#religious objects

the first version was too light. the second felt wrong, uneven, like it wouldn’t sit still. this one… this one feels closer.

you’re not religious at all, never have been. god, spirits, afterlife—none of that clicks for you. but gyomei? he’s all about his faith. those prayer beads he wears are like an extension of him, always wrapped around his hands as he murmurs his chants.

you love him anyway. deeply, stupidly. his kindness pulls you in, the way he’s so strong but so gentle. he never pushes his beliefs on you, just lives them quietly. and you respect that, even if you don’t share it.

you thread another bead, sliding it down carefully, then pause. you lift the strand slightly, letting it hang.

it reminds you of him instantly.

that’s why you started this in the first place.

you tie the final knot, fingers lingering as you double it, then triple it. you tug gently, testing it.

it holds.

you slip it on over your head, letting it settle against your chest. it feels right, comforting. you glance in the mirror, adjusting it a bit. yeah, it’ll be a surprise.

padding into the kitchen, you see him there, his massive frame hunched slightly over the counter. he’s blind, but he always knows when you’re near. he turns his head toward you, a soft smile breaking through his usual serious expression.

“good morning,” he says, his voice deep and warm. he sets down the teapot and reaches out a hand, pulling you into a hug. you melt into it, your face pressing against his chest.

“morning,” you mumble back, inhaling his scent. “tea smells good.”

he chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through you. “i made enough for both of us. sit, i’ll pour.”

you hop onto the stool, watching him move around. as you sip, you fiddle with the necklace absentmindedly, the beads clicking softly. you wonder if he’ll notice. part of you is nervous

his head tilts slightly. “your hands are busy.”

you huff a small laugh. “you always know.”

he smiles faintly. you can hear it in his voice. “it’s hard not to notice when your breathing changes.”

you nod, then remember he can’t see it. “yeah, just… happy to be here with you.” it’s true, but your heart picks up a bit. the necklace feels heavier now, like it’s drawing attention to itself.

he reaches across the table, his fingers brushing yours. “i’m grateful for you every day.” his voice is sincere, always is. then, his hand pauses, like he’s sensing something. he tilts his head again, listening. the beads on his own prayer beads shift as he moves.

“what’s that sound?” he asks quietly, curious. his fingers trail up your arm, gentle as a feather, until they reach your neck. he touches the necklace, feeling the beads one by one. his brow furrows slightly.

you hold your breath. “it’s… a necklace. i made it.”

he doesn’t pull away. instead, he explores it slowly, his calloused fingers tracing the wood. “it feels like…” he trails off, realization dawning. “like my prayer beads.”

“yeah,” you admit, your voice soft. “i know i don’t pray. i know i don’t share that part of you. but i share you. this is… my way of holding onto that. when you’re not here, i can touch it and think of how your hands feel, or how you sit there praying so peacefully. i wanted something that makes me feel close to you, even when you’re away.”

he goes still for a moment, his face unreadable. tears stream down his cheeks now. he cries from emotion, from compassion. it’s one of the things you love about him, how open he is with his feelings.

“you made these because they remind you of me?” he whispers, his voice thick.

you nod, squeezing his hand gently. “yeah. i did it in secret. wanted to surprise you. do you… like it?”

he lets out a shaky breath, pulling you across the table into another hug. his arms envelop you completely, strong but never crushing. “it’s beautiful,” he murmurs into your hair. “not because of what it represents to me but because it’s from your heart. you see me, truly see me even without faith.”

“i don’t have to believe in it to respect how much it means to you.”

he pulls back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t know were there. “thank you,” he whispers over and over. “thank you. thank you.” he says directed at the universe for bringing you to him.

you close your eyes, breathing him in. the necklace sits against your heart.

it’s not a prayer. not a promise to a god.