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harisenbon · 1 year

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Happy valentines day!

Here's a preview of Red Thread. The reader-insert is, this time, a girl.

Summary:

When fate doesn’t match your reality, what do you do?

A pinky promise leads to you being arranged to marry later in life to your neighbor and childhood acquaintance, Rengoku Kyojuro. Unsure if you really love him, you go along with it anyway, not having any other prospects. You consult a diviner for advice but your visit reveals to you where your red string of fate really leads, and it’s not to Rengoku, but to another exciting young suitor.

What will become of you?

_____________________________

Threads, threads.

A thread of smoke rose from your extinguished lamp as you raised your face from it, holding your breath to avoid smelling the bit of acrid vapor it produced when the flame went out.

A loose thread from your sleeve caught under your elbow as you slid into your worn covers for the night. It tugged you back for the briefest moment and you brushed it away, annoyed and eager to rest your tired eyes.

And a single thread, both red in color and invisible to you, stretched from your unknowing little finger into the darkness. Who knew where it led to?

Everything you owned exuded a sense of glory days long passed. It was one thing to start poor and end up poor, but there was a special flavor of distress reserved specially for ones like you and yours, the custodians of a withering fortune. Your robes were silk but frayed and had little spots from scorches. The textures and patterns pointed to a fashionable forebear who’d still pomaded her hair in beeswax.

From a distance, you were a vision of a glorious past. Up close, you were just a girl in shabby hand-me-downs, drifting like a ghost through the halls of a too-large old house, stripped of the expected antiques and treasures and left bare. Both you and the house waited to softly fall into obscurity and poverty no one dared speak of.

You knew your parents hoped to marry you off to someone with more promising fortunes and you couldn’t quite bring yourself to disagree with their logic. If it all went well, you could at least save yourself and them and let the crumbling old estate become just a memory. No one believed that your family would somehow turn things around. You just hoped that you and your parents could reach the ends of your lives with relative comfort and dignity. A soft landing.

But it secretly worried you. Who would become your partner in all of this? Would he be a good lover, or even a friend? Or would it really just be a marriage of convenience where you would be bartered off to someone you would never love— your life for that soft landing everyone was wishing for?

You finally closed your eyes and breathed again. The burning smell of the extinguished lamp still hung in the air.

You never had any dreams when you slept.

Like it was fate, the letter came by courier mid-morning the next day. Wrapped in gold and crimson silk cords, your father took it from the maid with hesitant fingers like it was something dirty. The words were written with a bold hand but he seemed to agree with whatever it said without much thought. So, your mother dressed you in an old chirimen silk kimono with trailing sleeves and sent you off with old Hasegawa, the matchmaker.

The kimono smelled like cedarwood and stagnant air from being stored and unworn for so long. You drew out a wisteria sachet and brought it to your powdered face. Your mother was so old-fashioned. It wasn’t the style to powder one’s face so much any more and you sweltered under the layers of stiff clothing.

The meeting place was under a certain cherry tree at a local park and you couldn’t help your distaste for how cliche it was. The omiai was merely a formality. You knew that your father had already accepted a proposal of marriage on your behalf. All that was left was for your betrothed to get a good look at you, to ensure he was getting what he expected.

You felt self-conscious about the face powder but you had nothing suitable to wipe it off with. Even the handkerchief you had was purely ornamental.

Even if the man had poor taste and liked overdone cliches, you were secretly looking forward to meeting your future husband. Hasegawa kindly explained some of the details on the way.

He was the same age as you and had just come of age in May. Men born in May tended to be strong-willed and steadfast. You hoped for someone dependable and perhaps even solemn, with an even temperament and a gentle voice. You imagined someone with soft, raven-colored hair who reserved his smiles for his private life.

Like a prince.

Alright, perhaps you were running away with yourself a bit there. But daydreams were meant to be savored.

“We’re here,” Hasegawa said, and he helped you down from the car, tucking your hand carefully into his elbow. Your shoes clattered along gingerly and you leaned on Hasegawa’s arm, trying not to trip. You could see the cherry tree from the road since it was so large. But you could also see someone’s bright, bright head of golden and red hair, and you blinked with recognition.

“Pinky promise, pinky swear, if I lie, I’ll swallow a thousand needles and cut my pinky off.”

Maybe you had been seven or eight? For some reason, you could clearly remember what he had been wearing– a dark red kimono and brown hakama.

A lot of wild alliums used to grow in the grassy area that separated the residential streets when you were growing up. It had been late spring at the time and there had been so many of them, some white and some purple. Weaving them into a wreath, you didn’t even notice the boy watching you.

But he hadn’t been shy at all when he walked right up and asked why you were making a wreath. When you’d told him you wanted to wear it on your head, he looked really serious.

“Will it keep demons away, wearing it on your head?”

You’d had no idea what he meant by that. At all.

“It’s so I can look beautiful so that my true love will fall in love with me!”

You remembered that he’d been even more confused after that. Bafflingly, he’d immediately offered to be your true love so that you didn’t have to go through life wearing a crown of alliums on your head. You’d never had someone offer to be your true love before, so you’d told him that you didn’t believe him unless he pinky-promised you.

He did without hesitation, linking your pinky with his tightly.

You never spoke with that boy again but at the tender age of fourteen, you found yourself noticing him.

Not in that way, though.

He was sneaking out at night and you couldn’t help but notice the pattern of his footsteps as he trotted purposefully down the lane that passed your window. Sneakily, you would peep at him and watch until his flaming bright hair disappeared around the corner at the end of the street.

You guessed he might be sneaking out to meet someone, but it didn’t matter much to you. But now and then, you would wake up as he ran down the street in the dark and you couldn’t help but wonder.

And now, he was standing there under a tree and all your dreams of princes and stoic gentlemen flew out the window as he turned your way and aimed a huge, beaming smile right at you. You found yourself immediately both disappointed and relieved.

“Hello!!!”

And, so much for soft, gentle voices, too.

“Rengoku-san,” you greeted, bowing at the waist. “It has been a long time.”

“It has! I’m glad you remember me, Amasaki-san. I was preparing to have to explain myself!!”

You still wanted to hear his explanation aside from maybe he just wanted to marry his neighbor for geographical convenience. The idea of that being the reason made you even more disappointed. He was loud and weird looking. His blinding smile made you wince. Would it be possible for you to love him? You weren’t convinced.

“Can I call you _____-san? If we’re to be married, I would like to call you by your name. Of course, you should call me Kyojuro, too!”

He was still talking. Overwhelmed, you dabbed yourself with your pointless handkerchief.

“Are you sure you want someone like me?” you asked, your eyes pointed straight at the ground. “I’m hardly a prize, so…”

“Nonsense! You can’t possibly say that when you’ve come here looking so pretty. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it!”

Great, he did have bad taste. The garish, old-fashioned kimono, unfortunate makeup, and crusty hair wax seemed to be his thing. You internally bet that he was a nape guy. Your mother had combed your hair straight up off your neck while making all kinds of gross suggestions about how erotic your nape would look with that ridiculous coiffed hairstyle. You’d protested.

“What do men like these days if not your beautiful nape, _____? Hmm?”

“They like ass.”

“Don’t be vulgar. Now let me get the maid to come tie your sash.”

You finally met Kyojuro’s eyes and he visibly brightened.

“Do you like napes, Kyojuro-san?”

He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

You turned around to show him the back of your neck, on full display. Your collar dipped low below it to show as much as possible. If he was getting off on this, you were prepared to cry.

“Hmmm…”

For a moment, you had hope.

“Yes, your nape is very suitable!”

What the hell were you supposed to make of that?!

“Uhm, thanks…” you grunted, turning back around. The cherry tree had no blossoms. It wasn’t the right season. Late summer clung heavily to your skin and the air was stiff. You were uninspired for anything more to say. In fact, you were uninspired through and through. The idea of marrying Rengoku Kyojuro left you cold. You guessed it could be worse, not that you knew the first thing about him. You couldn’t imagine him being romantic, so he probably preferred an arrangement, rather than being fussed with falling in love with someone.

You didn’t know the first thing about Rengoku Kyojuro.

“Well, not to say it matters much what your neck looks like! I don’t have much to say about trendy things like that!”

You couldn’t help but snort and your hand rose to stifle your laugh.

“Kyojuro-san, you’re like an alien… How old are you?”

“We’re the same age, _____-san! Don’t you remember?” His eyes twinkled at you and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, maybe necks were popular in our parents’ generation, but these days, not so much.”

“Oh? What’s trendy now?”

You laughed openly this time.

“Ass.”

He only gave you an innocent smile.

“Well, are you going to show me?”

“Absolutely not!!”

“Ah!” He laughed openly and it was a full, ringing sound that kept a smile on your face, too. When he offered his arm, you couldn’t help but to take it, allowing him to walk you out from under the tree.

“Want to go get something to eat?!”

Truthfully, you were hungry. It had taken so long for your mother and the maid to dress you that you hadn’t eaten in several hours. But the idea of stumbling through the streets in your ridiculous getup made you cringe.

“I… I think this was just supposed to be an omiai, so…”

“Oh?” He glanced down at you and you noticed how piercing his eyes were. They were like flames, bright even in the summer sunshine. He stopped walking and you fought to keep your feet from separating themselves from your stupid shoes. “I suppose I was thinking with my stomach first! Sorry about that!! What are we supposed to do, then? I’ve never had an omiai!” He laughed again and you cracked another awkward smile, shooting a desperate glance back at Hasegawa who was waiting by the car. From the distance, he waved. You gritted your teeth.

“Rengoku-san, I’m sorry, I can’t walk much in these clothes…” You sheepishly admitted the truth.

“It’s Kyojuro! And if you allow me, I’m happy to help you out of them!” His face didn’t contain a single hint of malice or mischief. You stared, flabbergasted. Maybe you knew something about Rengoku Kyojuro, after all. He was weird! A pervert! Like an alien!

“I– I’m going home! Please excuse me!” You stuttered out your response, your heart pounding in your ears. You pulled your hand from his arm, trying to hasten yourself away but your skirt was basically a rigid tube, rendering your steps mincing and useless. The stupid blocky shoes didn’t help, catching helplessly on the long grass. You stifled an embarrassed sob, feeling Rengoku Kyojuro’s pointed stare on you.

“Don’t look so troubled, _____-san! I’ll always help you!” His smile appeared right in front of you again and you barely had the chance to wonder how he’d moved so fast before he scooped you clear off the ground, your aforementioned ass in the air. He’d put you over his shoulder like an ornately decorated sack of potatoes and you screamed like you were being murdered in cold blood.

“.......”

One horrible hour later, you found yourself with no good explanation for your devastated parents, the news of your completely botched omiai being relayed by Hasegawa, who was just pretending to seem grim for your family’s sake because he’d been laughing his ass off in the car on the way back.

“I guess we’ll just wait…”

“For what, Amamiya-san?” Hasegawa fanned himself with a paper paddle fan, strategically hiding a chuckle.

“For the letter from Kyojuro-san’s father to renege on the agreement and reject the match!”

You hung your head. In spite of everything, you knew you could have been kinder. But there was just something about Rengoku Kyojuro that completely lowered your defenses. He was too familiar too quickly, calling you by your name, laughing so brazenly… You hadn’t expected him to be so weird! Of all the things you’d imagined, you couldn’t have possibly prepared for this.

But it was your fault for screaming. The police had come running at the ruckus you’d caused. You wouldn’t blame him either for not wanting you.

The letter came by courier right before sundown. Your father read it in a silence that was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Without a word, he handed it to you.

Amamiya _____-san,

I tried to write this letter for the rest of the afternoon but had to start over several times because I could not find the right words. I am still not certain what words are best, so if this is unsatisfactory, I will try again in the morning and will keep writing until I receive your reply.

I am deeply sorry about my actions today at the omiai. It was wrong for me to behave so familiarly with you, and worse of all to pick you up. If you would find it in your heart to meet with me again, I would like to convey my regret in person. However, I understand if you no longer wish to meet.

You truly did look pretty today. I’ve been thinking about you so much and how sorry I am for everything. My father called me an idiot sixty-two times. I counted.

Yours, Rengoku Kyojuro

“Uh…” Once again, he’d exceeded your expectations. An apology? Your mouth tensed into a line.

“Well, it doesn’t look like the engagement is off…” your mother finally offered after having held back her opinions all day. Your eyebrows twitched. She didn’t say it but you knew she wouldn’t have liked being picked up like a sack of potatoes, either.

#work in progress

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