blackbird's wish

Time stops the moment he sees him.

The world around him fades away as Riku approaches him, holding his breath with each step he takes.

It feels a little surreal — something right out of a dream.

Riku doesn’t even realize he’s at the shelf, only that he’s caressing the doll’s face.

There’s a twinkle in the doll’s eyes, almost as if he’s just as stunned as Riku. He feels like he could get lost in the doll’s features, from the depth of his eyes to his long lashes to his soft hair that frames his face.

Before he knows it, Riku is standing at the front counter, the doll sitting comfortably in his arms.

The clerk gives him a curious stare, looking between the doll and him.

“You sure you want that one? Far as I know, thing’s broken,” he says, pointing back to the shelves, “Sure a lad like yourself can find one that’s nicer.”

Riku shook his head, holding the doll closer.

“No… this one,” he smiles, staring at the doll fondly. “He’s perfect.”

A moment later, Riku is out of the store, his new companion in his arms.

He would have been a fool to pass him up.

It was love at first sight, after all.

Sora had heard the store clerk speak of God once, and Sora wondered if it was God who had picked him up off that shelf.

He certainly looked like a God, if Sora knew much of anything, with the way his silver hair framed his face beautifully, his presence calming.

And instead of being placed back on to an old rotted shelf, Sora was carried into a welcoming home.

(Could he possibly call this his home now? Or was it too soon to determine that?)

The man was careful of his grip, Sora noted, as they made their way to a back room.

A small fear crawled in his chest.

Was he going to be put on another shelf again? Was he mistaken?

Before another thought could claw its way into his heart, Sora felt himself sat atop soft fabrics. The man stared down at him adoringly.

No one had stared at Sora like that in a long time.

“We should probably give you a bath,” the man said, his lips tilted up to form a small smile. He held his finger out as if waiting for Sora to grab onto it. “My name is Riku.”

As he was bathed and cleaned, water dripping down his face, Sora wondered if this is what it felt like to cry from happiness.

No one loved broken dolls.

Except for Riku.

Around his neck, Riku found an old ribbon. It was faded and torn, but he could make out a faint Sora sewn into the material.

So his name was Sora.

He turned to look at Sora, who stared back at him from atop his seat of fabrics, his eyes holding that familiar twinkle.

Riku couldn’t help but laugh, suddenly feeling a bit shy.

He lifted his current project for Sora to see.

“I make these,” he explained, “It’s… nice to make stuff, you know?” He extended the skirt of the dress carefully so that Sora could see the finer details.

Maybe it was a play of the mind, but Riku felt as if Sora was commending him for his work.

It was rather silly, and yet, Riku lifted another set of clothes he had created, showing off all the details to the doll.

It had been so long since he had someone to share his work with.

(Sora loved love every single one.)

It was like watching magic form, Sora found.

The way Riku laced the fabrics together, the way he stitched together the patterns and created a new miracle with utmost care.

At times, Sora noticed that Riku would pause and readjust one hand, wondering why he needed so many wires in the first place. He found that he wanted to know about Riku outside of his magic.

But he could wait.

Sora had become rather good at waiting.

For now, he was content watching Riku craft his magic, fabrics transforming beneath his fingers.

Maybe one day, he could create magic for Riku as well.