Alternate Universe: Red String AU
Fluff | Angst: I choose pain and suffering
A/n: Deadlines hate to see me coming!
Everyone on the island was bound to another by a thin, illusive red string. It held no real substance, even though the two individuals tied together by it could see it. It appears when the thought materializes in one's mind, and vanishes when another occupies the space.
The string was thin, like the stem of a wilted flower between Matsukaze's calloused fingers. The red string was tied around his ring finger, and it appeared to him in a variation that evokes the same hopelessness in his soul.
Far from the island's edge, the string pooled loosely at his feet, like spilled yarn. Roped round and round at his feet, trapping him in his own misery. The end of the string led to the edge of the island and towards the ocean. It would blur and disappear like a boat on the ocean as it continued to unravel into the unknown. At this, Matsukaze took it that he was fated to no one.
On an island where everyone was fated to another by a string that Matsukaze would never see the other end of, it was only natural that he would find peace with someone who was in the same predicament as him. His master, a kind and noble man, revealed to him on a drunken night that the red fibers on his finger were pulled apart. The knot was still there, but the string had been broken, the end cut short, and it lay limply between his fingers.
Taking the end of what was infinite, Matsukaze wrapped his string around his master's finger. Although only Matsukaze could see his string, he entangled his master in it.
"I have more than I know what to do with," Matsukaze whispered. He tenderly held his master's wrist as he continued to wrap his string around his master's finger. It completely covered his master's ring finger in red—a red that he'd never be able to see for himself. "Be the end that I'll never see, and I'll be the one that fixes yours."
"Of course, Matsukaze." For a brief second, they both felt the tug of their strings, as if drawing them closer together. "Let's mend our broken strings together."
Since that night, Matsukaze's string had covered his master's finger entirely, enveloping its broken end in Matsukaze's love and devotion. He'd ignore that the string still led past the ocean waters. For his end was his master that he cherished.
Matsukaze wishes he could see the fibrous end that his master is undeniably seeing, in a cruel, twisted fate. A string can only be broken once, but because Matsukaze mended his string, his master is left to watch it wither again, this time at the hands of the one who had fixed it.
In a desperate attempt to stop him from turning to stone, Matsukaze had done the unthinkable. He had cut off his master's arm and, in turn, severed his own string from his master. As the life drains from him, the red around his finger dissipates with him.
His master was gone, and the string that connected them lay limp once more beneath his feet. In defiance of his fate, both spiritual and physical, he holds the string messily around his wrist. His movement is constricted, his feet turned to stone, and in seconds, not too long, the rest of his body will be stone as well.
In defiance of his fate of stone, in defiance of his string, which has brought only pain, he carves into his wrist. He drives the tip of his blade through the string and into his skin. Every stroke is an attempt to break the string while warning future generations about the device that caused his master's demise. Matsukaze wanted nothing more than for the thin, elusive red to break apart—to wither away or snap into strands, but to no avail. For him, this meant he was fated to an eternity in stone.
Matsukaze thought he'd never see the day when he would see the sky once more. For his feet to touch the earth's ground, or to move from the solitary prison that was the stone. Nor did he think he'd ever see the day when the red string he despised would no longer wrap around his feet but tug and pull him like an animal on a leash.
It pulls him, and he doesn't hesitate to follow its tug, not when it appears to be his master at the other end. For the first time, Matsukaze sees the end of the fated red. It no longer stretches across the ocean and into the abyss. It's tied neatly on the finger of the man he mistook for his master. He's on his knees before the blond, frail man, staring up into his frightful eyes. A wave of guilt consumes him. The man was not his master, but was it all right for him to finally experience the fate that was destined for him thousands of years ago?
For Ginro, it was a no-brainer. Matsukaze was his, even if his string was used to mend another thousand years ago.
A/N: I adore Matsugin, but I also love a bit of angst!
Divider Credit: @uzmacchiato
Header: ??? I found it on Pinterest!
oh wow, im posting again yay!!
Decided to participate in a day or the Matsugin week, albeit its a day late and ill prob only be able to do this one LOL
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