Some soulmates find each other in an instant—others just need a little more time to see the string that was there all along.

*****
'Hey Harua, I can see the universe's way of saying we're soulmates,
 but you can't, so I hope that's fine'
*****

*The legend of the red string of fate says that two people destined to be together are connected by an invisible thread. No matter the distance, no matter the obstacles, the string will always lead them back to each other. It may stretch, tangle, or fray—but it will never break.

Unless, of course... one person never sees it in the first place.*

Yuma first noticed it when he was fourteen.

The faint, barely-there glow of a thin red thread wrapped around his pinky finger, trailing off into the distance.

At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. His grandmother had once told him the story of the red string, saying that only those who were ready to accept their fate would see it.

Does that mean I'm ready?

But no matter how much he twisted and turned his hand, the thread remained, unwavering. He watched as it shifted ever so slightly, like it was alive. And then—

It moved.

And it was leading him straight to Harua.

"Hey," Yuma said one afternoon, plopping down next to Harua in the practice room. Their groupmates were scattered around, taking a break after rehearsing their latest choreography.

Harua barely looked up, focused on tying his shoelace. "Hey."

Yuma's eyes flickered down to his own pinky. The string was as clear as ever, reaching out toward Harua's hand. He had stared at it so many times over the years that he could probably draw it in his sleep.

Yet—Harua never reacted. Not once.

"I was thinking," Yuma started, trying to sound casual. "Do you believe in soulmates?"

Harua finally looked up, tilting his head slightly. "Soulmates? Like, the romantic kind?"

"Yeah. Or just—people who are meant to be in your life."

Harua hummed in thought, leaning back on his hands. "I think some people are meant to meet, but I don't know if I believe in fate deciding everything for us."

Yuma felt something sink in his chest. "What if I told you there was an invisible string tying you to someone?"

Harua let out a soft laugh. "That's just a legend."

Yuma didn't reply.

Because how was he supposed to say, Harua, I can see it. And it leads to you?

Weeks passed, and Yuma kept it to himself.

He tried to find proof that Harua could see it too—watching for any moment where his eyes might follow the string, waiting for him to say something. But nothing.

Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe it was all just in his head.

Or maybe... Harua's string had been cut before he could ever see it.

One night, Yuma found himself talking about it with EJ and Nicholas, two of the only people he knew who also saw their strings.

"So you're telling me you've known for years and haven't said anything?" Nicholas gaped at him.

"What am I supposed to say? 'Hey Harua, I can see the universe's way of saying we're soulmates, but you can't, so I hope that's fine'?"

EJ sighed, shaking his head. "It's possible he hasn't realized yet. Some people don't see it until later."

Nicholas nudged EJ. "Like you."

EJ rolled his eyes. "I saw it. I just didn't think it was real at first."

"Sure, sure," Nicholas teased. "Good thing you finally accepted it. Otherwise, I would've had to suffer the pain of an unrequited soulmate bond."

Yuma groaned. "Yeah, well, my soulmate doesn't even know he has one."

EJ and Nicholas exchanged a look before turning to him with knowing smiles.

"Then show him."

It happened after a late-night practice.

The others had already left, but Yuma lingered, watching as Harua stretched on the floor, his hair falling over his face.

Yuma took a breath. It's now or never.

"Harua."

Harua glanced up. "Hm?"

Yuma slowly held out his pinky finger, the string glowing faintly under the studio lights. "Do you see it?"

Harua frowned. "See what?"

Yuma's heart clenched. He really can't see it.

Instead of answering, Yuma reached forward—gently taking Harua's hand and guiding it so their pinkies brushed. He hoped, prayed, that maybe, just maybe, something would happen.

Harua stared at their hands. "Yuma—"

"Just trust me," Yuma murmured.

For a moment, nothing happened.

And then—

Harua's breath hitched. His fingers twitched, his eyes widening in disbelief as he slowly, finally, saw what Yuma had seen all along.

"...Oh."

Yuma smiled, squeezing his hand.

"Yeah. Oh."

Harua swallowed. "I didn't— I never thought—"

Yuma laughed softly. "I know."

Harua looked up at him then, eyes searching his face. "How long?"

Yuma hesitated, then admitted, "Since I was fourteen."

Harua inhaled sharply.

For years, the string had been there. Waiting. Unseen.

But not anymore.

Harua let out a shaky laugh. "Guess we really were meant to meet, huh?"

Yuma's heart pounded. "Guess so."

And this time, when Harua's fingers curled around his, Yuma knew—fate had finally caught up with them.

Bonus:

Elsewhere in the dorm, Nicholas smirked as he tugged EJ's pinky.

"Told you they'd figure it out eventually."

EJ rolled his eyes but smiled. "Took them long enough."

Meanwhile, K and Fuma sat across from them, watching with mild amusement.

K raised an eyebrow. "Should we tell them that we've known about our string since the beginning?"

Fuma chuckled. "Nah. Let them have their moment."

And as the night continued, unseen strings glowed faintly in the air—connecting hearts, weaving destinies, and bringing soulmates together, one by one.