You boys hungry?" his mother asks as she pokes her head in.
"Yes, ma'am!" Yamamoto says, releasing Fukunaga from his torture.
They assemble downstairs around the dining table, and at first it's okay. At first his parents just ask questions about Fukunaga and Yamamoto and their families and their interests. His parents are absurdly pleased that they also play volleyball and say in a conspiratorial voice that they're "always trying to get Ken-chan interested in things other than video games, but nothing's worked except for Kuroo-kun getting him into volleyball."
But then the conversation steers toward soulmates, as it so often does in this world, and Kenma wishes he could hide under the dining table and plug his ears.
"So you two tied first," his mother says, gesturing to Fukunaga and Yamamoto, "and then when you walked by Kenma you tied with him too?"
"Just like that," Yamamoto says with a snap of his fingers. "Suddenly a two for one special."
"Amazing," she says. "Just amazing. I've never heard of this happening before. I always knew our boy was unique."
"I don't know what I would've done if I had two soulmates," his father says.
"We would've done the same thing, I think, just with another person," his mother replies.
He reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't think I would've liked sharing you with someone else."
Kenma grinds his teeth together in frustration. He knows his father is well-meaning and just trying to be romantic, but it still makes him want to scream. He may not be exactly sure of what the three of them have going on together, but he sure as hell knows that's not how it is. It's not two people in love that are forced to share each other with a third person. It's an equal relationship, or…that's what he wants it to be. Maybe.
"I bet you were surprised, though," his father continues. "Not what you expected, right?"
"I mean, growing up I always hoped I'd pair with a really hot girl, right?" Yamamoto says with a grin. Kenma's father laughs good-naturedly. "But, this is nice too."
This is nice too, Kenma repeats in his head, and he suddenly feels like a consolation prize. He knows that Yamamoto and Fukunaga—like everyone else except for him—probably grew up with predictions or hopes about how their soulmate would turn out, and he can't help but feel like a disappointment. He's shy, he's awkward, he's cagey and unforthcoming with his emotions. Yamamoto and Fukunaga deserve much, much better than him.
The bout of determination he'd just felt about their relationship in the face of his father's poorly chosen words suddenly shatters, and he realizes he doesn't actually know what Yamamoto or Fukunaga want out of this, want out of him. They haven't talked about it, but they probably have ideas, expectations, assumptions.
Do they want to date him? Do they just want to be friends? Do they even care? What if they want to part ways once the string releases? Does Kenma want that? On Monday he would've said yes in a heartbeat, but now his heart seizes at the thought, which inextricably pisses him off. When did he let himself get sucked into this nonsense? When had he become so weak? Why has he let himself get lulled into a false sense of security?
"Kenma," Fukunaga says, then presses their shoulders together. At first, Kenma thinks he's doing it to pull Kenma out of his head or comfort him like he did the first night at the Yamamotos', but then he realizes it's because Fukunaga doesn't have a choice: the string that binds them is taut and growing ever-shorter.
"What's wrong?" Yamamoto asks, and Kenma thinks he detects an impatient edge to his voice.
He's sick of you, he's already tired of you, he wants to get away from you, Kenma thinks as another part of him screams back, Stop it, shut up, don't say that! But Kenma can't blame Yamamoto if he feels that way. He kind of feels that way about himself, too.
"Sweetheart, you can't fight the string," his mother says, reaching across to pat his free hand, which is curled into a white-knuckled fist on the table.
"I-I'm not—" Kenma stammers, but the string doesn't stop until their hands are just a few centimeters apart.
"You said you tied on Monday?" his mother asks in her concerned parent voice, the same one she uses whenever she catches him up late playing games.
"This shouldn't be happening so severely five days in," says his father.
You're doing it wrong, the voice in Kenma's head continues tauntingly. You're messing it up for them. You're ruining—
"As if you'd know," Kenma snaps to get himself out of his head. "Yours only lasted two days."
"Well, yes, our tying was unusually short, but Kenma, we've seen a lot of our friends go through this, and—"
"It's okay," Yamamoto says quickly, and then he and Fukunaga are once again adding their right hands to the pile. "We can handle it, right guys? We're—let's—how about we go upstairs, yeah?"
Fukunaga nods, and together they extricate themselves from the dining table despite his parents' protests, and Yamamoto steers them upstairs, calling thanks for the half-eaten meal over his shoulder as they go.
The atmosphere between them is still choking even after the door closes behind them. Their hands are still mere centimeters apart, and they all stare heavily down at them. Kenma's gaze, though, is locked on the loose length of string between Yamamoto and Fukunaga, and he absurdly feels tears begin to burn behind his eyes.
He never even wanted this, but now that he has it he's furious at himself for fucking it up. The universe gave him a chance and he's absolutely butchering it. He feels worse, though, for Fukunaga and Yamamoto, who just wanted nice, normal soulmates and ended up stuck with him, saddled together with an antisocial loser. They'll probably be better off without him, if he just leaves when the string releases or if he somehow finds the strength to just literally cut himself out of their lives.
"Ow, ow!" Fukunaga yelps suddenly.
The string, reacting in self-defense to Kenma's dangerous spiral of despair, had shrunk so much that now there's no length between any of them, even between Yamamoto and Fukunaga, and still the string is tightening itself around their pinkies, which are now turning red from the constriction.
"Shit," Kenma gasps, wincing from the pain.
"Kenma, what is wrong?" Yamamoto demands. "Why do you keep thinking bad things about us?"
"I—I don't—I'm not—" He doesn't want to be here. He wants to be anywhere but here. He feels like he might throw up.
"You are! That's the only explanation!" Yamamoto presses.
"I'm not doing anything!" he insists desperately, trying in vain to pull his hand away from theirs.
"Well it's not us!" Yamamoto snaps. "You think we haven't noticed it's always your string shrinking?"
"Tora," Fukunaga says softly, placing his right hand on the boy's shoulder, but Yamamoto is beyond listening.
"Right from the start it's been clear that you're not all that happy about this, not like we are," Yamamoto snaps. "You didn't even tell your parents about us! Do you secretly hate us or something? Are you ashamed of us? Is the idea of being tied to us that revolting?"
"I don't hate you," Kenma growls, getting angry now. Angry at Yamamoto, angry at himself, angry at fate or the gods or the universe or whatever he can blame for this situation they're in.
"Well how are we supposed to know that? You know, it's a fucking rollercoaster with you, and we never know what we're gonna get! Half the time it's good and we're having fun, and then you suddenly shut down and shut us out!"
"I'm sorry if I don't want to pour my heart out to two strangers I just met on Monday!" Kenma yells. "I'm sorry this soulmate thing is total bullshit! I'm sorry that I don't know how to fucking do this!"
"You think we do?" Yamamoto shouts. "This is new to us too, Kenma, but we're supposed to be in this together!"
"Well maybe I don't want to be!" Kenma screeches, even though it's nearly a complete lie.
Yamamoto flinches and takes a step back, but he doesn't go far since his left hand is still plastered against Kenma and Fukunaga's. They're both breathing hard, and beside them Fukunaga is shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot.
"So that's how it is," Yamamoto says, then purses his lips.
Kenma sags, feeling suddenly exhausted. "I don't…I don't know what you want from me. I'm not good at this, I don't—I can't—" He grinds his teeth, a bad habit that Kuroo yells at him for if he catches him, and for a moment he wishes Kuroo was here. He's always been able to translate Kenma's thoughts better than Kenma can, but Kuroo's been giving him space all week on the basis that Kenma needs to face this on his own.
"Can I ask a question?" Fukunaga asks. When they look at him he grins and says, "Oh, I guess I just did."
Yamamoto lets out an unwilling snort.
"Can I ask another?"
"You're doing that on purpose," Kenma accuses, fighting the smile that he can feel at the corners of his mouth.
Fukunaga just hums, then glances back down at their hands. "What did your mom mean about you not being alone now?"
Kenma sighs. He really, really doesn't want to talk about this, especially not when they're all tied so tightly together that it hurts, but he supposes the string isn't gonna let up unless he does, so there's only one thing left to do.
"I thought my string was broken," he says slowly. "The split end, I…everyone told me that meant there was something wrong with it. Something wrong with me. So I thought I was never going to have a soulmate."
Yamamoto inhales sharply like he's going to interrupt, but Fukunaga holds a hand up to silence him, then nods for Kenma to go on.
"I don't hate you guys," he continues after a breath. "Really, I don't. It's…it's the situation I hate. The whole soulmate thing. I really do think it's kind of bullshit, the way the world obsesses over it like it's the only thing that matters in a person's life, and I thought I was free of all that. But I'm not and now here you are and it's not your fault but…but now I have to deal with all this pressure and expectation and how other people view us, a-and I don't know what to do with any of it. So this is—it's just—it's a lot."
The string lets up a little bit, allowing them to hold their arms at their sides but not to step any farther apart from each other.
"So when the string reacts, it's cause you're second guessing all of this?" Yamamoto asks.
"Yeah," Kenma mumbles. "I just…I know I'm not what you envisioned. I can't be your super-hot dream girl. I'm not as into volleyball as you. I don't do anything interesting. And I don't even know what I want us to be, like, friends or dating or whatever, so I'm probably a disappointment there too, and—"
"Kenma," Yamamoto says gently, then reaches out and takes Kenma's hand in both of his. "You are the farthest thing from a disappointment."
A startled tear escapes down his cheek as he looks back at him. "W-what?"
"I mean it," he continues. "Sure, we don't know each other that well, but I like what I do know. I can tell you're smart even if you don't try that hard at school. And you're crazy good at video games, which is cool. And that shit I said about a hot girl was something I cared about when I was ten, Kenma. I was just trying to be funny to get your dad to like me."
"Really?" Kenma asks suspiciously.
"Yeah, man, I really like you," he says, then switches to holding Kenma's hand with just one of his and reaches for Fukunaga's too. "Both of you. And as for us, I mean…I can only speak for me, but I'm not expecting anything. Sure I had fantasies growing up, but it's different now that I know who you guys are, you know?
"I'm not, like, demanding that we fall in love and get triple-married and buy a house with a dog and two kids. We're fourteen. I'm just asking you to get to know me, to give us a shot. Whatever we become—friends or boyfriends or just guys that play on the same volleyball team—it'll be okay with me because we gave each other a try. That's my only expectation."
Yamamoto sweeps a thumb over the back of Kenma's hand, and he remembers his earlier wonderings about holding Yamamoto's hand. It's bigger than his, which he'd expected, and the fingers are shorter and stockier than Fukunaga's. He can feel callouses on the palm and fingers, but it's warm and nice and he likes it. He really likes it.
"What about you, Shou?" Yamamoto asks.
"I feel the same," Fukunaga says, then hesitates a moment before reaching for Kenma's other hand, and then their triangle is complete. "I…I knew there'd be two of you. My parents told me that's what the two ends meant, and I've always looked forward to meeting you guys, and I'm not disappointed at all. I think we have the best soulmates in the world."
"Fuck yeah," Yamamoto says with a grin.
Kenma laughs, and a tension deep in his chest that he's been holding on to for probably his whole life begins to loosen. He feels lighter somehow, and he wonders if it's because he's letting go of his baggage or because he has two new people to help him carry it, but it's probably a combination of both.
"Can…can I have a hug?" Kenma asks in a small voice, surprising even himself.
Yamamoto and Fukunaga pause for only a heartbeat before they pounce. Fukunaga wraps his arms around Kenma's middle and pulls Kenma back-to-chest against him. Kenma's face is then pressed into Yamamoto's chest as he grabs the both of them and squeezes, and even though Kenma feels a little like he might suffocate, he also thinks he's never been happier in his life.
The rest of the evening passes by without incident. They eventually wander back downstairs, where his parents are sheepish and delicate around them, having sensed that they must've said something to set Kenma off earlier. They probably also heard at least part of his and Yamamoto's shouting match, which is mortally embarrassing, but he's just glad they didn't interrupt.
Yamamoto and Fukunaga are gifted their own spare toothbrushes like Kenma has at each of their houses now, and he's surprised by how much he likes that. They play more Mario Party and laugh and joke and somehow end up sitting in a tangle of limbs and smiles on the floor while they tell stories from their childhood. Yamamoto is loud and overbearing, and Fukunaga is odd and at times unreadable, but he thinks he wouldn't trade them for anything.
Hours pass, and Kenma's parents finally insist that the boys at least act like they're going to bed, so they set up two futons on the floor of Kenma's bedroom and tell stories while staring up at the ceiling. After a while, though, the conversations drop away into quiet breathing, and Kenma closes his eyes to think. He's finally in his own beloved bed for the first time since the week began, but even though he's been dreaming of it since he woke up with a crick in his neck after sleeping on Fukunaga's floor that first night, he can't help but feel wrong he lays there alone.
He rolls over and looks down to see Fukunaga on his side with a hand resting on Yamamoto's belly. The three of them haven't cuddled since that first night, since Kenma's adverse reaction in the morning, but Kenma feels inexplicably drawn to them right now, and for once it's not because of the string. He wants to be close to them, to touch them, to lay next to them and feel the trust and care and respect that they have for him.
Yamamoto isn't asleep yet, and he looks questioningly up at Kenma's face peeking over the edge of the bed.
"Can…" Kenma begins shyly, then swallows down his nerves. "Can I join you guys?"
"Yeah," Yamamoto says, voice creaking with sleepiness and also what Kenma thinks is barely restrained joy.
Kenma nods, then slips out of his bed. He could just lay down on Yamamoto's other side, but he's feeling selfish and needy and still emotionally raw from earlier, so he steps carefully over Yamamoto into the space between their bodies, then lifts Fukunaga's arm off of Yamamoto and slips himself into the middle of them. Yamamoto curls toward him, offering his arm as a pillow, and Kenma accepts as he wriggles to get underneath the blankets.
"Kenma?" Fukunaga mumbles sleepily, roused by all the movement.
"Is this okay?" Kenma asks.
"Mhm," Fukunaga replies, scooting closer underneath the covers. His right arm drapes perfectly over the dip in Kenma's waist and stretches to rest on Yamamoto's hip while the other arm joins Yamamoto's as a pillow for Kenma's head. He curves his chest and legs along Kenma's body, then noses affectionately at the back of Kenma's neck before settling again.
Yamamoto smiles at the two of them, reaching out to smooth some hair out of Kenma's face and then further to stroke Fukunaga's cheek. Then he takes Fukunaga's hand off his hip and places it over Kenma's, then rests his on top, and suddenly Kenma feels like weeping from the overwhelming wave of warmth and fondness that's sweeping over him.
He doesn't love them. At least, he doesn't think he does. Not yet. But for the first time, he's allowing himself to be truly open to it and to all of the possibilities that exist for them.
/ / /
Kenma wakes slowly the next morning. Like on Tuesday, he finds himself laying between Yamamoto and Fukunaga. But unlike Tuesday, he doesn't overthink and try to pull away. He's draped over Yamamoto's chest, and Fukunaga is on his back beside him with a leg thrown over the both of them. Based on the light coming from his bedroom window, it's still fairly early, which he resents, so he shifts closer to Yamamoto and stifles a yawn.
"Morning," Yamamoto mumbles.
"Shh, sleep," Kenma says in response.
Yamamoto chuckles, and Kenma feels the vibrations where his face is resting on Yamamoto's ribcage. He brings a hand up and rubs up and down Kenma's arm soothingly, and the rhythm of it lulls Kenma back to the edge of sleep when Yamamoto suddenly stills.
"Kenma," he says, and his voice isn't soft anymore. It sounds almost…scared.
"What's wrong?" Kenma asks, concerned.
"The string is…it's gone."
Kenma bolts upright, causing Fukunaga to snort and stir from his sleep. "What?" He looks at his left pinky, which is bare for the first time in his life. "What…where is it?"
"I don't—it must've come off in our sleep," Yamamoto says, lifting the blankets and looking around.
"Here," Fukunaga says, and they turn to him. He gently lifts a triangle of red string up from behind Kenma, where he must've wound up laying on it in the night.
Fukunaga sits up and Kenma shifts around so they're all sitting close together, the string resting in the middle between them all. Looking at it, Kenma almost feels sad, which is bewildering to him. He'd thought that once the string released them that he'd feel free, like a giant weight was off his shoulders, like he was liberated from the burden the universe had placed on him.
He feels none of that. In fact, if he concentrates, it almost feels like the string is still there, connecting each of them with something more than magical thread.
Yamamoto and Fukunaga must be thinking the same thing as him, because they all reach for each other at the same time. Yamamoto's fingers slip into each of their hair, with Fukunaga pressing their foreheads together while Kenma puts his face against Yamamoto's neck. He settles against Yamamoto's chest and draws Fukunaga in with a hand clenched in his sleep shirt until he's basically sitting in both of their laps with Fukunaga's long arms around the both of them.
"I'm…really happy I met you guys," Yamamoto whispers.
"Not like we had a choice," Kenma replies.
Fukunaga flicks him in the cheek, and they all laugh.
Yes, the red string and the universe technically picked them out for him, but while he still doesn't like being backed into a corner or having decisions made for him, he realizes now that's not what the string did. All it did was guide him to people it thought he needed in his life. It's up to them to decide what to do from there, to decide what they are to each other, and they've decide to choose each other.
The string may be done with them, but they're not done with each other. Far from it.
"So, what should we do today?" Yamamoto asks.
Kenma smiles at him and Fukunaga and replies, "Whatever we want."
This version of the Red String of Fate is adapted from the version in the webcomic Tied In Red by Scragon on Tapas! It's a really good comic, you should go read it!
I may or may not have gotten very emotional about Kenma's character development while writing this, and at first I started I thought it wouldn't even hit 5k and here we at 10k later lmao
Till tomorrow!
~Ki
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