word count: 946

starshine and moonglitter

…

an: hoshi wa utau

characters: kanade, sakuya

…

The last of the boxes closes with a soft moan, the cardboard rubbing together. He tapes the corners closed tightly and tosses it on top of the rest of what was once the innards of their home.

Their womb. Their rebirth.

Their little house by the sea creaks with every step he takes.

Out back is his cemetery of failed projects and frustrations, a place he spent many hours over the years, but what he finds he's going to miss most is the kitchen, all those minutes spent preparing meals, carelessly set out on the table to be shared with, to be praised for. To be smiled at.

'Ah. You've done something right.' that feeling, over and over again, subconsciously worming its way into his heart. The small pleasure of creation and family and in the beginning, those fragile days of familiarity, understanding. Forgiveness.

And now those tender feelings, once so precious and frail are strong enough to survive on their own.

He's strong enough to survive on his own, even without Sakuya, though he doesn't want to.

Kanade isn't ready to leave their small community yet. He might never leave. He doesn't like Tokyo, doesn't like cities in general. Doesn't really like change, even as he acknowledges that some change is good. But for now, he's finally content where he is, trying to figure out what he's going to do for the rest of his life, and he's probably got her to thank for that.

Because somewhere in that black, empty sky, she was dropped down next to him and he found his way through.

But now she's leaving for Tokyo to chase after some nitwit boy who doesn't realize he loves her, too. If she comes back crying, he's probably going to leave the village sooner than he planned to. With a baseball bat.

But he knows she'll be happy, because she deserves to be. Because she is the easiest person in the world to love, something he wants to tell her, but never will.

He traces patterns into the dust on the windows during his musings, but is interrupted as he sees her walking down the path. He stands up, pulling his fringe back and walking slowly out into the front to meet her.

He slouches against the doorframe as he waits. She's grown her hair out, gotten a little bit taller, but is otherwise still completely and utterly hopeless. Gentle. Kind. Lovely.

He wants to tuck her into the folds of his arms and ask her to stay with him, not to leave him, not to forget about him, but he won't. It wouldn't be fair, and if anything, he's afraid of being alone because he's afraid of the dark, but it's a useless fear to have, because she's his star.

A small flame in his soul encouraging him to live.

And now that her light has reached him, it will never go out. So he won't ask her to stay, because when he was lost, he yelled at her, hurt her, pushed her away. When he was lost they were pushed together. When he was lost, she found him and made him a home and made him feel human again. Her gentle lie, her gentle song, her gentle love.

Really, she was smarter than anyone had ever given her credit for. She'd had it all figured out from the start, even as broken as she was.

She had taken refuge in the universe; thrown her heart out into the brilliant night skies, hoping for someone to bring it back for her. And if that was her wish, if this was what she'd always wanted, then he would let her go.

'Kana-chan.'

"Kana-chan," she greets, smiling, large, brown eyes twinkling, and the ever-present subtle black smudges of slight exhaustion. For her, it wasn't for lack of sleep. He knew his own face mirrored hers.

"Sakuya," he rests his hand on top of her head, and she closes her big eyes, ever still the puppy. He understood now, wished he had understood when he was a kid.

'I love the stars.'

They enter the house.

She walks around silently, tiptoeing as if treading atop broken glass, this house filled with memories. She looks sad.

He watches her until she finally turns to him. "These years were the happiest of my life," she admits, heart filled and voice cracking.

He looks away, out the window, towards the sea, towards the sky. "…yeah." Her eyes widen, surprised, before she crosses the impossibly large distance between them and holds onto him.

"Thank you, Kana-chan," she cries, but for what he's not sure.

He pats her back, heart clenching. Somewhere in him a little boy is crying, too, not quite ready to move on, not quite ready to forgive, not quite ready to give up.

"You did your best Kana-chan. We did our best," she says, and it's like an explosion of hurt and love and feeling.

Of everything he's ever wanted in one sentence. He holds onto her tighter, more tightly than he's ever imagined, drawing her in, his sun. When they part, she kisses him on the cheek, slightly blushing. "I'm off," she says, tears rolling down her face.

He rolls his eyes for show. "If you're in the area, stop by," he says, shrugging nonchalantly, but she knows.

"I'll write, and I'll visit."

He watches her walk away, her back impossibly small against the background of the world, but he knows she'll be okay.

Finished packing, he walks to the ocean, lies in the sand and looks up at the quickly retreating sunlight.

He waits for the stars.

Tomorrow, maybe he'll try painting.

Yeah.