ficbit, Sen to Chihiro, "Tanabata"
Another one for saying_yes. Haku/Chihiro or vice versa XD, prompt: Tanabata. PG, post-film (I always forget to say so but everything I perpetrate is post-film innit). ...D-didn't I once write one where Haku met Hikoboshi? Anyhow this theme + this pairing is forever a match made in etc.
Tanabata
It was a magpie that first led her back to the tunnel one summer evening, back to the tunnel and through it to the other side. Chihiro never learned just what had drawn the magpie to her--maybe the elusive glitter of the band she used to tie her ponytail, the one she couldn't remember buying, so it must've been a gift but she could never quite recall the giver.
Not until she crossed into the other world.
It was a magpie she followed to the ferry landing on the river's bank, a magpie that perched on her shoulder calmly as she walked past all the strange and curious gods waiting to make the crossing, gods who peered at her with grave benevolence or wariness or expressions she couldn't begin to read. It was the same magpie that stared down the ferryman in his cloak before he could ask Chihiro to pay her fare.
It happened the same way every year: the ferryman studied her for a moment, her and the bird on her shoulder, then waved her by without a word.
When she was safely aboard, the magpie flittered off, vanishing into the dark. Chihiro always spent the ferry ride leaning on the rail, under the light of a string of paper lanterns, watching the far shore draw near. The shore where Haku would be waiting.
The first year she hadn't cried to see him again, had only yelped with joy and hugged him, and together they visited her friends and went flying through the night sky, and talked until the hour before dawn, when--too soon--he told her she had to leave, or she would miss the ferry home.
The second year was much the same.
The third year she began to notice things she hadn't until then: that Haku looked older, just as she did. She wondered whether that was for her sake, a seeming, a trick of the eye, or whether he really had grown just as she had. It was hard to know, and she couldn't bring herself to ask. Time passed differently there, where he was. If it was a spell or a guise, she thought, it was a kind one. She didn't let go of his hand the whole night through.
Even after her return to her own world she went on noticing: that the boys at school sometimes looked at her, and sometimes she looked at them. It never went beyond looking. When one of them took her aside one day after class and asked her to go out with him, she shook her head and said, gently but without regret, "There's somebody I like."
Whoever it was, he was a lucky guy, the boy said.
Chihiro thought she was the lucky one. She had the whole year to spend divining what she wanted, the luxury of choosing with her whole heart. It was a long time to wait, of course, and waiting was sometimes lonely, but she had family and friends, schoolwork and clubs to fill her life with. The arrival of summer was better than New Year's, better than Christmas, better than Golden Week, better than any other season. When the magpie came to her yard at last, she leapt to follow its flight.
Haku was waiting on the landing on the far shore, as he always was, and he reached for her hand the way he always did. She took it shyly this time. She had never been shy before. He lowered his head--he was still a little taller than she was, never too much, always just right--and gazed at her with his great green eyes.
"Chihiro?"
This was the part that demanded courage. She prayed he'd gotten older on the inside, too, the way she had.
"Let's go flying?" she said.
Something in the tilt of his head and the slant of his smile let her know he had an inkling of what she meant, but still he asked: "To Zeniba's house?"
Reddening, she shook her head. Not this time. They only had one night, and summer nights were short. She had a feeling the witch would understand. "Somewhere else. Somewhere with just us." She dared to look up from the toes of shoes. "Can we?"
There was a stutter of wings through the dark over the river as he told her yes.
Tanabata
It was a magpie that first led her back to the tunnel one summer evening, back to the tunnel and through it to the other side. Chihiro never learned just what had drawn the magpie to her--maybe the elusive glitter of the band she used to tie her ponytail, the one she couldn't remember buying, so it must've been a gift but she could never quite recall the giver.
Not until she crossed into the other world.
It was a magpie she followed to the ferry landing on the river's bank, a magpie that perched on her shoulder calmly as she walked past all the strange and curious gods waiting to make the crossing, gods who peered at her with grave benevolence or wariness or expressions she couldn't begin to read. It was the same magpie that stared down the ferryman in his cloak before he could ask Chihiro to pay her fare.
It happened the same way every year: the ferryman studied her for a moment, her and the bird on her shoulder, then waved her by without a word.
When she was safely aboard, the magpie flittered off, vanishing into the dark. Chihiro always spent the ferry ride leaning on the rail, under the light of a string of paper lanterns, watching the far shore draw near. The shore where Haku would be waiting.
The first year she hadn't cried to see him again, had only yelped with joy and hugged him, and together they visited her friends and went flying through the night sky, and talked until the hour before dawn, when--too soon--he told her she had to leave, or she would miss the ferry home.
The second year was much the same.
The third year she began to notice things she hadn't until then: that Haku looked older, just as she did. She wondered whether that was for her sake, a seeming, a trick of the eye, or whether he really had grown just as she had. It was hard to know, and she couldn't bring herself to ask. Time passed differently there, where he was. If it was a spell or a guise, she thought, it was a kind one. She didn't let go of his hand the whole night through.
Even after her return to her own world she went on noticing: that the boys at school sometimes looked at her, and sometimes she looked at them. It never went beyond looking. When one of them took her aside one day after class and asked her to go out with him, she shook her head and said, gently but without regret, "There's somebody I like."
Whoever it was, he was a lucky guy, the boy said.
Chihiro thought she was the lucky one. She had the whole year to spend divining what she wanted, the luxury of choosing with her whole heart. It was a long time to wait, of course, and waiting was sometimes lonely, but she had family and friends, schoolwork and clubs to fill her life with. The arrival of summer was better than New Year's, better than Christmas, better than Golden Week, better than any other season. When the magpie came to her yard at last, she leapt to follow its flight.
Haku was waiting on the landing on the far shore, as he always was, and he reached for her hand the way he always did. She took it shyly this time. She had never been shy before. He lowered his head--he was still a little taller than she was, never too much, always just right--and gazed at her with his great green eyes.
"Chihiro?"
This was the part that demanded courage. She prayed he'd gotten older on the inside, too, the way she had.
"Let's go flying?" she said.
Something in the tilt of his head and the slant of his smile let her know he had an inkling of what she meant, but still he asked: "To Zeniba's house?"
Reddening, she shook her head. Not this time. They only had one night, and summer nights were short. She had a feeling the witch would understand. "Somewhere else. Somewhere with just us." She dared to look up from the toes of shoes. "Can we?"
There was a stutter of wings through the dark over the river as he told her yes.