With a firm clasp on the sleeve of my sweater, Rubi steers me down the steep concrete steps that make up the bleachers encircling a small portion of the school track field. She falls into a sitting position on the second step from the front and taps the space beside her. I lower myself to the spot, silently grateful for the distance that helps tune out the excited chitter of the crowd of students in the back.

"I hope you don't mind; I try to avoid crowds. The strings." She smiles unsurely. "They kind of make it hard for me to see clearly. Plus, the red PE uniforms make everything a little overwhelming. You know, too much red," she adds nervously, looking over at me to gauge my reaction. "It's alright," I say, trying for a reassuring edge. Her circumstances are admittedly strange, but I'm in no place to be a sceptic.

She nods, her smile turning firm. "It's so weird to be talking about this with someone." Her eyes wander away, and she abruptly straightens, grabbing hold of my arm and giving it a slight shake. "Look, Ren's almost up."

I turn to the open field, and my gaze instantly hooks on Ren, cutting past the students and teachers scattered around the track. He's adjusting his posture, feet firmly planted to the ground, ready to break into a run. The boy beside him seems to be attempting to strike up a conversation, but Ren only sneers at him, confirming my suspicions about his lack of a healthy competitive spirit.

The ringing of a whistle cuts into the air, signalling the runners to fall into line. Rubi's grip on my arm tightens, and a rush takes over my body. It's unclear if it's something I feel on my own or a result of Ren's heightened excitement, but when a second whistle follows, I'm unable to tear my eyes from him for even a second as he takes off, steadily bounding past each of the runners, his hair messily whipping around in the wind.

A grin breaks across his face, and next to me, a shrill laugh escapes Rubi. "Akito! He's leading!" she exclaims, eyes trailing Ren as he veers sharply in our direction before anyone else can. I feel my face go warm as the racket of his emotions inside me goes quiet. He's enjoying himself. Right now, Ren is so blatantly happy that it's plain for everyone to see. His pleasure is as obvious to those around him as his brooding usually is. Ren doesn't hide anything.

It doesn't last. I press my palm against my heart as I feel something start to build again, something solid and disconcerting. Ren's elation is slowly dropping as he draws closer.

He's caught sight of me. Our eyes meet across the field, and one of Ren's feet catches on the other, one misstep leading to the next until he trips, costing him a precious second during which another boy passes him. But he's up again in less than a moment, giving chase to the boy, and my breathing resumes. He doesn't look my way again.

Rubi claps and cheers beside me while
I sit very still, breaths coming in uneven fits, unable to comprehend what just happened between us as Ren crosses the finish line, coming in second.

"That was so close!" she groans softly, then swiftly turns to face me. "Did you know he was such an athlete? It took me completely by surprise." She's grinning widely, but I can't muster even a fraction of her enthusiasm. I feel inexplicably unsettled.

"Akito," she murmurs, moving closer. "Hey, come on. Ren looked pretty cool out there, didn't he?"

"I guess," I respond half-heartedly.

"Say it! I know you think so too," she persists, nudging my arm.

I think about Ren letting loose on the grounds and the unobstructed smile on his face. It looked so good on him. He was faster than anyone else. He was so fast.

Cool. Maybe that's it. "He looked cool," I admit, and instantly feel an undeniable urge to hide my face in my hands. This feeling is new, just like everything else is when it comes to Ren. Everything about this is in uncharted waters. Confusing. Dangerous. Alluring. I'm not sure what to do with myself anymore.

Rubi settles back down, pleased with herself. "Yup."

"I don't see the point of this exercise," I mumble uneasily.

"The point of this exercise is to help you escape this initial state of denial," she explains with a playful edge to her smile. "Alright, time to put the plan in motion," she declares, sifting through her bag. I watch her, puzzled. "I say plan, but it's nothing that elaborate," she laughs, shoving a water bottle into my hands. "Bring this to him. After running like that, he's got to be thirsty for sure."

"I don't think that's a good idea," I say immediately. I don't see how this could possibly end well. But Rubi is awfully sure of herself. She always is. And right now my thoughts are fluid, wavering between risk and escape, and Rubi's confidence in the red thread has taken hold of me in this state of indecision.

"Listen, I think the reason Ren is never nice to you is because he thinks you wouldn't care about someone like him," she says, meaningfully looking into my eyes. "Let's fix that."

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

I stand by the edge of the track, next to a small, excited group of girls similarly clutching water bottles, and wait for the PE instructor to finish with Ren. He's standing with his arms crossed, at a measured distance from the rest of the boys, who seem keen on toppling each other over. And the more I watch him, squinting against the hot sun, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, the clearer it becomes.

I care an annoying amount.

After a couple of minutes, he breaks away from the crowd, moving towards the steps, when he freezes upon noticing me. His mood suddenly plummets, catching me off-guard. He quickly swerves away, and I start after him. "Ren," I call as loudly as my shaken voice will allow. I've never said his name before, but it feels so familiar on my lips, like something I've always carried with me.

It's only when he pauses again, fixing me with a mute glare, that it occurs to me that maybe I'm the reason he's been like this. The other day in the yard, earlier when he stumbled in the race, and now—maybe it's because of me that his expression turned stiff. Maybe he's always meant everything he's said to me. Maybe I shouldn't have dismissed it all as part of his extraordinarily impolite behaviour. Maybe he really does hate me. He wasn't being unpredictable. He was only reacting to my presence.

I care an annoying amount. I care when he's hurt, hungry, or alone. It's like the breaths I take aren't full when he's away.

But this isn't me, I remind myself with refreshing clarity. Not really. The red thread is tampering with my thoughts, planting concern and evoking curiosity in me. I'm under the spell of Fate, a spell so powerful that it can bend my will as if it were wet clay and mould my heart in a way that makes it race for no one but him, rendering me powerless.

"What?" I look up warily to see that Ren is closer now. He actually came. I swore to be more careful around him after the incident outside the classroom the other day, but I suspect that I'm not doing a great job at hiding how I feel at the moment.

I lift the bottle into the air. He stares at it suspiciously. "Water," I murmur.

"For...me?" he asks dubiously.

I nod. He scowls. "What the fuck are you, my girlfriend?"

My arm falls back into place. I knew this would be pointless. How many more times do I need to fail in order to understand? "It's fine if you don't want it," I say with resignation and turn to leave.

"No, wait." He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes studying the ground. "I'm actually thirsty as fuck, so—" he stretches his hand out to me. "Give it here."

I lift the bottle again in a dazed attempt to pass it to him, but let go of it too soon because I don't want to risk letting our hands touch. The bottle slips past his fingers and falls to the ground between us with a loud thump, and for a moment, we just stare at it.

"Airhead," Ren murmurs, but it lacks the jab of his usual insults. He scoops it up and drinks, and with each bob of his throat, I distantly register the mild discomfort in my chest ebbing.

No. This doesn't mean anything. He's just been thirsty, and he's not anymore; that's all this is. It's not because of me.

Now that I've done what I need to, I start to leave. "Hey!" I hear his voice again, and I want to tightly press my hands to my ears. Stop. Fingers circle around my wrist, and a familiar, welcome sensation washes over me, one that I cannot allow myself to get used to. I snatch my hand away from Ren's grip and turn to face him, scraping for any semblance of composure I can find. "Yes?"

"I just want to say thanks—don't look so shocked, bastard; it's common decency," he grumbles, fingers flying to the stud in his left ear.

"I..." I gape at him. "Y-You're welcome."

He lowers his head, allowing his hair to fall over his eyes, and presses the bottle back against my chest, hard enough to draw a gasp. "You fucking piss me off so much," he rasps, then whirls and disappears into the crowd.

Don't, I tell myself. It's not real.

Ren doesn't like me.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

I insert the keys into the battered door of the two-story wooden box that I call a house and go inside. I pause in the doorway at the sound of muffled conversation coming from inside, and my eyes drop down to the pair of worn leather shoes arranged beside my sister's sandals.

He's here again.

I drop my bag by the door and hurriedly walk inside, allowing the violent creaking of the floorboards to alert the two inside of my presence.

The faint smell of booze wafts into the air as I emerge into the living room.

"Akito! Welcome back!" Nee-san exclaims happily, walking over to me from where she was sitting on the tatami mats. I let my eyes drift past my sister to the feeble middle-aged man hunched over the small table on the floor. The pronounced lines on his face crinkle as he regards me, his lips curving upward in a drunken haze. "Son," he greets.

Son. A word that comes with a responsibility that this man has never fulfilled.

I cover the distance between us in long strides and stiffly drop to my knees before him. "You didn't say that you'd be coming," I say by way of greeting. He lowers his unfocused eyes to the table, unresponsive.

"Isn't it wonderful that Papa decided to pay us a visit?" Nee-san says, settling in beside me. "And he's got some good news for us today! Tell him, Papa," she adds eagerly, squeezing my hand under the table.

I watch him sceptically as he raises his flushed face and nods. "I'm expecting a promotion soon," he says after clearing his throat. "I might be offered a better job in Hokkaido," he explains, searching my face with something like hope. "And I plan to take it," he adds quickly, the last couple syllables slurring together in a messy drawl that he fails to cover up. This is all we can expect from a man who can't even face his own children without the shield that alcohol provides. He's just going to leave again, and we'll be stuck with words like might.

"It'll be good for us," he says quietly, and the defeated slump of his posture makes me sick.

"We'll talk about that once you actually get the promotion," I say curtly and see him flinch. My sister's grip on my hand loosens.

"Son—"

"How long do you plan to stay?" I ask now, cutting him off.

"I was hoping I could...for a couple days or so," he stutters unsurely.

"We don't have enough food to feed three people," I tell him bluntly. "You can stay the night." With that, I get to my feet and wordlessly go into the kitchen to make dinner.

I'm standing by the counter, making some modifications to the grocery list to accommodate this three-person dinner, when my sister enters the room. "You know, I was thinking maybe the three of us could do something, like as a family; wouldn't that be nice?" She suggests, pacing the small room. "We could get some corn, have a little picnic, or take a trip to the grocery store? Come to think of it, what happened to that shogi board? Dad loved playing shogi." 

"I can't," I mutter. "He can't stay."

"But it's a Sunday tomorrow! Akito come—"

"I'm not going to use Sunday as an excuse to forget everything and fool around like the rest of you," I snap, then instantly regret it. "I'm sorry, that's not...I'm sorry."

She stops at my side and tightly crosses her arms together. "How much longer till you forgive him?" she murmurs, eyes lowered. "You know it's not his fault, right? Akito, even if he did get to the hospital on time, there's no way we could have afforded the surgery. You need to understand that."

I feel myself go rigid. "If he had a job with decent pay, Baa-san would still be with us today," I say hoarsely. Anger sparks within me, and I quickly try to stamp it out. Anger doesn't accomplish anything; it clouds judgement,  slows us down, and makes us disorganised and reckless. Purpose is what I need.

"He's trying," Nee-san insists, voice rising.

"It's not enough. Nothing he's done has ever been enough," I reply, the cracks in my voice painfully audible to me. My father is a weak man. If only he pushed himself a little more, Nee-san wouldn't have to work to help us pay rent. If only he didn't always give in to temptation, I might have had a shred of respect to spare for him. To rest means to risk becoming like him. And I could never live with myself if I did.

Nee-san moves to wrap her arms around me, pulling me into a one-sided embrace. "It'll be okay," she whispers.

Even in my sister's arms, I don't let myself relax. Enough. Enough wavering. It's time I did something to make a difference once and for all.

END OF CHAPTER