Seokga freezes, then flinches. Her voice is so—professional. Eager, but only in a hungry, scientific way, stilted by the jondaemal she still uses. It hurts more than any weapon ever could. Fuck. Anything—even the old man passing gas at his crochet club—would be better than this detached clinical-ness. Like this thread between them is nothing more than a cold, dead scientific phenomenon meant to be studied, not something so pure and magical and alive.

“Red thread manifestations are so rare that we would be foolish not to, well, investigate it entirely. A, well, research collaboration could benefit so many in the magical communities…If we record our findings, it could be instrumental in the understanding of Threaded soulmates. There are so few books about it, you see, unless they’re kept away in Okhwang’s Heavenly Library, which I’ve always wanted to learn more about, by the way…”

Her words fade to a dull roar, for Seokga’s mind is being crushed with waves of deep, bitter hurt. He sees what this is. For him, it is his best friend, his lover, reincarnated. For her, it is an experiment. Research.

For him, it’s love.

It’s as if he is being ripped apart, but somehow, Seokga still manages to stand. If he stays here, he knows he will break down entirely and there will be nothing left of him but bones and dust. And then what will she think of him? Kisa will be frightened away before he can collect himself. “I’m sorry,” he hears himself saying, his voice thankfully cool and collected rather than the shaking mess he is inside, “I have to go.”

Kisa hesitates. “Oh,” she says, looking uncertain. “Okay.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, anything else, but he knows if he uses his voice again it’ll be a jagged cry. Hurriedly, heart breaking in his chest, Seokga turns on his heel and leaves.

The red thread stretches longer and longer with each step he takes.

Chapter Seven

Kisa

Kisa’s coffee has long gone cold by the time she returns to the sick bay. She keeps her head down to hide her disappointment from Hajun. I’ve stepped in it, Kisa thinks bitterly, trying not to look at the red thread. That’s the problem with her, isn’t it? She gets so enthusiastic, so very lost in her own whirring mind, that she forgets to slow down. Kisa feels her throat tighten in shame as she brushes off a curious Hajun and slips into the bathroom for a few moments of privacy.