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It’s fraying at the edges, nearly burnt looking.
Haesang can almost feel the loose string tickling his wrist some days, its connection long since severed.
When Woojin was still spending his days at the apartment, Haesang swore he could make out the reflection of his string, that thin red line always pointed towards him. It reminds him of when they were children, when Woojin first appeared in the lavish foyer of the Yeom estate, and when he first caught a glimpse of that cursed red string.
Back then the string was fresh, it was young and bright. It made loops around Woojin’s wrists, embraced his waist lovingly, but it still found its way to where it was meant to meet: the tiny matching loop around Haesang’s pinky.
Haesang wishes he would have savored that moment more than he had. As a young boy who had just lost his mother, what did he know of soulmates, of fate and destiny? All he knew in that moment was grief. Grief that had nowhere to go: with his grandmother as his only family left and her inability to soothe him as well as her refusal to coddle him whatsoever.
The paternal affection he sometimes received from Mr. Kim was his only solace.
When Woojin spoke to him, Haesang sometimes had a hard time looking him in the eyes. He found himself completely entranced by their string. He saw others’ strings too, of course, but this one was his. Woojin was his. It wasn’t something he truly understood the meaning of, but it brought him comfort nonetheless.
Where he had no father and no mother, and he had a grandmother who seemed to care as much for him as she did the dusty tomes in her office, he had Woojin.
⊡
He finds Sanyeong to be a gentle and sweet person. His initial reasons for wanting to help her are selfish; he has wanted revenge on the spirit that killed his mother for decades. The fact that it has found a host in someone as young and kind as Sanyeong is at first a simple misfortune in his eyes. The more time he spends around the young woman, the more he sees.
Haesang has grown up with the ability to see spirits. Most of them are harmless, poor souls walking the Earth unattached to anything or anyone. Some of the more unfortunate ghosts still have remnants of their red strings around their pinkies, the thread damaged and untethered: it usually means their soulmate is still alive out there, somewhere.
Just as Haesang had learned to live with the shadows of spirits at every corner of his vision, he learned to live with the constant lines of fate he saw, too. It made for a beautifully complicated spiderweb of red every time he opened his eyes.
Contrary to popular myths, not everyone seemed to have a string.
Haesang felt a swell of warmth in his chest whenever he happened to glance at Munchun’s bare pinky. With his intended no longer walking this plane of existence, Haesang felt that he and Munchun were kindred in a sense. The detective had cared for him in a way no one had since his mother had passed. Munchun listened to his “ghost stories” and was sure to take him out for his every birthday. Surely, this connection was just as meaningful as all those red strings flying about.
Ignoring the strings is like second nature at this point. Haesang feels a bit guilty when he glances at someone’s pinky and can see that there’s nothing there. Worse is when he catches a glimpse of young couples in Seoul, only to see that their strings are nowhere near one another.
It’s very rare for him to see actual fated couples with one another. The pairs may have been destined for one another, but they have no way of knowing who their intended is, and human nature calls for them to spend most of their life searching just as human nature means many of them never find their match.
Gu Sanyeong’s string is especially interesting to him.
Because she is young, it is just as bright and youthful as he remembers his string being. The depth of its color is shocking to him, like its fibers were soaked in wine, the thread in stark contrast with the paleness of Sanyeong’s skin.
The dark thread starts at Sanyeong’s pinky, and it winds its way up her arm, where it wraps itself around her neck, a few perfect loops around her throat where her hummingbird-fast pulse rests.
He will come to find this ironic, as he gets to know her and the spirit that resides within her.
After it loops around her neck, the string seems to never want to leave Sanyeong’s presence. It winds itself across her chest and stomach, its dark threads covering the entirety of her left leg, before it finally releases her at the ankles. He has seen complicated strings on people, but only a few extra loops here and there. Sanyeong is covered in what seems like an entire spool of thread.
At first, he wonders if it is hereditary, if she has somehow inherited this incredible amount of fated thread, but it takes one glance at her mother’s fingers to see that the older woman’s intended was never found, and her string hangs limply at her side, pale and worn.
He spends a bit of time wondering what Sanyeong’s intended must look like, if Sanyeong herself is nearly covered in string. He wonders if she has hogged up most of their string, if her soulmate has just a few simple threads around their finger or wrist, connecting the two of them. He wonders if they are as covered in string as she is, their entire torso and arms bathed in red.
He does not have to think about it for long.
As he and Sanyeong are exploring the study hostel looking for Lee Taeyong, right on the third level, Haesang watches as the strings on Sanyeong’s body begin to sway, becoming looser and tighter all at once. They hear footsteps approaching as they frantically search for room 306, and a quick look up and the telltale sound of his friend’s voice tells Haesang they are joined by Detective Munchun. It is the second pair of footsteps he doesn’t anticipate, and the young man that rounds the corner.
The young detective has a string as dark a color as Gu Sanyeong’s, it is lively and barely visible around his pinky. What is noticeable is the way it winds up his arm and wraps tightly around his throat, harsh against the delicate lines of the young man’s neck. From there it relaxes, the string falling to the ground, and Haesang would have to be blind to not notice how it has made a path straight towards him, the threads leading directly to the ankle of the young woman behind him: Gu Sanyeong.
⊡
When he is with the two of them, Haesang must, at times, conceal his amusement. As he sees them standing next to one another it makes more sense.
The string around young Hongsae’s neck reminds him of a collar, his thread leading towards Sanyeong like the leash of a young puppy who has tangled its owner up in its excitement. When Hongsae trails after Sanyeong he fights back a snort of laughter as they form the perfect image: Hongsae following Sanyeong like a beloved pup after its master.
He knows they cannot see the strings. Even as Sanyeong began to develop an ability to see the spirits around her through mirrors, she never mentioned the strings to him. He supposes that’s fine: less explaining for him to do.
But still.
He sees the way Hongsae observes her fondly, and her patient gaze in response. The two of them seem to orbit one another, unexpectedly running into the other more often than not. He knows it bewilders Sanyeong, but it is so obvious to him. He who can see the way their strings seem to come to life when the two are together, the deep red shining bright in the sunlight, the fibers nearly glowing against their skin.
He swears he catches Sanyeong glancing at Hongsae’s neck more often than not, often unable to meet the lieutenant’s intense stare. He wonders if she ever catches glimpses of red in the mirror.
He doesn’t dare to ask.