fic for paddyabroad (1/2)
Title: You String Me Along
Pairing: HayaRyu; Natsu/Hiroto
Word count: 10,000+
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: Strong language
Notes: This was based on the Chinese ‘red thread of fate’ legend. Paddyabroad, I hope you don’t mind the inclusion of Bandage!Jin here, and you have my apologies for Nao’s personality being almost completely AU (I couldn’t bring myself to write her nicely and then blow her off asdfjhg sorry). I hope you enjoy reading.
Summary: He’d been told many times that if one was to follow the trail of their red thread, it would only lead to disappointment; fate cannot be sought out.
--
“Aren’t you going to wait for your red thread to appear?” Ren asked after he finally got Hiroto to explain his relationship with Nao.
“I don’t need string to tell me who I want to be with; I can figure things out for myself.” His brother huffed in response before uttering, “I don’t believe in that legend anyway,” spoken too faintly for Ren’s ears to pick up. Hiroto may not have been gentle, but he was no dream-crusher either. Besides, if how he met Nao wasn’t considered fate, he couldn’t say what would be.
--
He’d been told many times that if one was to follow the trail of their red thread, it would only lead to disappointment; fate cannot be sought out.
Hayato knew he may end up unsatisfied, but he’d never been the type of guy to wait around for others to pick a fight. Or in this case, sit around and wait for the girl of his dreams to stumble into his life by chance. Into his brain sprung an image of a pair of rosy lips, spread in a narrow line over soft, fair skin, and he couldn’t stop his legs from walking out onto the moonlit streets, following the newly-formed red path flowing from his little finger.
When the string ran in a taut line up and over the handrail of a familiar balcony, Hayato felt his stomach plait and his throat tighten. He got not one wink of sleep that night.
--
“Fuck.” He grumbled as he glanced down at his hand, curled around the guitar neck, and the crimson cord, curled around his little finger. “Fuck.”
This was starting to feel similar to the time a waitress he’d knocked up after a drunken make-out had tried to dump the child in his hands. Like life was telling him to get serious.
And, like always, he ignored everyone else’s advice; even that of his own mind, instead turning to his most reliable distraction.
Beer.
--
It was a day later, after Hayato’s dad had booted him off his futon and out of the front door with the accusation that his grades were poor enough when he was going to school, that Hayato realised that Ryu pretty much fit his description of his perfect ‘type’. Looking at Ryu, he almost cringed when he realised that the physical features he’d imagined yesterday had a distinct likeness to those of the pale boy now in front of him: his best friend. The only difference Hayato could think of was that the girl in his mind had been delicate (and probably scared of him, thanks to 3-D’s reputation), and if there was anything Ryu had never been, it was fragile. He’d be perfectly capable of pounding Hayato into the ground with sharply-knuckled fists and hidden muscles, if Hayato were to piss him off enough.
Realising he was being prodded for spacing out, Hayato quickly crushed all thoughts of the friend that had been on his mind for over eight sleepless hours, playfully snatching Tsucchi’s fan and fleeing, because although his reputation as the tough leader of 3-D may have been on the line, Hayato needed to keep his mind off Ryu’s face, and the tug of the scarlet loop around his pinkie. It seemed this wouldn’t be easy to do, however, as even when a sizeable rock struck the back of his head, he couldn’t stop thinking about the flaming redhead chasing him alongside Tsucchi and Take.
He wondered if Ryu could see the thread too, and if he could, why he was not acting any differently to usual (though it had always been a strenuous task trying to crack Ryu’s poker face, so it really shouldn’t have been so surprising that nothing seemed to have changed overnight). When he shot a look over his shoulder, Ryu was sporting the same sour expression he had most mornings, not unlike that of a displeased cat after being sprayed with cold water. Hayato slowed his pace enough for Tsucchi’s long legs close the distance between them and his fan-less hand to thwack him over the head. When Hayato braved straightening up, he instantly regretted it, as he was greeted with the view of an unexpected toothy smile from Ryu (admittedly it was aimed at Tsucchi, but Hayato let himself forget that - and everything else - in favour of studying the creases of the other boy’s cheeks as his lips stretched wide in a mocking grin).
Noting this somewhat creepy turn of thoughts, his head drooped, cursing aloud when the image of his friend stubbornly remained behind his closed eyelids. This could not be good.
--
Four emptied bottles and a smashed vase later, Natsu left his apartment, fifth bottle clutched tight in his right hand, the rim frequenting his lips with every third step he took. By the time he’d tipped back the last of the alcohol, he was pretty sure he’d managed to wander out of his neighbourhood, because although the cars looked pretty similar (black, small, and more than a little blurry), he didn’t have to be sober to know that there was no harbour near his flat. Stumbling over to a bench, he flopped down onto it, feet momentarily losing the floor in a way that almost had him lurching forwards onto the gravel below. He caught himself, though, much to his own brain’s belated astonishment.
As much as he’d wanted it to, even the alcohol hadn’t stopped him being curious as to where the string would lead him. Yes, he thought it was a load of bull, but there was still a niggling feeling in the back of his mind. Suddenly agitated, he swung the bottle in his hand at the red thread, knowing full well that it wouldn’t go away. As expected, it merely flickered in and out of transparency before returning to its original intangible state, trailing down the path to his left. Natsu let his head drop to his hands, a headache pulsing behind his eyeballs as if the inevitable hangover had arrived early.
Natsu lifted his head when he felt a light tug on his left hand. Glancing down the path, he could see an approaching girl, wearing what even he could tell was an expensive get-up: a cream and navy dress with knee-high leather boots, and several pieces of intricately patterned jewellery. Such clothing would certainly stand out in Natsu’s area, but seemed to match this place quite well. Squinting a little, he saw that his red thread was not connected to her in any way, just resting at her side while the rest of the cord continued behind her. New to this prospect, Natsu wondered if she was a possible soul-mate candidate or something, and decided it’d probably be best to avoid all contact with her, quickly jumping to his feet to leave. A little too quickly, he realised as his legs failed to support him and his vision blacked out, his blood pounding too loudly for him to hear the advance of the girl’s heeled boots as his jelly-legs gave out beneath him.
After a moment of waiting for his sight to return, Natsu finally picked up that the girl was talking to him, trying to hoist him upright and back onto the bench. Up close he saw that she was pretty, far prettier than any of the fans he’d scored in the last three months. She didn’t really look like the willing type; perhaps he should’ve brought his guitar with him to woo her first. In spite of this, with alcohol boosting his confidence (and his libido), he really couldn’t give a damn about what she had to say, and roughly grabbed her wrist, yanking her towards him and ignoring the strikes his arm was receiving from her clutch purse. Her no doubt pricy perfume and the fishy port stench combined were making him even more light-headed than the drinks already had, but he was a rock star, and he needed to get some before his head decided to burst from dehydration.
His plan was halted, however, when the loop around his finger went painfully tight, its sharpness close to cutting through his skin. Within seconds his sluggish body was pulled away from the girl’s by a pair of stubby, forceful hands tugging on his hoodie from behind. Swerving to see the intruder, his eyes were met by a pair of fierce ones that instantly set something alight in his gut, and Natsu didn’t even need to look down to confirm his suspicions. The pinkie on the other end of his thread was raised to eye level as part of a clenched fist, the loop of red being the last thing he saw before in his ears rang a crack, and everything went dark.
--
The five of them - after Hyuuga had joined them mid-day following a job interview in the morning - decided to skip afternoon classes in favour of buying milkshakes from the closest café and discussing how in hell they were going to stand up to the rival gang from an unknown school that had barged into their classroom first period with a threat on their lips and metal poles in their palms. If not for Yankumi, they’d probably be speckled with bruises and fractures. None of them had a clue about how the gang had come to know their names, but it was a challenge if ever there was one, so they needed to come up with some sort of strategy to keep the rest of 3-D well away from the mob-infested warehouses.
Despite their appearance, they were pretty thoughtful like that.
Hayato had suggested they head to the vicinity of Kumai’s ramen joint, should they get hungry after their shakes. Ryu had bitched about wanting to go to a ‘less shady’ place, but the other four had agreed that the small bar they’d entered would do just fine.
Once seated, with Take and Tsucchi parked opposite Hyuuga and Ryu, and Hayato resembling a fifth wheel on the end with a chair he’d snatched from another table, they ordered and leaned closer to the condiment pots in the middle of the table, voices lowered.
“I say we just ignore them.” Take was first to speak, fidgety hands fiddling with his head band.
For that he earned himself a couple of chuckles and a pat on the shoulder from Tsucchi.
“Man up, Take. They practically told us they wanted our heads on sticks. Is this really something we can ignore?” Hyuuga piped up. The others hummed in agreement.
“It’s not gonna sort itself out. I say we bribe them into calling it off.” Tsucchi offered.
“How?”
“Organise a group date for them or something. I don’t know.”
Ryu scoffed, nose scrunching up and one side of his lips curling into a grimace. Hayato turned his head from the sight, though his stubborn eyes still crawled back to get a look. It was only when Ryu took a sip of strawberry milk, a stray drip painting a trail down his chin, that he briskly twisted his head (and body) almost 180 degrees, instead eyeing the curvy waitress heading towards their table with a dish of nachos. Hayato remembered the skimpy amount of change he had in his pocket and reminded himself to clear off before they asked for the bill.
When he turned back to the others, Take had one eyebrow cocked, and Ryu was sending him an unreadable stare. His chin was clean; the pink-blotched napkin on the table took responsibility for that. Hayato shifted a little in his seat, mind racing. What the hell was wrong with him? Just yesterday he’d been able to look at Ryu perfectly normally, but now…
Tsucchi delivered a rough pinch to his upper arm; it took a great deal of effort trying to force down the resulting squeak that threatened to escape his throat. After a large sip of banana shake (and subsequent choking fit), he finally got his wits together. “What?” He garbled, eyes narrowed.
“Any ideas?”
It took Hayato a minute to recall what Tsucchi was referring to, and another to wring out his brain for possible solutions to their gang problem.
“I’ve got nothing.”
The group sighed, and Hayato pointedly ignored whoever it was who’d muttered something about him being unworthy of his position as leader. His punches begged to differ.
The already dampened mood grew soggier when Ryu downed the last of his milk in one go and got to his feet, one hand fumbling in his pocket. After a moment or two, he withdrew it, a few coins dropping onto the table from his palm. “I have to go,” he grumbled, a frown on his face as he turned away.
Hayato’s eyes were nothing more than slits as he watched the boy retreat, strolling towards the exit with the same casual strut as always. When they’d first met, Hayato had thought it made him look like an arrogant bastard.
That hadn’t changed.
“Where do you think you’re going? It’s still early.” His lips were torn between scowling and pouting, but for the sake of his pride they parted to accommodate a low growl that came rushing up from within him. It was enough to make Ryu stop in his tracks and spin around.
Hayato expected to see the all-too-familiar glower on his face, but was taken aback when the other simply sighed, exhaustion adding years to his features. The boy’s eyes were fixed on the ground, watching his own shoe scuff the floor.
“My dad told me to come home before eight.” He said eventually, gaze jumping up to meet Hayato’s before it dropped once more.
An almost sickening sensation of guilt erupted in Hayato’s chest and he got to his feet, edging towards Ryu.
“I’ll walk you home.”
It was no secret to him how much difficulty Ryu had with his parents, and as much as he’d love for Ryu to just defy his father’s orders and spend the night roaming the streets with the rest of them, maybe hitting the game centre or a karaoke bar, he didn’t want Ryu getting in trouble because of him, or worse, being banned from seeing him.
Ryu’s eyes went wide with surprise at his declaration, but he said nothing as Hayato grabbed his school bag and led the way out. There were a few shouts from Hyuuga and Tsucchi, but they soon trailed off into silence as the two of them strolled down the street in the direction of Ryu’s house.
--
Natsu awoke to an eyeful of glaringly bright direct sunlight and the smell of factory fumes. There was dried saliva (or something) coating one of his cheeks; his throat felt like sandpaper when he tried to swallow. With aching limbs and an achier head he sat up, mind processing his location: he was undoubtedly on a boat. This had him leaping to his feet in panic, worried the dude from yesterday - his soul mate - had dumped his ass on some cargo ship headed for nowhere. With a sigh of relief, he caught sight of a thick rope binding the boat to the concrete ground beside it, keeping it in place. He shrugged off a hole-ridden blanket that had been wrapped around his shoulders, wincing as it made a couple of old beer bottles clank together on the deck. His head was pounding like a bitch. The labels told him that they weren’t his brand, but even half asleep and still the slightest bit tipsy, he knew he wasn’t at home.
His feet prickled with pins and needles when he strolled off the boat and followed the path into a factory littered with machines hidden beneath plastic covers. Judging by the clear sun and absence of workers, Natsu concluded that it was pretty early in the morning. Though normally he’d feel like going back to sleep, it was probably best that he stayed awake, given that this was definitely not his flat, and he’d probably need a whole day trying to find his way back there anyway.
The return of a familiar tightness around his little finger made him stop walking, slowly spinning around to face a set of metal stairs. From the top of them descended a lean figure, clothed in grease-smeared overalls and chunky boots. The mere sight of the cherry-red line connecting their fingers made Natsu want to run back to the boat and drown himself in the surrounding water.
The boy reached the floor and wasted no time heading in Natsu’s direction, not stopping until they were only a metre apart.
“Uh-” Natsu started to say, avoiding the other’s eyes, only to be cut off abruptly.
“Don’t even think about thanking me for putting you up for the night. I just wanted to make sure you were sober before I tell you to keep the fuck away from my girlfriend or I’ll give you more than a messed up nose.”
‘Girlfriend. So he’s with the chick from yesterday’. “Dude, I was wasted. I had no idea what - or who - I was doing.” It was a lie, or at least half one. Yes, he’d downed a lot, but his beer’s alcohol content was relatively low according to Yukari, though he’d never bothered to check himself. Beer was beer. The thought of Yukari made him grimace, however. “I have a gig tonight. My manager’s gonna blow her shit when she sees this face.”
“Drunk or not, touch Nao again and I’ll give you more than a bloody nose. Believe me. Now scram.” The other spat, venom tinting each word.
Glancing up, Natsu found himself rooted to the spot, curious eyes studying the other’s face. Quite how the boy had managed to get an oil smear on his cheek without having started working was a puzzle (though not one Natsu had much interest in solving). His skin ran tight and blemished over the sharply angled bones beneath; his teeth were imperfect, and his hair was fluffy in parts, greasy in others.
Natsu’s breath hitched.
“Err…” he shot a glance at the red streak connecting them - which was currently setting his pinkie ablaze with its tightness - and flicked his wrist to emphasise his point.
“What?” The other snapped, looking at Natsu as if his presence alone was insulting. Natsu gestured to the cord a little more pointedly, but received no response.
“Can’t you see it?” Natsu asked, only to receive another questioning glance. ‘He can’t? He has got to be kidding me…’
A tense silence brewed in the air, a blend of awkwardness and confusion. Natsu was pretty sure this was a joke gone wrong; a cruel twist of fate.
“Do you sing or something?” He inquired, wondering if maybe they had more in common than he’d first thought; a reason for them to be attached. That thought was demolished, though, when the other shot him a look infused with irritation.
“No. And I told you to get out. Why are you starting a conversation?” He replied, words clipped and an angry flame burning in his eyes.
“Just wondering.” Natsu muttered with a frown. So this guy - guy - was taken, had apparently no similar interests and was a bitch on top of that. If fate wasn’t having a laugh, he’d swear the world was delirious.
With a last look over the other’s bony build and striking face, Natsu started for the exit, shoulder bumping the other’s as he passed him. His ripped jeans kept catching on scraps of metal jutting out from either side of him as he sped up, keen to escape the tight atmosphere and the scorch of the other’s eyes on his back.
--
After dropping Ryu off at the Odagiri mansion (staying safely outside the house perimeters so as not to enter the realm of Ryu’s father), Hayato spent twice as much time as usual sauntering home, muddled thoughts filling his skull, so many that he wouldn’t be surprised if any minute they’d start oozing out of his ears.
The day had been long and uncomfortable, torturously so, and there was no doubt that it was (indirectly) down to Ryu. If his incessant thoughts of the other were to continue to haunt Hayato until he died, he was positive he’d be begging to enter his grave early.
There were only two solutions Hayato could think of, the first of which being to act as any other straight male teenager would: ignore it. Ignore Ryu and his cynical opinions, ignore the thread (a challenge, given that it was about as hard to miss as an oasis in an otherwise empty desert), ignore the electric prickles beneath his breastbone that erupted at a mere glimpse of the fiery red locks and feline eyes of the boy that had, in less than a day, succeeded in wrapping him around his finger.
His only remaining option would be a risk, but one that, should it rid him of his anxieties, he would be more than willing to take.
In the fifteen minutes it took him to complete his journey back to the family apartment, Hayato had done more uninterrupted thinking than he had in as long as he could remember, and it seemed to have payed off. All options weighed, it became clear that his first plan of action would probably do him no good; Hayato never had grasped full control of his feelings, face like a billboard projecting his thoughts.
The opposite of Ryu, who made sure to keep permanent security lockdown on his feelings, only letting loose on occasion to break into a crooked grin (or even tears once, Hayato vaguely recalled, having been the only one to witness the other boy crying after falling face-first into a puddle when they were both eight. Ryu had assured his mother he was ok without batting an eyelid, but Hayato could tell the other’s mask had cracked).
Cutting short his thoughts of Ryu once again - plan A would definitely fail him - Hayato swung open his apartment door with a bang that sent post-its and crisp dead flower petals to the floor. With sleepy fingers he stuck the fallen notes back on the fridge, none of them relevant to himself. Only his brother would have the patience to bother with such things anyway.
Though his vision was foggy, he managed to rub a little toothpaste onto his teeth with his index fingertip before he collapsed onto his futon, one boneless arm draped over his eyes. He’d worry about getting plan B in session after a few hours of well-earned rest.
Sleep clogged his senses, blocking out all coherent thoughts but one:
Contact a spiritual advisor.
--
Usually Natsu left all song writing to the music producers, singing what they gave him and adding a couple of subtle twists here and there just to satisfy himself (and piss them off). Yes, he loved music, but his lack of creativity took its toll when it came to writing the tracks himself.
Which was why it was so confusing when he had a sudden urge to pour new lyrics and chords onto the sheet of paper in front of him, the cacophony of melodies in his head desperately wanting to escape. With fingers twitching with impatience, he grabbed the notebook from the studio desk, brain working faster than the pen could write. The characters were messily scrawled, some overlapping the lines of the sheet and even each other, but as long as it was all down, he couldn’t care less (though he did pause to scratch out ‘iron-fisted fucker’ - somehow it just didn’t fit the mood).
With the lyrics successfully penned, he groped around the desk drawer for music paper, fishing out a staved sheet after what seemed like an eternity of searching. After grabbing his guitar, righting it in his lap and picking up the same pen he’d nearly bled dry of ink on the lyrics only, he used the end of it as a pick to tempt suitable chords from the strings. The notes couldn’t write themselves fast enough, and a passing thought in Natsu’s head questioned when he’d become so gifted at reading and writing notes.
Walking into the room, his manager seemed equally appalled at his sudden burst of inspiration, clearly used to him hanging around the studio with nothing to offer but a throat full of croaky vocals (early morning recording sessions were not his thing) and a handful of unnecessarily scathing comments directed towards the jerks who wrote the songs.
“Are you ill?” Were the first words to escape her mouth, jaw struggling to close itself.
Natsu pointedly ignored her predictable comment in favour of milking his wave of motivation to its limit. His pen was still scratching over the paper when she spoke up again.
“I hope you’re not doodling on the producer’s planning sheets again. You have no idea how tricky it was trying to convince him not to cancel our contract last time.” Apparently she was already over the initial shock, her usual malice tainting her voice.
“Just- shut up, ok?” Natsu managed to force out from between his tense lips, which snapped back into a pinched straight line the second the words were out. He needed his mind to be free of distractions if he were to get the melody in his head down on paper in its entirety.
From the other side of the desk, he heard a snort, closely followed by the clink of high heeled footsteps, and before too long his manager and her noisy shoes were down the corridor and out of earshot. With a sigh, Natsu let his hand perform its final miracle as the last line of music scrawled itself messily to the right of the treble clef.
Taking a critical glance over the lyric pages in the notebook, he found himself at a loss for logical thoughts as his eyes scanned words he would never normally write.
--
So maybe this plan wasn’t the best option to go for, thought Hayato. The wide-eyed robed lady seated opposite him gave him a lop-sided smile (he shivered; it was kind of creepy) and one of her carefully manicured hands placed three worn out tarot cards on the table.
“Select one.”
Hayato did a mental decision rhyme in his head to aid his choice, before sliding his fingers onto the far left card.
“Flip it.”
As he did what she said, he felt himself break out in a cold sweat, even though this particular card was only predicting his financial status for the future. As the card rotated, eyes were greeted a faded image, the corners of the card curling inwards and the deeper creases dyed brown as if it had been dipped in tea. The picture showed some sort of star constellation, and though Hayato was no astronomer, it didn’t take much for him to see that the brighter ones were in the shape of a sad face. He momentarily doubted this advisor’s legitimacy.
“Not looking good for you so far, eh? Next up… how will you get on with dogs in the future? Let me just find that set of cards-”
“Uh, can we skip to the relationship bit?” Hayato chewed his lip and his fingernails practically scratched holes in his school trousers.
A chuckle slid over the table, and Hayato swore he heard a quiet murmur of ‘eager’.
A new set of cards replaced the previous ones on the indigo tablecloth, and this time Hayato snatched up the middle card, all rhyme games going to the wind. Impatient eyes took in the undefined image on the reverse before hurriedly turning it, and suddenly he was looking at a lean ginger cat with a sun, round and bright, behind its head. Hayato was instantly reminded of Ryu, with his feline grace and silent egotism, like a cat stuck in the mindset that it was still worshipped by humans, but the picture could mean anything, and he looked to the woman with urgency thrumming through his veins.
She smiled that eerie smile again, a snicker creeping in this time, and her long fingers curled around a cup of unidentifiable green liquid, the glass briefly touching her lips as she took a sip. (Hayato wondered how it didn’t end up all over her clothes, because as far as he knew it was not possible to drink and laugh simultaneously without such a consequence.)
She hummed around her drink before swallowing. “That looks promising. Did anyone come to mind when you saw it?”
“Uh… kind of,” Hayato pressed through his teeth, this being the first time he’d spoken about his situation with anybody. To be honest this whole thing was awkward enough as it was, without any mention of Ryu and their invisible connection. Hayato squirmed under the woman’s intense gaze, and wished the thread had never appeared in the first place.
Perhaps if he’d waited for fate to find him first, there would be an attractive girl attached to the other end of that cord, waiting for him to sweep her off her feet like some prince out of a storybook. Admittedly he’d probably fuck that up all by himself, but it would at least make him feel like less of a crazy guy getting worked up over the possibility that he was destined to be with his best guy friend for the rest of his life. Hayato had certainly never woken up with morning wood from thoughts of another guy, and although Ryu’s mood swings and time-bomb temper made him seem like a hormonal teenage girl sometimes, there was no doubt he was male. If anyone would know, it was Hayato, as they’d been friends since they were no older than five. They’d bathed together, dressed together, and really, there wasn’t even the slimmest chance he was a girl (and Hayato would worry about the unparalleled flatness of his chest if he were).
“Is that so?” The spiritual advisor asked around a grin. Her eyes seemed to understand his inner conflict, and she flashed him a sympathetic smile, which was possibly the most human expression she’d made since he set foot into the clinic. “Do you love them?”
Hayato so desperately wanted to say no; to say he’d rather die alone than devote his life to his quiet, stuck-up asshole of a best friend, but no such words made it through his brain’s filter when he tried to form a reply. He considered the tinkle of Ryu’s laugh in all its rarity; he considered the obnoxious snort and grateful, tender gaze that mixed in his eyes whenever Hayato tried (and failed) to cheer him up on a bad day. He thought about Ryu’s fingertips, softly skimming his bruises after a nasty fight; he thought about the impromptu press of Ryu’s cool palm to his roasting forehead when he’d gone down with a fever halfway through the summer holidays. His face reddened at the thought of Ryu’s vulnerable sleeping face after one of their countless sleepovers (at Hayato’s place, naturally), and the splay of Ryu’s hair over his pillow as he snored gently, the sound closer to a purr than anything.
He swallowed thickly, eyes flickering up from the card in his hands to meet Madame Verlini’s expectant ones again, only one thought clear in his mind:
He needed to stop thinking.
The woman was clearly still waiting for an answer, and Hayato felt his upper lip break out in a sweat from the pressure.
“I don’t know.”
The teasing gleam in the other’s eyes told him he was not very convincing.
“That’s a shame, because things look good for the two of you. Maybe you should give it a shot.” Her eyebrows waggled for emphasis. “I doubt you’re interested in your future profession, so shall we end this session here? If you have any trouble, just give me a call. Take a mint on your way out.”
--
Part 2
Pairing: HayaRyu; Natsu/Hiroto
Word count: 10,000+
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: Strong language
Notes: This was based on the Chinese ‘red thread of fate’ legend. Paddyabroad, I hope you don’t mind the inclusion of Bandage!Jin here, and you have my apologies for Nao’s personality being almost completely AU (I couldn’t bring myself to write her nicely and then blow her off asdfjhg sorry). I hope you enjoy reading.
Summary: He’d been told many times that if one was to follow the trail of their red thread, it would only lead to disappointment; fate cannot be sought out.
--
“Aren’t you going to wait for your red thread to appear?” Ren asked after he finally got Hiroto to explain his relationship with Nao.
“I don’t need string to tell me who I want to be with; I can figure things out for myself.” His brother huffed in response before uttering, “I don’t believe in that legend anyway,” spoken too faintly for Ren’s ears to pick up. Hiroto may not have been gentle, but he was no dream-crusher either. Besides, if how he met Nao wasn’t considered fate, he couldn’t say what would be.
--
He’d been told many times that if one was to follow the trail of their red thread, it would only lead to disappointment; fate cannot be sought out.
Hayato knew he may end up unsatisfied, but he’d never been the type of guy to wait around for others to pick a fight. Or in this case, sit around and wait for the girl of his dreams to stumble into his life by chance. Into his brain sprung an image of a pair of rosy lips, spread in a narrow line over soft, fair skin, and he couldn’t stop his legs from walking out onto the moonlit streets, following the newly-formed red path flowing from his little finger.
When the string ran in a taut line up and over the handrail of a familiar balcony, Hayato felt his stomach plait and his throat tighten. He got not one wink of sleep that night.
--
“Fuck.” He grumbled as he glanced down at his hand, curled around the guitar neck, and the crimson cord, curled around his little finger. “Fuck.”
This was starting to feel similar to the time a waitress he’d knocked up after a drunken make-out had tried to dump the child in his hands. Like life was telling him to get serious.
And, like always, he ignored everyone else’s advice; even that of his own mind, instead turning to his most reliable distraction.
Beer.
--
It was a day later, after Hayato’s dad had booted him off his futon and out of the front door with the accusation that his grades were poor enough when he was going to school, that Hayato realised that Ryu pretty much fit his description of his perfect ‘type’. Looking at Ryu, he almost cringed when he realised that the physical features he’d imagined yesterday had a distinct likeness to those of the pale boy now in front of him: his best friend. The only difference Hayato could think of was that the girl in his mind had been delicate (and probably scared of him, thanks to 3-D’s reputation), and if there was anything Ryu had never been, it was fragile. He’d be perfectly capable of pounding Hayato into the ground with sharply-knuckled fists and hidden muscles, if Hayato were to piss him off enough.
Realising he was being prodded for spacing out, Hayato quickly crushed all thoughts of the friend that had been on his mind for over eight sleepless hours, playfully snatching Tsucchi’s fan and fleeing, because although his reputation as the tough leader of 3-D may have been on the line, Hayato needed to keep his mind off Ryu’s face, and the tug of the scarlet loop around his pinkie. It seemed this wouldn’t be easy to do, however, as even when a sizeable rock struck the back of his head, he couldn’t stop thinking about the flaming redhead chasing him alongside Tsucchi and Take.
He wondered if Ryu could see the thread too, and if he could, why he was not acting any differently to usual (though it had always been a strenuous task trying to crack Ryu’s poker face, so it really shouldn’t have been so surprising that nothing seemed to have changed overnight). When he shot a look over his shoulder, Ryu was sporting the same sour expression he had most mornings, not unlike that of a displeased cat after being sprayed with cold water. Hayato slowed his pace enough for Tsucchi’s long legs close the distance between them and his fan-less hand to thwack him over the head. When Hayato braved straightening up, he instantly regretted it, as he was greeted with the view of an unexpected toothy smile from Ryu (admittedly it was aimed at Tsucchi, but Hayato let himself forget that - and everything else - in favour of studying the creases of the other boy’s cheeks as his lips stretched wide in a mocking grin).
Noting this somewhat creepy turn of thoughts, his head drooped, cursing aloud when the image of his friend stubbornly remained behind his closed eyelids. This could not be good.
--
Four emptied bottles and a smashed vase later, Natsu left his apartment, fifth bottle clutched tight in his right hand, the rim frequenting his lips with every third step he took. By the time he’d tipped back the last of the alcohol, he was pretty sure he’d managed to wander out of his neighbourhood, because although the cars looked pretty similar (black, small, and more than a little blurry), he didn’t have to be sober to know that there was no harbour near his flat. Stumbling over to a bench, he flopped down onto it, feet momentarily losing the floor in a way that almost had him lurching forwards onto the gravel below. He caught himself, though, much to his own brain’s belated astonishment.
As much as he’d wanted it to, even the alcohol hadn’t stopped him being curious as to where the string would lead him. Yes, he thought it was a load of bull, but there was still a niggling feeling in the back of his mind. Suddenly agitated, he swung the bottle in his hand at the red thread, knowing full well that it wouldn’t go away. As expected, it merely flickered in and out of transparency before returning to its original intangible state, trailing down the path to his left. Natsu let his head drop to his hands, a headache pulsing behind his eyeballs as if the inevitable hangover had arrived early.
Natsu lifted his head when he felt a light tug on his left hand. Glancing down the path, he could see an approaching girl, wearing what even he could tell was an expensive get-up: a cream and navy dress with knee-high leather boots, and several pieces of intricately patterned jewellery. Such clothing would certainly stand out in Natsu’s area, but seemed to match this place quite well. Squinting a little, he saw that his red thread was not connected to her in any way, just resting at her side while the rest of the cord continued behind her. New to this prospect, Natsu wondered if she was a possible soul-mate candidate or something, and decided it’d probably be best to avoid all contact with her, quickly jumping to his feet to leave. A little too quickly, he realised as his legs failed to support him and his vision blacked out, his blood pounding too loudly for him to hear the advance of the girl’s heeled boots as his jelly-legs gave out beneath him.
After a moment of waiting for his sight to return, Natsu finally picked up that the girl was talking to him, trying to hoist him upright and back onto the bench. Up close he saw that she was pretty, far prettier than any of the fans he’d scored in the last three months. She didn’t really look like the willing type; perhaps he should’ve brought his guitar with him to woo her first. In spite of this, with alcohol boosting his confidence (and his libido), he really couldn’t give a damn about what she had to say, and roughly grabbed her wrist, yanking her towards him and ignoring the strikes his arm was receiving from her clutch purse. Her no doubt pricy perfume and the fishy port stench combined were making him even more light-headed than the drinks already had, but he was a rock star, and he needed to get some before his head decided to burst from dehydration.
His plan was halted, however, when the loop around his finger went painfully tight, its sharpness close to cutting through his skin. Within seconds his sluggish body was pulled away from the girl’s by a pair of stubby, forceful hands tugging on his hoodie from behind. Swerving to see the intruder, his eyes were met by a pair of fierce ones that instantly set something alight in his gut, and Natsu didn’t even need to look down to confirm his suspicions. The pinkie on the other end of his thread was raised to eye level as part of a clenched fist, the loop of red being the last thing he saw before in his ears rang a crack, and everything went dark.
--
The five of them - after Hyuuga had joined them mid-day following a job interview in the morning - decided to skip afternoon classes in favour of buying milkshakes from the closest café and discussing how in hell they were going to stand up to the rival gang from an unknown school that had barged into their classroom first period with a threat on their lips and metal poles in their palms. If not for Yankumi, they’d probably be speckled with bruises and fractures. None of them had a clue about how the gang had come to know their names, but it was a challenge if ever there was one, so they needed to come up with some sort of strategy to keep the rest of 3-D well away from the mob-infested warehouses.
Despite their appearance, they were pretty thoughtful like that.
Hayato had suggested they head to the vicinity of Kumai’s ramen joint, should they get hungry after their shakes. Ryu had bitched about wanting to go to a ‘less shady’ place, but the other four had agreed that the small bar they’d entered would do just fine.
Once seated, with Take and Tsucchi parked opposite Hyuuga and Ryu, and Hayato resembling a fifth wheel on the end with a chair he’d snatched from another table, they ordered and leaned closer to the condiment pots in the middle of the table, voices lowered.
“I say we just ignore them.” Take was first to speak, fidgety hands fiddling with his head band.
For that he earned himself a couple of chuckles and a pat on the shoulder from Tsucchi.
“Man up, Take. They practically told us they wanted our heads on sticks. Is this really something we can ignore?” Hyuuga piped up. The others hummed in agreement.
“It’s not gonna sort itself out. I say we bribe them into calling it off.” Tsucchi offered.
“How?”
“Organise a group date for them or something. I don’t know.”
Ryu scoffed, nose scrunching up and one side of his lips curling into a grimace. Hayato turned his head from the sight, though his stubborn eyes still crawled back to get a look. It was only when Ryu took a sip of strawberry milk, a stray drip painting a trail down his chin, that he briskly twisted his head (and body) almost 180 degrees, instead eyeing the curvy waitress heading towards their table with a dish of nachos. Hayato remembered the skimpy amount of change he had in his pocket and reminded himself to clear off before they asked for the bill.
When he turned back to the others, Take had one eyebrow cocked, and Ryu was sending him an unreadable stare. His chin was clean; the pink-blotched napkin on the table took responsibility for that. Hayato shifted a little in his seat, mind racing. What the hell was wrong with him? Just yesterday he’d been able to look at Ryu perfectly normally, but now…
Tsucchi delivered a rough pinch to his upper arm; it took a great deal of effort trying to force down the resulting squeak that threatened to escape his throat. After a large sip of banana shake (and subsequent choking fit), he finally got his wits together. “What?” He garbled, eyes narrowed.
“Any ideas?”
It took Hayato a minute to recall what Tsucchi was referring to, and another to wring out his brain for possible solutions to their gang problem.
“I’ve got nothing.”
The group sighed, and Hayato pointedly ignored whoever it was who’d muttered something about him being unworthy of his position as leader. His punches begged to differ.
The already dampened mood grew soggier when Ryu downed the last of his milk in one go and got to his feet, one hand fumbling in his pocket. After a moment or two, he withdrew it, a few coins dropping onto the table from his palm. “I have to go,” he grumbled, a frown on his face as he turned away.
Hayato’s eyes were nothing more than slits as he watched the boy retreat, strolling towards the exit with the same casual strut as always. When they’d first met, Hayato had thought it made him look like an arrogant bastard.
That hadn’t changed.
“Where do you think you’re going? It’s still early.” His lips were torn between scowling and pouting, but for the sake of his pride they parted to accommodate a low growl that came rushing up from within him. It was enough to make Ryu stop in his tracks and spin around.
Hayato expected to see the all-too-familiar glower on his face, but was taken aback when the other simply sighed, exhaustion adding years to his features. The boy’s eyes were fixed on the ground, watching his own shoe scuff the floor.
“My dad told me to come home before eight.” He said eventually, gaze jumping up to meet Hayato’s before it dropped once more.
An almost sickening sensation of guilt erupted in Hayato’s chest and he got to his feet, edging towards Ryu.
“I’ll walk you home.”
It was no secret to him how much difficulty Ryu had with his parents, and as much as he’d love for Ryu to just defy his father’s orders and spend the night roaming the streets with the rest of them, maybe hitting the game centre or a karaoke bar, he didn’t want Ryu getting in trouble because of him, or worse, being banned from seeing him.
Ryu’s eyes went wide with surprise at his declaration, but he said nothing as Hayato grabbed his school bag and led the way out. There were a few shouts from Hyuuga and Tsucchi, but they soon trailed off into silence as the two of them strolled down the street in the direction of Ryu’s house.
--
Natsu awoke to an eyeful of glaringly bright direct sunlight and the smell of factory fumes. There was dried saliva (or something) coating one of his cheeks; his throat felt like sandpaper when he tried to swallow. With aching limbs and an achier head he sat up, mind processing his location: he was undoubtedly on a boat. This had him leaping to his feet in panic, worried the dude from yesterday - his soul mate - had dumped his ass on some cargo ship headed for nowhere. With a sigh of relief, he caught sight of a thick rope binding the boat to the concrete ground beside it, keeping it in place. He shrugged off a hole-ridden blanket that had been wrapped around his shoulders, wincing as it made a couple of old beer bottles clank together on the deck. His head was pounding like a bitch. The labels told him that they weren’t his brand, but even half asleep and still the slightest bit tipsy, he knew he wasn’t at home.
His feet prickled with pins and needles when he strolled off the boat and followed the path into a factory littered with machines hidden beneath plastic covers. Judging by the clear sun and absence of workers, Natsu concluded that it was pretty early in the morning. Though normally he’d feel like going back to sleep, it was probably best that he stayed awake, given that this was definitely not his flat, and he’d probably need a whole day trying to find his way back there anyway.
The return of a familiar tightness around his little finger made him stop walking, slowly spinning around to face a set of metal stairs. From the top of them descended a lean figure, clothed in grease-smeared overalls and chunky boots. The mere sight of the cherry-red line connecting their fingers made Natsu want to run back to the boat and drown himself in the surrounding water.
The boy reached the floor and wasted no time heading in Natsu’s direction, not stopping until they were only a metre apart.
“Uh-” Natsu started to say, avoiding the other’s eyes, only to be cut off abruptly.
“Don’t even think about thanking me for putting you up for the night. I just wanted to make sure you were sober before I tell you to keep the fuck away from my girlfriend or I’ll give you more than a messed up nose.”
‘Girlfriend. So he’s with the chick from yesterday’. “Dude, I was wasted. I had no idea what - or who - I was doing.” It was a lie, or at least half one. Yes, he’d downed a lot, but his beer’s alcohol content was relatively low according to Yukari, though he’d never bothered to check himself. Beer was beer. The thought of Yukari made him grimace, however. “I have a gig tonight. My manager’s gonna blow her shit when she sees this face.”
“Drunk or not, touch Nao again and I’ll give you more than a bloody nose. Believe me. Now scram.” The other spat, venom tinting each word.
Glancing up, Natsu found himself rooted to the spot, curious eyes studying the other’s face. Quite how the boy had managed to get an oil smear on his cheek without having started working was a puzzle (though not one Natsu had much interest in solving). His skin ran tight and blemished over the sharply angled bones beneath; his teeth were imperfect, and his hair was fluffy in parts, greasy in others.
Natsu’s breath hitched.
“Err…” he shot a glance at the red streak connecting them - which was currently setting his pinkie ablaze with its tightness - and flicked his wrist to emphasise his point.
“What?” The other snapped, looking at Natsu as if his presence alone was insulting. Natsu gestured to the cord a little more pointedly, but received no response.
“Can’t you see it?” Natsu asked, only to receive another questioning glance. ‘He can’t? He has got to be kidding me…’
A tense silence brewed in the air, a blend of awkwardness and confusion. Natsu was pretty sure this was a joke gone wrong; a cruel twist of fate.
“Do you sing or something?” He inquired, wondering if maybe they had more in common than he’d first thought; a reason for them to be attached. That thought was demolished, though, when the other shot him a look infused with irritation.
“No. And I told you to get out. Why are you starting a conversation?” He replied, words clipped and an angry flame burning in his eyes.
“Just wondering.” Natsu muttered with a frown. So this guy - guy - was taken, had apparently no similar interests and was a bitch on top of that. If fate wasn’t having a laugh, he’d swear the world was delirious.
With a last look over the other’s bony build and striking face, Natsu started for the exit, shoulder bumping the other’s as he passed him. His ripped jeans kept catching on scraps of metal jutting out from either side of him as he sped up, keen to escape the tight atmosphere and the scorch of the other’s eyes on his back.
--
After dropping Ryu off at the Odagiri mansion (staying safely outside the house perimeters so as not to enter the realm of Ryu’s father), Hayato spent twice as much time as usual sauntering home, muddled thoughts filling his skull, so many that he wouldn’t be surprised if any minute they’d start oozing out of his ears.
The day had been long and uncomfortable, torturously so, and there was no doubt that it was (indirectly) down to Ryu. If his incessant thoughts of the other were to continue to haunt Hayato until he died, he was positive he’d be begging to enter his grave early.
There were only two solutions Hayato could think of, the first of which being to act as any other straight male teenager would: ignore it. Ignore Ryu and his cynical opinions, ignore the thread (a challenge, given that it was about as hard to miss as an oasis in an otherwise empty desert), ignore the electric prickles beneath his breastbone that erupted at a mere glimpse of the fiery red locks and feline eyes of the boy that had, in less than a day, succeeded in wrapping him around his finger.
His only remaining option would be a risk, but one that, should it rid him of his anxieties, he would be more than willing to take.
In the fifteen minutes it took him to complete his journey back to the family apartment, Hayato had done more uninterrupted thinking than he had in as long as he could remember, and it seemed to have payed off. All options weighed, it became clear that his first plan of action would probably do him no good; Hayato never had grasped full control of his feelings, face like a billboard projecting his thoughts.
The opposite of Ryu, who made sure to keep permanent security lockdown on his feelings, only letting loose on occasion to break into a crooked grin (or even tears once, Hayato vaguely recalled, having been the only one to witness the other boy crying after falling face-first into a puddle when they were both eight. Ryu had assured his mother he was ok without batting an eyelid, but Hayato could tell the other’s mask had cracked).
Cutting short his thoughts of Ryu once again - plan A would definitely fail him - Hayato swung open his apartment door with a bang that sent post-its and crisp dead flower petals to the floor. With sleepy fingers he stuck the fallen notes back on the fridge, none of them relevant to himself. Only his brother would have the patience to bother with such things anyway.
Though his vision was foggy, he managed to rub a little toothpaste onto his teeth with his index fingertip before he collapsed onto his futon, one boneless arm draped over his eyes. He’d worry about getting plan B in session after a few hours of well-earned rest.
Sleep clogged his senses, blocking out all coherent thoughts but one:
Contact a spiritual advisor.
--
Usually Natsu left all song writing to the music producers, singing what they gave him and adding a couple of subtle twists here and there just to satisfy himself (and piss them off). Yes, he loved music, but his lack of creativity took its toll when it came to writing the tracks himself.
Which was why it was so confusing when he had a sudden urge to pour new lyrics and chords onto the sheet of paper in front of him, the cacophony of melodies in his head desperately wanting to escape. With fingers twitching with impatience, he grabbed the notebook from the studio desk, brain working faster than the pen could write. The characters were messily scrawled, some overlapping the lines of the sheet and even each other, but as long as it was all down, he couldn’t care less (though he did pause to scratch out ‘iron-fisted fucker’ - somehow it just didn’t fit the mood).
With the lyrics successfully penned, he groped around the desk drawer for music paper, fishing out a staved sheet after what seemed like an eternity of searching. After grabbing his guitar, righting it in his lap and picking up the same pen he’d nearly bled dry of ink on the lyrics only, he used the end of it as a pick to tempt suitable chords from the strings. The notes couldn’t write themselves fast enough, and a passing thought in Natsu’s head questioned when he’d become so gifted at reading and writing notes.
Walking into the room, his manager seemed equally appalled at his sudden burst of inspiration, clearly used to him hanging around the studio with nothing to offer but a throat full of croaky vocals (early morning recording sessions were not his thing) and a handful of unnecessarily scathing comments directed towards the jerks who wrote the songs.
“Are you ill?” Were the first words to escape her mouth, jaw struggling to close itself.
Natsu pointedly ignored her predictable comment in favour of milking his wave of motivation to its limit. His pen was still scratching over the paper when she spoke up again.
“I hope you’re not doodling on the producer’s planning sheets again. You have no idea how tricky it was trying to convince him not to cancel our contract last time.” Apparently she was already over the initial shock, her usual malice tainting her voice.
“Just- shut up, ok?” Natsu managed to force out from between his tense lips, which snapped back into a pinched straight line the second the words were out. He needed his mind to be free of distractions if he were to get the melody in his head down on paper in its entirety.
From the other side of the desk, he heard a snort, closely followed by the clink of high heeled footsteps, and before too long his manager and her noisy shoes were down the corridor and out of earshot. With a sigh, Natsu let his hand perform its final miracle as the last line of music scrawled itself messily to the right of the treble clef.
Taking a critical glance over the lyric pages in the notebook, he found himself at a loss for logical thoughts as his eyes scanned words he would never normally write.
--
So maybe this plan wasn’t the best option to go for, thought Hayato. The wide-eyed robed lady seated opposite him gave him a lop-sided smile (he shivered; it was kind of creepy) and one of her carefully manicured hands placed three worn out tarot cards on the table.
“Select one.”
Hayato did a mental decision rhyme in his head to aid his choice, before sliding his fingers onto the far left card.
“Flip it.”
As he did what she said, he felt himself break out in a cold sweat, even though this particular card was only predicting his financial status for the future. As the card rotated, eyes were greeted a faded image, the corners of the card curling inwards and the deeper creases dyed brown as if it had been dipped in tea. The picture showed some sort of star constellation, and though Hayato was no astronomer, it didn’t take much for him to see that the brighter ones were in the shape of a sad face. He momentarily doubted this advisor’s legitimacy.
“Not looking good for you so far, eh? Next up… how will you get on with dogs in the future? Let me just find that set of cards-”
“Uh, can we skip to the relationship bit?” Hayato chewed his lip and his fingernails practically scratched holes in his school trousers.
A chuckle slid over the table, and Hayato swore he heard a quiet murmur of ‘eager’.
A new set of cards replaced the previous ones on the indigo tablecloth, and this time Hayato snatched up the middle card, all rhyme games going to the wind. Impatient eyes took in the undefined image on the reverse before hurriedly turning it, and suddenly he was looking at a lean ginger cat with a sun, round and bright, behind its head. Hayato was instantly reminded of Ryu, with his feline grace and silent egotism, like a cat stuck in the mindset that it was still worshipped by humans, but the picture could mean anything, and he looked to the woman with urgency thrumming through his veins.
She smiled that eerie smile again, a snicker creeping in this time, and her long fingers curled around a cup of unidentifiable green liquid, the glass briefly touching her lips as she took a sip. (Hayato wondered how it didn’t end up all over her clothes, because as far as he knew it was not possible to drink and laugh simultaneously without such a consequence.)
She hummed around her drink before swallowing. “That looks promising. Did anyone come to mind when you saw it?”
“Uh… kind of,” Hayato pressed through his teeth, this being the first time he’d spoken about his situation with anybody. To be honest this whole thing was awkward enough as it was, without any mention of Ryu and their invisible connection. Hayato squirmed under the woman’s intense gaze, and wished the thread had never appeared in the first place.
Perhaps if he’d waited for fate to find him first, there would be an attractive girl attached to the other end of that cord, waiting for him to sweep her off her feet like some prince out of a storybook. Admittedly he’d probably fuck that up all by himself, but it would at least make him feel like less of a crazy guy getting worked up over the possibility that he was destined to be with his best guy friend for the rest of his life. Hayato had certainly never woken up with morning wood from thoughts of another guy, and although Ryu’s mood swings and time-bomb temper made him seem like a hormonal teenage girl sometimes, there was no doubt he was male. If anyone would know, it was Hayato, as they’d been friends since they were no older than five. They’d bathed together, dressed together, and really, there wasn’t even the slimmest chance he was a girl (and Hayato would worry about the unparalleled flatness of his chest if he were).
“Is that so?” The spiritual advisor asked around a grin. Her eyes seemed to understand his inner conflict, and she flashed him a sympathetic smile, which was possibly the most human expression she’d made since he set foot into the clinic. “Do you love them?”
Hayato so desperately wanted to say no; to say he’d rather die alone than devote his life to his quiet, stuck-up asshole of a best friend, but no such words made it through his brain’s filter when he tried to form a reply. He considered the tinkle of Ryu’s laugh in all its rarity; he considered the obnoxious snort and grateful, tender gaze that mixed in his eyes whenever Hayato tried (and failed) to cheer him up on a bad day. He thought about Ryu’s fingertips, softly skimming his bruises after a nasty fight; he thought about the impromptu press of Ryu’s cool palm to his roasting forehead when he’d gone down with a fever halfway through the summer holidays. His face reddened at the thought of Ryu’s vulnerable sleeping face after one of their countless sleepovers (at Hayato’s place, naturally), and the splay of Ryu’s hair over his pillow as he snored gently, the sound closer to a purr than anything.
He swallowed thickly, eyes flickering up from the card in his hands to meet Madame Verlini’s expectant ones again, only one thought clear in his mind:
He needed to stop thinking.
The woman was clearly still waiting for an answer, and Hayato felt his upper lip break out in a sweat from the pressure.
“I don’t know.”
The teasing gleam in the other’s eyes told him he was not very convincing.
“That’s a shame, because things look good for the two of you. Maybe you should give it a shot.” Her eyebrows waggled for emphasis. “I doubt you’re interested in your future profession, so shall we end this session here? If you have any trouble, just give me a call. Take a mint on your way out.”
--
Part 2