Chapter 3: Unraveling the Threads

The small café Ryuu had mentioned sat tucked away on a quiet corner, its exterior lined with ivy and blooming flowers. The sign above the door read The Serene Brush, and through the windows, Hikaru could see the soft glow of warm lights and the faint silhouette of other customers seated in quiet conversation. It was peaceful, almost like stepping into another world—a place that felt out of time.

Ryuu pushed open the door, and the sound of a bell chimed softly above them. Inside, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and pastries filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of lavender from a vase on the counter. Hikaru followed Ryuu to a table in the corner, where they could sit in the cozy, quiet space.

“You ever been here before?” Ryuu asked as they took their seats.

Hikaru shook his head, still absorbing the atmosphere. The café was a perfect blend of old-world charm and artistic flair, with framed paintings lining the walls and books stacked in cozy nooks. It felt like the kind of place where someone could get lost in their thoughts—or in their sketches.

Ryuu seemed to sense Hikaru’s appreciation for the space and smiled knowingly. “Yeah, it’s a nice spot. I come here to think sometimes.”

Hikaru nodded, his mind still racing with the events of the day. The fact that he was sitting here with Ryuu felt surreal, like a dream he hadn’t quite woken up from. And yet, everything about it felt oddly right, as if this moment had been waiting to happen for a long time.

“So,” Ryuu said, leaning back in his chair. “What’s your story, Hikaru? You seem… different.”

Hikaru hesitated, unsure of how to respond. His story? He wasn’t even sure he knew it himself. How could he explain that he was just an ordinary boy who had somehow stumbled upon a mystery that felt too big for him to solve?

“I don’t know,” Hikaru said quietly. “I’m just… me.”

Ryuu chuckled softly, his golden eyes glinting with curiosity. “Come on, there’s gotta be more to you than that. You’re an artist, right?”

Hikaru’s eyes flickered down to his sketchbook, which he had brought along but hadn’t opened yet. He wasn’t used to talking about his art, especially not with someone like Ryuu, who seemed to radiate confidence. But there was something about the way Ryuu looked at him—like he was genuinely interested in hearing whatever Hikaru had to say.

“Yeah, I guess,” Hikaru mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. “I like to draw… mostly things from my head.”

Ryuu leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “What kinds of things?”

Hikaru swallowed, feeling the pressure to answer, but unsure how much he could reveal. Should he tell Ryuu about the Frames? About how he had seen Ryuu’s face in one of them? The thought of sharing something so personal—so strange—made his stomach twist with nerves.

“Just… memories,” Hikaru said vaguely. “Things I can’t explain.”

Ryuu’s smile softened, and for a moment, he seemed to understand something unspoken. “Memories, huh? I get that.” He paused, glancing out the window as if lost in thought. “Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in other people’s memories too. Like I’m living in a world I didn’t quite create.”

Hikaru blinked, surprised. Ryuu’s words resonated with him in a way he hadn’t expected. The idea of living in someone else’s world—of being disconnected from your own memories—was something Hikaru knew all too well. But hearing Ryuu say it so casually made him wonder if there was more to this boy than the confident exterior he showed.

Before Hikaru could respond, Ryuu leaned back in his chair, his usual carefree grin returning. “But hey, enough about that. I wanna see your sketches. Show me what’s in that head of yours.”

Hikaru hesitated for a moment, then slowly pulled out his sketchbook. His fingers trembled slightly as he flipped through the pages, each one revealing a glimpse into his mind—abstract drawings, half-finished faces, and landscapes that seemed to blur the line between reality and imagination.

Ryuu leaned in, his eyes lighting up with genuine interest. “These are amazing,” he said softly, his fingers brushing the edges of one of the pages. “You’ve got talent, Hikaru.”

Hikaru felt a blush creep up his cheeks. He wasn’t used to receiving compliments, especially not from someone like Ryuu, whose confidence seemed effortless. But there was something sincere in Ryuu’s words, something that made Hikaru feel seen in a way he hadn’t before.

“Thanks,” Hikaru muttered, glancing down at his sketchbook. But as he turned the page, his breath caught in his throat.

There, on the next page, was a drawing of Ryuu.

Hikaru froze, his heart racing. He didn’t remember drawing this. The sketch was rough but unmistakable—Ryuu’s sharp jawline, his tousled auburn hair, the glint of mischief in his eyes. It was as if Hikaru had captured him in a moment, frozen in time, yet full of life.

“How…” Hikaru stammered, his mind racing. How had this appeared in his sketchbook? He had never consciously drawn Ryuu before. The memory of the Frame flashed through his mind—the same boy, the same expression.

Ryuu’s eyes widened in surprise as he saw the sketch. “Whoa,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “That’s me, isn’t it?”

Hikaru could only nod, his throat too tight to speak. How could he explain this? How could he tell Ryuu that he had somehow drawn him without even knowing him?

Ryuu didn’t seem phased. If anything, he seemed intrigued. “It’s pretty good,” he said with a laugh. “Looks like I’ve made a big impression on you, huh?”

Hikaru flushed, closing the sketchbook quickly. “I… I don’t know how it got there,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

But Ryuu’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward again, resting his hand on the table between them. “You don’t have to explain, Hikaru. Sometimes things happen that we can’t understand. Maybe it’s fate.”

Hikaru looked up, his heart pounding. Fate? The word lingered in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Could that really be what this was? Was there some deeper connection between them, something neither of them could fully grasp yet?

Before Hikaru could respond, Ryuu’s phone buzzed on the table, breaking the moment. Ryuu glanced at it and sighed, his expression clouding briefly. “Sorry, I gotta take this,” he said, standing up. “But don’t go anywhere, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Hikaru nodded, watching as Ryuu walked outside to take the call. The café suddenly felt much quieter without him there, and Hikaru’s thoughts raced in the silence. He stared at his sketchbook, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and curiosity.

How had Ryuu’s face ended up in his art? And what did it mean?

As he sat there, alone with his thoughts, Hikaru’s gaze drifted to the window. Outside, the clouds had begun to part, letting a sliver of sunlight break through. The golden light bathed the street in warmth, and for a brief moment, Hikaru felt something strange—a pull, like a thread of fate connecting him to Ryuu, to the Frame, to something much bigger than himself.

And he couldn’t help but wonder: What was waiting for them on the other side of that connection?

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