Work Text:
The bamboo leaves rustle,
And sway under the eaves.
✦
Upon the flimsy, almost crinkled, piece of tanzaku, Akaashi’s brush trails ink-black rivers against the dark blue paper, reminiscent of the night sky above her.
Each stroke is an act of devotion, practiced everyday until the scripture is almost perfect; and when her wish is complete, she finally allows herself to turn to the light above.
She looks to the stars with a whisper of a name, the shortest breath to voice a prayer, a love letter for whatever god or spirit or divinity that is willing to listen; for within her shaking hands and the careful writing on the tanzaku is a desperate plea, in search of an answer, but she dare not say the name that has carved its way into her ribs, had thread itself through the space of her veins and haunts all her waking hours.
For Akaashi was once human, and she is still selfish as she is needy like the rest of them, that sometimes even these emotions can be too big for her body, that they could even swallow the world and all one thousand and one gods from the sheer enormity of it; and she craves to be the only one to know the name of who she devotes herself to, to be the only believer to offer prayers and sacrifices. The world had abandoned her god, so why should they be allowed to even hear the syllables of her name breathed into existence? Humanity and gods alike have since abandoned her love into the void, forgotten and only remembered in poor imitations of her grace.
The world needn't know her. Her love does not deserve her, in any capacity. It's only been Akaashi and her unwavering faith against the centuries she has been long abandoned by humanity, her shrines left dilapidated and ruined under the unforgiving march of time and human memory.
Somewhere, between the dancing and dreaming stars, bridging the universe closer with their light, Akaashi thinks that she could find her most precious love amongst them.
That name of love, who holds her heart and her soul, forgotten somewhere in the passage of time, only remembered in folktales and myths and stories that could never hope to know who she really is—
The name of love, known to many as Vega.
But to Akaashi, she is hers, if only by virtue of being the only one that remembers.
And she is selfish, as much as she was once human and then made divine, but even in all her great power and godly capabilities, Akaashi only wishes to live as a pious woman in service to only one.
✦
Her name was Bokuto, with her head crowned with silver locks and her roots dipped in night black. Her eyes were iridescent, immaculate, the proof of her divinity; golden as if Amaterasu lived within her very soul, blessed by sun herself.
Bokuto was divine, in everything including name, and she came into Akaashi’s life like a comet. Across the divine river, she spent her life threading dreams into fabric, metre by metre, until the cloth themselves became their own stream. Akaashi still remembers the sight of her Bokuto’s fingers were long and delicate, but they were not fragile. No, far from it. They were the hands of a god that could carry the world if she so chose. Akaashi has seen her carry the hoof of beasts and divided the cloth she had carefully made with one gesture alone. She knows for a fact that, if the god truly desired it, she could split sea and sky and earth alike.
But Bokuto was not like most gods. Unlike Akaashi, selfish even after her ascendance, more human than what she ought to be, Bokuto was still divine, she was unconditional in her love. Her hands could break the world, and yet she chose not to. She wove rivers of dreams, spent lifetimes putting the thread to the needle so she could sew her love in every fabric, she was selfless and kind and had a love bigger than her body could ever hope to hold.
Bokuto was – is – love. And Akaashi wanted nothing more than to kneel at her feet everyday, until the world knew who was Bokuto’s most faithful believer, who was the most pious of her maidens. Akaashi had abandoned all of her mortal possessions, took her crook and made the journey past the divine river to see her one true love every day. And Bokuto, with palms calloused from her work, still cradled her cheeks like she was the heavens. She looked upon Akaashi like she hung the stars that shone above their heads, and she gave her a love that could see one through until the end of time.
“If only you could stay with me forever,” was the one selfish wish Bokuto had made. It was a whispered secret, as if she was too scared to admit that she too was capable of faults. That somehow, if she were any less perfect than what men want of her, she would no longer be.
Yet it only made her more beautiful; when the divine seamstress herself was allowed to be small in Akaashi’s company, under the dappled sunlight that streamed through the gaps of the willow.
Many would think it to be a mistake that Bokuto allowed herself to find comfort in humanity, so tainted by greed and selfish desires. Akaashi would be inclined to agree, in most cases, that Bokuto was greater than the shallowness of men and women.
But Akaashi was no better than them. For instead of turning away Bokuto’s one wish, she reveled in it. She did not ask for any god for forgiveness, to pardon her for the sin of being so greedy, for tainting the immaculate seamstress with her own whims.
Akaashi was only human. And Bokuto loved like a human. Too much, always bigger than what they could handle, until it was a need rather than a want.
“I could be with you forever,” was Akaashi’s confession, her sworn oath to this star. Her lips pressed to the calloused hands that had given the heaven’s every thread of colour they have ever desired. That she was here for Bokuto and Bokuto alone. That no one else, no god or demon or person, would ever hope to tear her away from Bokuto.
For her faith, Akaashi was made divine, in all her selfishness, in all her human-like faults and flaws, and it was love that made her so. It was Bokuto’s love. Only hers.
Akaashi had thought then and there, that if this be how eternity would be like for them, then she could stay motionless by Bokuto’s feet, and it would be enough.
✦
But other gods are not as kind or loving as her star. Other gods, who were thought to be divine, were more selfish and unkind and unreasonable than any human known to Akaashi.
They took her star away. They split the Milky Way and turned the shallows into depths that no divine entity could hope to cross. They filled it with her divine lover’s tears and the pious maiden’s righteous rage. From across the other side of the river, Akaashi could only see Bokuto’s light: the only hope that she was not too far.
“Wait for me, Bokuto!” Her cries will be remembered for all eternity, even as she almost drowned herself in the divine river in hopes of reaching her star.
At that very moment, when desperation clawed at her throat and the only thing pushing her forward was the devotion to her god, Akaashi’s own light reached out. Brighter than any flame, any star, any sun; in hopes of reaching out to Bokuto. Her Bokuto.
The only reason why she hadn’t drowned that day, burning fast and fading quickly, was the commandment her god had gave her.
“Wait for me. Wait for me instead, Akaashi,” her voice was a soft cadence, a song that she still sung the words to every night after. “I’ll come home to you. I will. I’ll come home. No matter how long, no matter where you are: I’ll come home.”
✦
From each side of the divine river, the Milky Way, separated by the universe and the stars and debris, their light could have swallowed the entirety of existence. Two of the brightest stars, yearning to be in each other’s embrace, but destined to be apart.
Their story would be told through the years, called different names, painted as different figures, known as a man and a woman called Altair and Vega, or Orihime and Hikoboshi, or Zhinu and Niulang.
But no one will ever know their true names. No one will know about Akaashi and Bokuto. And that was fine. Because if no one else will know the name of her divine lover, then Akaashi will, and that was enough.
That would be enough.
✦
With shaking hands, Akaashi makes the yearly pilgrimage up to the hill, to the shrine long forgotten by humanity. No god resides there, not one that Akaashi cares enough to know at least. Her feet already knew the path, she could have gone blind a century back and her heart would still know the way.
Her destination is the plot of bamboo, growing as if they were intent on reaching the heavens. As Akaashi approaches the tallest of the bunch, the tanzaku still cradled close to her chest. Upon its branch, she ties her wish with her own ribbon, and presses her lips to the name long-forgotten by shallow men and uncaring gods.
Then, once more, she looks she looks to the stars with a whisper of a name, the shortest breath to voice a prayer:
“Dear Vega, my Bokuto,” she recites, as if it were a mantra, “Come home to me. Come home to me and let me love you once again. Come home and let me feel your warmth, that I may finally kneel within your presence, that I could return your love tenfold. Come home to me, and you will never go a day unloved.”
Silence reigns. Her heartbeat is the only sound that fills her ears.
Yet still, she prays, her eyes trained to the brightest star of them all.
“Come home to me,” she pleads. “Let me love you for eternity. That no day you will ever feel unloved. Have I not been your most faithful believer?”
Silence, and the accursed loneliness is her only companion. Yet still, Akaashi keeps her faith.
Because she sees the way Vega twinkles, some light years away, too far from her grasp. She knows behind its light is Bokuto, and she’s always been there. Though the universe is still between them, her love has never gone away. It’s still in her breast, nurtured throughout the centuries they’ve been apart. And for a moment, that would be enough. Until then, she will still recite her prayers carefully and wait at the shrine made in her name.
Akaashi has forever to wait, and the love that made her divine had made it so.
✦
On the seventh day, on the seventh month, while Akaashi is fast asleep at the foot of the shrine’s entrance, the warmth of a thousand and one suns ghost over her cheek and the shape of a body tucks itself into her being.
She hears her name whispered, so quiet, spoken into the world’s ear.
Akaashi doesn’t have to open her eyes to know.
✦
The door to their kitchen slides open. No matter how many times she tries, Akaashi can still hear the attempts at quiet footsteps coming from a mile away. But she likes to pretend that she doesn’t, still puts her attention to the pot and stirs.
It is calloused hands that find her first, cupping her waist, then trails to her abdomen. Hands that have worked hard day in and day out to weave countless fabrics, countless dreams, countless threads so full of love; and Akaashi finds herself taking one such hand to bring to her lips and have them know just how loved they are.
It is her name that is whispered next, into the shell of her ear, yet it’s always a little louder than it should be, as if the voice is trying so hard from shouting her love at the top of her lungs so that the world, the heavens, the universe and the gods and all its men would know who exactly it calls out to.
Silver locks fall down Akaashi’s shoulder, joining her dark hair until no one could tell where they begin or end, intertwined in body and soul.
“Akaashi,” Bokuto’s faith is stronger than that of a thousand and one gods, her love shining through even without the blessing of Amaterasu. “Keiji, I’m home.”
And just like always, turning on her heel in their tiny kitchen, Akaashi takes her star into her own palms, placing a kiss with tenfold the love that this divine being could ever muster.
“Welcome home, Bokuto. Welcome home, my Koutarou.”
Altair and Vega have never been so bright until now, past their window.
✦
The stars twinkle
Like gold and silver grains of sand.
The stars twinkle,
Watching from above.