Red String || Dottore

c1

He stared at the string on his pinky. It appeared one day, soon becoming clear to him that he was the only one could see the strings. Everybody had a string, tied to their pinky. Some were knotted beyond repair, others a straight line.

Dottore would go to a public place and observe, trailing the string to their person. Some were lucky; their strings were short and they were already with their person. Others, not so much. He would see some people with knotted strings who were connected with someone who was with somebody else.

Sadly, he too was in this situation. He was the outsider looking in. His string was knotted and was connected to someone happily dating Childe.

Y/n. Lovely Y/n.

Dottore was struck with love when Childe first introduced Y/n to his fellow harbingers. She was someone who brought warmth to the cold hearts if the harbingers. He couldn't speak to her, he was dumbstruck. The only thing Dottore could do was stand off to the side when the rest of the harbingers bomb-barded her and Childe with questions- mostly on how they meet and how they got together.

What surprised them the most was her extensive knowledge of the archon, their secrets, their motives. At least, that was the most surprising thing at the time.

Y/n noticed him standing off to the side, much to his dismay. He didn't want to get noticed by this goddess, and he certainly didn't want to stumble over his words. It would be unprofessional of him. So, he didn't speak. She was smart though, she pulled out a piece of paper and wrote on it, using that as a source of communication.

The other harbingers teased him about it- minus Childe, he was too busy introducing Y/n to the Tsaritsa -until he threatened to use them as the base for his new experiments. It was then when he finally had some silence, and it was then when he could see the flickering red string.

It confused him at first, and he experimented, like he always did. Nobody reacted when he brought up anything about the red strings, nobody reacted when he would tug on the strings. No scissors could cut them, the scissors would act like nothing was there but air. Like the strings never even existed.

Then he got curious. He wanted to know where his string led, who it was connected too. So, he followed it. Dottore trailed it with his eyes, finding the fingers of which it belonged.

He was happy, until the person turned around, showing the face he loved but couldn't have. Y/n. This all leads to now; sitting along in his room, sad, lonely, pathetic. He felt like an idiot.

"Fuck." He whispered, his head falling into his hands. There was nothing he could do.