Once upon a time, there was a boy born in an ordinary town. He had ordinary parents, an ordinary house, and by all accounts an ordinary life ahead of him. That is, if not for a peculiar fixation.

From a young age, he felt a noted difference between himself and his peers. He took longer to form words, his tongue heavy in his mouth. It was hard to smile, to get his face to take on the right shape. There seemed to be a lack of expression on his face even when he knew he was feeling happy or sad. Because of this, he felt shy and awkward around others, who seemed to do these things easily, and who felt so…connected. Even those who were hated, he thought, were connected to others by revulsion. He wasn't sure if anyone saw him at all. There was a common feeling among his peers that he simply wasn't there.

Although discouraged, he kept trying to mingle with different groups. He longed for that feeling of connection, that shared experience of knowing he saw all around him. Instead, he struggled to keep up with conversations and lagged behind in interactions.

"You're weird," one of them said one day. The leader of a group. "You talk at all the wrong moments, and you never get a clue."

These words stung the boy, but at the same time, a bolt of realization came with them. One that promised a possible solution to the agonizing problem.

You see, what the boy lacked in expression he made up for in academics. The world of equations and brain teasers he adored. Surely–surely he figured–this is just another puzzle. The way to laugh or talk, smile or not smile, it was all based on something that could be calculated, that made sense. If he did it at the wrong time, well, all he would have to do is find the right time. The boy began to throw himself at the study of people, of how they interacted, and when exactly to do or say certain things.

Soon, he found himself mimicking those he found most successful at this type of communication. He laughed at certain funny things, talked when people were sure to listen, and stayed quiet when the situation called for silence. Smiling the right way became a daily exercise for him. He still made mistakes, but they soon grew less and less frequent. Eventually, he'd figured that he'd done it. He'd finally made the people around him accept him as a connection. How could they not when he did everything as he should?

The fool. He still didn't get it.

The other children. His fellow playmates. They respected him, admired him, laughed at his jokes, and played with him. How was he supposed to know?

It all came to a head when, one day, the same child as before spoke to him, eyes full of disgust. "You're even creepier now," they said, "I can't tell what you're thinking. The way you talk and laugh…you're just faking it, aren't you?"

Of course, at this point, he had enough of his peers behind him to reprimand the child. Reassuring that they did like him. That he was so attentive and smart and thoughtful. None of it was heard by the boy. He was too busy letting the previous comments rip through him like shears, tearing down the confidence he'd built up over his time studying. It shouldn't have mattered what one person said if he had one hundred by his side. But what if the one person was simply seeing things more clearly than anyone else?

That night he wept in bed, cursing himself for thinking he had won. What was the truth? Did his new friends lie? Or was it the objector that was misled? They couldn't both be right, but neither could they both be wrong. Had he cultivated real bonds, or was it just an illusion of his own making?

The last thought before his exhausted mind and body fell asleep was simple: If only he had a way to know, for sure, what constituted a connection, a "bond". Everything would be simple then.

He awoke the next morning changed.

He noticed almost immediately, the moment he saw his parents again, the two of them eating breakfast at the table. Something wavered between them. A thin strand of glowing red flowed between the two, each end connected to their backs. Other colors were present, all of them starting from the same place, behind them. Seeing them was such a shock he stood in front of the room, mouth agape.

"Sweetie?" His mother cooed, seeing his pale face. When she moved towards him the string-like thing moved with her. It didn't grow taut, as if the length was much longer than it appeared. He backed away.

"What-what is that?"

"Hmm?" She peered around herself, confused. His father didn't glance from his newspaper. Impossible. She was practically staring right at it! Panicked, the young boy bolted from the room, practically flinging himself out the front door.

Where his shock turned to pure awe.

The world was suddenly filled with all sorts of the same string-like lines. Streaks of light danced in the air, a multitude of hues, lengths, and widths. The more he looked at them, the more they reminded him of the threads his mother used when weaving. The way they intermingled and were full of texture, even from a distance. As the boy stumbled in amazement across town, he hardly paid attention to anything else. That was when he realized.

People. The thing all the threads had in common. They were always attached to people.

He'd almost forgotten in his initial panic that the first of the threads he'd seen were on the backs of his parents. And now, every person he came across had some attached to them. Young and old, male and female, beloved and reviled. They were there, connecting each other in such a beautiful way. It was a truly wondrous sight, one that brought him close to tears. Could this be what he'd been searching for? Might these colored threads be the very bonds he'd longed to see?

Would he finally be able to tell if he possessed any himself?

He twisted his neck, desperate to spot his back, but no matter how much he stretched there was no seeing it, or any threads that were obviously his. He asked a passerby for a hand mirror and–after reluctantly being given one–attempted to check that way. Still nothing.

Anxiety mounting, he ran to the place where his supposed group of friends always hung around. Surely, they'd be attached to him…

He found them playing, laughing, joking as usual. Even from a distance, he could make out the colors surrounding them. Orange and brown wove in and out, an occasional faint pink in the mix. They appeared like a tapestry, growing brighter the closer they were together.

And not one of those threads, he noticed with a start, was anywhere near him.

He stood there a good deal longer than normal. Squinting his eyes, searching, begging for even a single bond that was his to be there. But his wish was not answered. He continued to see absolutely nothing between him and his "friends". If anyone had been watching, they would have heard a chuckle far darker than one would expect from a boy his age.

He had no bonds–none with which he could see–and if all his previous efforts did not bear fruit, there was only one conclusion he could logically draw. That day, something inside the boy was quietly locked away; the remnants of a hope left unfulfilled.

The boy gave a final, meaningful glance at the group before silently turning back home.

He did not begrudge his parents when he did not see threads from them to him. He'd already accepted that as his lot in life, no need to get emotional now.

His parents, on the other hand, soon noticed an odd transformation in their son. What was once a nervous, fidgety child turned into an unnervingly calm and collected one. They thought it a bit abrupt but did not pressure him to explain the change.

"Boys are like that his age, one minute all limbs and nerves and the next a man," his father remarked one day, his mother nodding along as if the statement were a known fact. That was the extent of their conversation on it.

And the boy did grow into a man. And with that, his new abilities.

By the time he was considered an adult, the man was finely attuned to the nature of the "threads". Every hue represented a different type of relationship, love, hate, and everything in between. It was an entirely new puzzle, one he dove into eagerly. He learned the various intricacies involving the differences in lengths, girths, and even the saturations of colors, and how they illustrated the relationship between two people.

With this, he grew very good at "guessing" at romantic entanglements, familial relations, and various other things which he chalked up to intuition. In truth, soon he became so good at noticing the signs he could have known without any of the threads assistance. He came to enjoy the look of awe and horror on certain people's faces when he revealed their hidden bonds.

Once he had exhausted his knowledge of his hometown's connections, he promptly left under the vague notion of "seeing the world". No longer the awkward, unsure child, his ability to see the hidden bonds around him instead lent him confidence and charm that exploded his social skills. He learned how to weave wondrous tales, mention certain revealing facts at just the right moment, and more often than not, people were putty in his hands. The power to tell if someone was cheating at a glance ended up coming in handy more than once, he discovered.

Still, despite his appeal, there was often a small reluctance in him to interact with others. It would be the height of foolishness to expect another to care for him in a way he saw every day through the threads. By all accounts, he had many friends, many partners across several businesses, and even a brief lover on occasion. Sometimes he could even trick himself into thinking what he had with another was real. But the older he got, the more uncomfortable the idea of deceiving another felt. He started setting rules: No staying anywhere for more than a couple of months. No greeting old connections. No romance.

Gradually, even with the rules, he began to despise when another would refer to him by a title. "Friend", "partner", "leader"…it was a knife to the heart. But how could he explain their misconception? That it wasn't real, what they thought they felt, but instead just a masterful illusion? He rarely attempted to explain, with the quizzical looks he knew he'd receive. It was infuriating. They had what he wanted, yet they couldn't see it. If only they knew how lucky they were, then they wouldn't throw away perfectly good bonds over trivial things, like forgetting to brush their teeth or committing tax fraud.

One day, an idea came to mind. Why not help them? It was the least he could do if it made them take it seriously. He didn't advertise it publicly, but he started taking on odd jobs that meant helping others with relationships. Sometimes, it was direct, other times he inserted the relationship help into other innocuous jobs if he saw something fraying. It was a beautiful thing, watching those threads start to knit back together. Other times he'd had to sever them, but he preferred when they were healthy and bright again.

This was how it was for several years, until one day, he ran across a strange woman whose family was a pack of wolves. He helped her keep the land her family lived in and planned on leaving after a short interview with her (he'd never met someone with such bright threads on animals such as hers). What he did NOT expect was for her to follow him out of the woods and stick to him like glue. Not that he encouraged any of that, in fact, he did his best to discourage her. With pointed words, with cold shoulders, and even with an attempt to leave in the middle of the night. None of it worked. The words she laughed at, the cold shoulders she ignored, and least he forgot when he was not five feet out the door to find her waiting just ahead of him, already packed.

It was infuriating. In an entirely different way than normal.

Eventually, he gave up and stopped trying to make her leave. Even when she started calling him "boss" (at least it wasn't "master"). They settled into a routine. She was the muscle and he was the brains. With the kinds of jobs, he started taking after she tagged along, the muscle was certainly appreciated. He ended up teaching her numbers and letters she'd never learned, while she attempted to strength-train him (attempt being the word of the day here). Life became…a little more predictable with her around. Even though he fully expected, each and every day, that it would be the last.

Then he took a job from the government and met a lovely lady who very desperately needed some encouragement to leave her toxic mother. It didn't happen the way he wanted, but he was glad he was able to say what he did to her before he left. He wished her the best moving forward…so imagine his surprise when the same lady rushed to meet them at the train station. She claimed she'd gotten the idea to join them from her own volition, but given the other woman's proud smile, he was doubtful. Before he could object, he found himself boarding the train with the both of them. Now two people were traveling by his side.

The new lady was also quite skilled and in wholly different areas than the other. He saw a vast improvement in the quality of meals, along with spontaneous fixes to rips in clothes and the sprouting of small plushes whenever she had free time. She was a lovely conversation partner, even if she got annoyed by some of the things he said (and that was on purpose only half the time). Her previous skills contributed to jobs as well, and the three of them soon fell into a pattern of completing jobs and moving on.

Yes, life was much more comfortable with them around. A fact that would have brought a normal person great joy. Instead, the longer they were together, the greater his sorrow became.

Because one day, they would realize they had been deceived by him. That they'd wasted their time being with him. That they had gained nothing in return for such devotion.

So he promised himself he would do something for them. To give them bonds that would be there even after they realized. Some they'd always dreamed of but never had the chance to experience. Then it wouldn't have all been in vain.

He only hoped that in giving them this gift, it would balance out the terrible feelings of gratitude seeing them by his side. That sweet appreciation felt more poisonous by the day. After they parted ways, he would probably never meet people as dedicated as them ever again.

Percy whistled as he made his way down the street. The day was still relatively young, but the building clouds above promised rain soon, which made the people feel antsy. Not him though. He was too wrapped up in a unique euphoria to care.

His arm still throbbed from the day before. A warm trickle was building up where it hurt the most; he must have reopened part of the wound during the fight. The bandages would have to be changed again. If he remembered. It was hard to remember things that his physical body was experiencing. It just didn't seem to matter much. His fight with Cobra was a little rougher than he'd anticipated, although it turned out alright in the end. It would have been nice to be friends with him. Perhaps some other time.

Percy absentmindedly stared at the various threads around him. They always felt so close, like he could just reach out and touch one…he lifted a hand to a bright blue one, finger at the tip of the color. Only for his hand to slide right through, like pure air. The thread shimmered between his fingers but otherwise showed no sign of being touched. He frowned. Normally, he wasn't bothered by not being able to touch them. He'd never been able to before.

Until now.

He ignored the rest of the threads floating between the people and exited the town. A part of him was tempted to make good on finding Cobra's partner and talking to her, but that had mostly just been a way to get him riled up. Perhaps some other time. He made sure to still the feelings within as he moved. One of his annoyances with Cobra was how he always knew where she was…he was. Whatever. It was annoying. Didn't want to make it easy for him, right?

The house he rented stood tall on the hill. Percy had gotten it specifically to look out over the rest of the town at night. Sometimes, if he squinted just right, he could make out some extra colors mixed with the town lights. It wasn't the prettiest house he'd stayed in, but between the three of them fixing it up, it was almost like a home. Almost.

He unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The front hallway was dark when he entered. Percy paused for a moment to listen. Sometimes he could hear Perse and Gilda down the hallway talking, or Perse humming to herself. Today he heard nothing. That wasn't unusual for this time of day, but something about the darkness made him want to confirm he was alone. "Perse? Gilda?"

Silence.

He hummed as he took a few more cautious steps inside, about to go up the stairs to the room with the chair when he found his eyes drawn to a piece of paper taped to the banister. Opening it up, he found a quickly scrawled note. Percy, it read, please come to the kitchen when you arrive home. I forgot to mention something to you yesterday about the experiment. -P

Percy frowned. It was unlike Perse to write him a note about something she wanted to talk about. After a moment's thought, he simply shrugged and started heading for the kitchen. Perhaps she was feeling embarrassed after yesterday and wanted to ease into talking. It was sudden of her to run out like that…

No threads were glowing as he entered the kitchen, so neither were any people around. Perse and Gilda spent most of their time in the kitchen, preferring it to even their shared room, so he found it odd he saw neither of them there. Especially considering Perse's note. A feeling of doubt crept over him, but he shooed it away with the power of the threads. They were the perfect pick-me-up for pesky thoughts like that. He'd give her five minutes and then head upstairs, feigning that he'd been there for longer than he actually would be if confronted later.

Without warning, he felt an ominous presence from behind. Before he could so much as turn around, an arm wrapped its way around his torso and another snaked down his shoulder and gripped his non-injured hand. He struggled, but his assailant was nothing if not firm, barely allowing a wiggle. Within seconds he stopped struggling, letting out a sigh. "Gilda…what exactly is going on?"

Gilda didn't respond. Instead, she carefully turned him around so he was facing the entrance to the kitchen. He saw a thread the color of a dry autumn leaf shiver and shift ahead of him. Percy could tell another person was about to enter the room. One he knew all too well.

When Perse entered the kitchen, the first thing Percy noticed were her red-rimmed eyes perfectly framed behind dark, square glasses. The next thing, the one that stole all his attention, was what she held in her hands. A spool of glowing thread.

"Sir, we need to talk."

She walked a step closer. Percy's eyes remained locked on the spool. The threads, the beautiful threads…had Perse finally discovered the true blessing that was this object? Would he have to…share? A part of Percy felt repulsed by this notion and he quickly quieted the thought. There was no need to be selfish. Some he'd even meant for them, originally. Plenty to go around. As long as he got first pick…

He heard a sigh. "You can't even look at me?" With reluctance, he peeled his eyes away to look at Perse. Her expression was grim. "I'll be frank with you sir, this has got to stop."

Stop? He looked at her incredulously. "And why must I do that again?"

Perse took a deep breath.

"You haven't been eating, you probably haven't been sleeping. You didn't react as one normally would while getting sliced up earlier." Gilda grunted in agreement. "It's a matter of personal safety, sir. It's no longer wise to continue if this is how you're going to behave. So we're going to give you a choice." Perse held up one finger. "Either, one, you can promise me that we'll take a break from these threads. I'm open to thinking up a new strategy so that this doesn't happen again, but I can't allow you to keep doing it this way." Another finger. "Or, two…" Perse's grip tightened on the spool. "I undo all of them, right now, and we forget this whole thing ever happened."

Percy stared at her. A wave of resentment rose within him. How dare she try to give him choices, when only now did he find himself at the luxury of making any in the first place? Weren't they just the same thing, in the end? Either way, he would be forced to give them up. Smothering his true feelings, he gave her a relaxed smile. "Perse, I didn't know you were so concerned. I'm sorry I made you feel this way. Of course, we can take a break for now and then come back with cooler heads."

Perse's periwinkle eyes held him in a stare. Slowly, he watched her head move…back and forth. No. No? No?

"You're lying," she said.

"W-What makes you say that?" he replied, failing to keep the stammer out of his voice.

"Your smile's all wrong. That's not the face you use when you're telling the truth."

The way you talk and laugh…you're just faking it, aren't you?

His heartbeat quickened at the words, the ones that felt directed through time itself. Percy hoped his face reddening would be taken as anger and not embarrassment. "I'm telling the truth."

"You're not. I know you sir, and you don't act like this when you're being truthful." Perse's face took on a heavy frown. "I suspected this may be the case. You're too wrapped up in it all to reason with. sir…" The threads began to glow in her hand. "…I'm sorry."

"Wait! What are you doing–"

The spool continued glowing as Perse mumbled under her breath. The spell! She was undoing it! He could already start to feel a tugging on his back, like the invisible glue that held them there was coming undone. His panic spiked as he fruitlessly struggled under Gilda's might. If only he could break free, then he would snatch the spool out of her hands, and recover the threads. He didn't want them to leave him.

No, he wouldn't let them leave him.

A strange pressure ignited in his chest, and he concentrated hard on the threads he had. He commanded them to remain on him. The tugging sensation lessened, then faded altogether. He breathed a sigh of relief, just as he heard Perse gasp. The spool no longer glowed, and she gawked at it. "Impossible. I can't dismiss them." She stared at Percy in newfound horror. He simply smiled. There wasn't anything more she could do now to pull him away from them.

At least, that's what he thought until Perse pulled out a lighter.

The panic from before morphed into terror. A flickering flame burst out as Perse's hand moved towards the spool. The cruel light of the fire threatened to separate him from his ultimate light. Seeing Perse attempt to undo the magic made him buckle down, and seeing her try to set it ablaze made him flare up.

A few threads that were attached to him popped off. Their loss stung, but he had another–brief–purpose for them. Thankfully, Gilda was unable to see what Percy was doing, as those around him couldn't see the threads unless he willed it.

Or, if they were attached to them.

Before they could drift away, he willed them to stick to Gilda. The instant they connected, her whole body flinched as she yipped in surprise. Gilda released him in her struggle to tear them off. Meanwhile, Percy ran towards Perse. The spool was beginning to burn. Was he too late?

"Gilda!" she cried. Perhaps she guessed what had happened, as she set a nasty glare at Percy. "Binding Threads!" Her own threads, spilling out of her side fanny pack, launched themselves at him. But he had anticipated this and called out some threads of his own. Somehow, he knew that if he could only touch her, then he'd be able to place the threads. If he did that, he'd win.

The physical threads began to curl around him first, binding his legs together. He tipped and fell forward, reaching out his hand, reaching, reaching…for Perse's ankle. Connecting just as he hit the floor, he heard another gasp. The threads around him fell away soon after, with Perse dropping to her knees.

The spool fell to the ground, quietly burning. With his own hands, Percy stamped the flame out in a few hard pats. A band in the middle was singed, threads a charcoal black with no light left within them. It was ok. He could salvage most of it, maybe even rebuild parts that were gone. Percy hugged the spool close to his chest like a child. He was going to be alright.

After a moment, he looked up to see both woman still on their knees, trying desperately to take the threads off themselves. Both took labored breaths, their faces strained. Percy glanced between the two, perplexed. He hadn't given them any particularly intense bonds, and only a few at a time. What was making them so agitated? Could it be that normal people couldn't take the extra bonds added? Perse had reacted negatively after only one after all. Possibly the bonds themselves, however faint, were adverse to their personalities? A small part of Percy itched to test, to experiment, to see if he could unlock new wonders by testing the limits of bonds.

Another part of him, a voice that spoke in a hopeful whisper, wondered if he could take the bonds he had to create entirely new ones. Ones that would be as strong and bright as naturally formed ones. Ones he could attach between himself and the people he knew. That would make what they experienced real.

Without a word, he took the threads off Perse and Gilda, attaching them back to himself. They gasped. The rest of Perse's body collapsed on the floor, her strength giving out. Gilda tried, unsteadily, to push herself back up. Despite this, they looked less pale, and their breaths came out more evenly. Percy stood and stared straight ahead, only looking at the two out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry that happened. Please don't do it again." He began to walk towards the stairs.

"You're free to leave if you wish. It's been a good few years, I'll admit, but I don't want to tie you down. You both have talent and strength. You'll do well for yourselves wherever you go."

"…Percy." He froze. Perse's voice was little more than a whisper. "I know you don't want to hear this, but you have to believe me. We-we care about you."

Percy's free hand balled into a fist. He fought the urge to turn around and glare at Perse. It wasn't her he should be mad at, after all. "I've told you before, Perse, you're mistaken."

"I'm n-not. And neither is Gilda. You just don't want to listen to us."

At this, he turned around and stared coldly at her. She was still on the floor, but her eyes met his, defiant. What made her so stubborn after all this time? He really had outdone himself, he thought bitterly.

"Your words mean nothing in light of what I can see, Perse. There is nothing between us. It's not personal, it's just the way it is for me." Given the look on Perse's face, it certainly must have felt personal. Gilda's eyes bore daggers at him, her body awkwardly in a kneeling position. Neither looked ready to move anytime soon. "As I said before, you are free to leave. I will not hold you back. I…" There was something else he wanted to say, something at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed down the words and continued upstairs, leaving the two behind.

Once in the room where they'd set up the spool, he slumped into the chair. The rain started not long after, the steady thrum outside on the balcony calming him. He hadn't noticed how tired he was until he sat down. The spool in his hand glowed, and he absentmindedly picked two threads with burnt pieces and fused them. The mixture of colors looked divine, and as he sampled it, the bonds played together wonderfully.

He sighed. This was truly the life. He never wanted to be without them again. How had he lived so long without them in the first place? It seemed almost a miracle that he was still alive. No one should have to go through the kind of life without bonds. It made him think of all the people he'd helped over the years. Some lacked bonds or desired connections. Before, he had no way of granting them these things besides encouraging them within their own power.

What if, now, he could do it under his own power?

An idea took root in his mind, one that kept him up half the night in exhilaration.


A/N: This has been, no doubt, one of my favorite interludes to write. I hope you all had a good time (or maybe a bad time, but in a good way) with this Day! Just wanted to give a quick heads up that I will not be uploading this next week. I know, I know, but this pause will ONLY be for this week so I have time to both relax a bit over the holidays and build up my buffer. Day 7 is turning out to be hefty and heavy, so I want to make sure things are looking good for the final stretch! We may be closer to the ending than the beginning, but there's still a fair bit left to go. I hope you all join me back here on the 1st to see it through. Happy holidays as well!