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“kanata,” his mother holds him for the last time that day, and kanata remembers her hands fleeting, leaving his as she leads him to sit down on the pedestal he was to stay on for as long as the seasons changed, and the loss of heat on his hands were marked on his mind, a memory burnt and branded so inhumanely into the back of his brain. he was only 7 when he’s lost the love of his mother, someone who, up to the point, even so far beyond that point, he thought was his only beloved light. “our god.”
he missed it, the soft and careful hands of his mother that he used to cling onto whenever he was scared or hurt. as much as he hated his mother, her touch was the last thing he’s ever had closest to the “love” he thinks he desired; even if his mother has only done the things she did because she wanted to keep his “purity” as a devotee, and not as a mother, the heat of her hand and the curl of her hands around his and the endless kisses he received everytime he cried, those moments were the closest to love he could ever be.
“if you become a divine god who grants desires, kanata,” his mother caresses his hair, and kanata wishes he appreciated every single second before she pulls away. “everyone will love you. it’s as simple as that.”
heeding her words, he starts to seek validation, love , from his followers. despite them repeatedly and continuously exclaiming their love for him, he knows it was just because they wanted something out of it; if he were to describe it more accurately, they do it because they do get something from it. it was shallow, thin, and superficial, a simple payment in exchange for a favor, something that was much, much more fragile than glass.
it’s not like he’s any better, really. as shallow as the love he receives was, it was all he ever had, and he’d do everything to keep feeling that devotion if it was just equivalent to a small purchase on wet, cold, sand. if he were to stop being loved, if he were to lose everything that kept him above the water, he’d drown.
they were not his mother, of course. they were not hands that reach out towards him to truly care for him, nor do they intend to pull him out from the water and save him, but it was better than never resurfacing again.
--
chiaki’s hands are warm again today, kanata notes. whenever midori complains about how hot he actually gets whenever he gets hugged, kanata knows it wasn’t figuratively. the burning fire inside his heart seems to spill over, getting too much for the boy’s limited and human body, and everybody, particularly his cute juniors in the unit, gets to feel the consequences of it everytime the beloved red gets too overly physical.
“kanata?” chiaki turns to him, feeling his hand on his, but he doesn’t let go. the breeze blows his brown hair, and kanata is a little entranced by how pretty chiaki makes the autumn. “is it cold? i can lend you my jacket if you want.”
“it’s no ‘problem’, chiaki,” kanata smiles back, hair dripping from the quick fountain dip. chiaki sits close to him, despite this, and kanata is a bit thankful for the shared heat. “i’m used to it.”
chiaki gives out a sigh. “you’re gonna get sick if you keep this up.”
kanata can only give a small smile.
it’s that voice again.
kanata loves hearing it, that voice. he has this little concerned tone that effortlessly tells kanata he is cared for and he is loved. it fills him up with comforting warmth his mother and his followers could have never achieved, even before he lost her. chiaki is more than just a fire, no. he is his own, a star that even the sun cannot compete with. he is not something that burns you, nor is he something that harms you, nor is he unreachable. chiaki is comforting, a soft light that gently greets you even after surfacing from darkness, a brightness that you can still look at for hope even from the depths of the water.
chiaki has reached for kanata, someone who was drowning and seemingly unsaveable, from the suffocating parts of the ocean, even if he himself does not have any more fire to burn. he was a star that risked to be extinguished for a dying sparkle in the ocean.
kanata grabs the hand that saved him and intertwines their fingers together.
does a sinful god really deserve someone like him?
“your hand is really cold, do you know that?” chiaki grabs his hand even tighter.
“indulge me, chiaki,” kanata softly smiles. nothing could ever make him forgive and forget the moment his mother left, but everything, everything in this small moment and the moments exceeding, almost makes him thankful for it being a step towards it. “please?”
kanata leans on the other’s shoulder and he lets him.
even if from this moment forward, his star were to become a meteor that leaves his nightsky, a sinful god can only be thankful that he was able to see it.