Kisa’s voice slowly dies, and Seokga feels a surge of guilt as he realizes she must know he wasn’t listening. Stopping in front of him, her cheeks are azure, and when she mumbles an apology, he feels a surge of anger at himself. “Don’t ever apologize for being excited about something,” he tells her, and his voice comes out harder than he means it to.

—need to stop—doing this—to him—

Her eyes, her damn eyes, widen—and warm before she averts them to the ground. “No,” she murmurs, “in this case, I really should. I forget, sometimes, how it must feel to be in your shoes.”

His breath catches in his throat. Kisa looks back up at him, and her expression is pained. And damn it, Seokga can feel his heart cracking down the middle, the fissure spreading and spreading through the useless organ. He would do anything to kick off these shoes.

What rotten luck—to have the red thread manifest the same day Kisa died. The same day, if Hajun is to be believed, that Kisa gave up hope.

I’d like you to consider, Seokga, that it is you and Kisa that fate has chosen to vouch for. How, he thinks bitterly, could fate be so cruel? He’s never done anything to upset Gameunjang Aegi, the pantheon’s shy goddess of luck, fate, and fortune.

(Well, except for the time he secretly submitted an application to Okhwang’s most popular dating show on her behalf and—through an expert work of deception on his part—got her to show up on set in a two-person cow costume. A bewildered Samsin Halmoni had been the rear. In a rare act of solidarity, Seokga and Godly Gossip had had a field day with that one.)

Now, both ends of the red thread glow a deep, dark blue. The colors seep through the thread and cross to the opposite side, both god and gwisin tasting each other’s depthless sadness.

“It’s not a walk in the park,” Seokga manages to finally reply. “Or rather, it is—but a walk in the park while wearing a pair of shoes lined with pins and needles.”

Kisa’s eyes soften.

—has to be—the biggest understatement—

Seokga snorts despite himself. “Yes,” he finds himself saying. “Yes, I’d say that’s an understatement.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, no—did you hear—”

“I did.”

Kisa stares at the thread in what seems like betrayal. And, so fast that he almost misses it, the thread seems to curl itself into small blue letters before innocently smoothing itself out.

“Did you see—?” she chokes out. “It did that in the café—I thought I imagined it…”

“It spelled ‘HAHAHA,’ ” Seokga replies, narrowing his eyes at the bond. “I think.”