{Kiss the stars with
me,
and dread the wait for,
stupid calls returning us to life}
.
Note: this particular chapter is part of another set of one-shots I did in my story 'Even the Best Fall Down Sometimes', where Bolin is dealing with some other non-canon circumstances. Thus, he may seem a bit OCC at the end. ;) That being said, I was feeling very Bopal-ish. Please tell me what'cha think.
Twilight tempting its desires of darkness upon the world; love, ribboned across the autumn sky in purple and yellow, before it says goodnight once more for secret keeping.
Fleeting reflections of warmth shimmer in their eyes as the painting's colors grow dim on the sky-canvas, then fade away, giving life to the stars.
"It's coming," Opal whispers, "I can't wait. I'm too afraid to blink."
They are staring up at the sky, in the middle of Air Temple Island, by the spinning gates; backs pressed so hard against the concrete, that he thinks they might mold into it. He watches her bite her lip in awe; the way she tries to remain calm when she is so existed. She brushes her hair behind her ears once more, and Bolin thinks that this may be the right time to tell her-maybe the only right time to ever tell her how he feels.
"...O-opal, I-"
"Shh!" She giggles. "Seven seconds!"
But the seconds are counting down and Bolin feels the air go still in a way where not even the hairs on his nose move. Like the whole world has stopped in wait for this moment, and one breath may shatter it.
Everything is dark, and still and silent.
Then the sky explodes in a network of lights racing against each other. The stars shoot from one end of the world, to the other in a second, hundreds of trails in their wake...
They say that anything is possible during a meteor shower. That if you look at the stars hard enough, and don't lose their trail, they will answer all your questions, and tell you all that there is to know.
"Opal..." He looks at her face, reflecting the light from the bursting sky in her green eyes, and back to the sky once more. Show me, he begs the heavens, tell me how. What do I do? What is my purpose? How do I tell her-?
"Bo!"
She points to the Aurora Borealis, and he believes, if she tries hard enough, she can poke a hole in the sky and become the air, become a star herself, shining upon the world. The sparkle in her eyes gives him the image of her bending the very energy, and floating above him in all her glory.
The stars whisper stories to them as they lay in the empty Island, forever warm in the world seemingly belonging only to them.
"Spirits, Bo, they're beautiful."
For the first time, his eyes see stars, that are not only balls of energy; but, vast possibilities looking down upon him, instead of the gray fog of pollution and the angry angles of roof tops that constrict and condemn.
And he sees everything like he's never seen anything before.
Unlike the City, full of loss and the dead left behind; this place-this paradise- with her is alive.
"When I was little," she tells him, "my brothers and I would sneak out of the city and go to this spot that nobody really knew about. Or, at least that's what I liked to think. That it belonged to us. This hill you could see everything from. We used to lay out there and watch the stars for hours..."
The Spirits are with them as they lay, invisible to his eyes, but not his heart; swirling around, past his ears, speaking truth and comfort.
The puffs of air that escape his mouth, fade away like worries; he is infinite, and trivial at the same time, and he contemplates how that can be. He is a speak in this vast white, as all of history's fire-flies reflect down at him with their splendor.
But he has never felt so purposeful, so boundless and serene...
The silence speaks for them, as she turns her head and smiles at him; she understands.
And he nods, too, because he understands, too. Finally understands. It doesn't matter how many piles of trash he slept in, or what the Triads made him do, or how many shots he won at Probending. His past does not define him.
It does not matter that he can no longer bend; she does not pity him for his loss of his arm.
Suddenly nothing matters. Nothing. Not his mangled stump of an arm, or how to make Mako proud of him, or even how to deserve this wonderful girl next to him.
Because he knows.
Everything is dancing, dancing with life.
His eyes are wet and he searches for her hand with his five fingers, never daring to move his gaze from these beauty-filled speaks that dot the heavens.
Everything is dancing; his soul is dancing.
"I told you that you would love the stars, Bo." she breathes.
He can only nod trough his teary vision, and wonders if they can see him, because he thinks he can see them, too.
He wonders what it feels like to become a star when you leave, or if it only happens to some people, and he hopes one day he can shine just as bright.
"Did you ask them," he hears her whisper. Her breath is hot in his ear.
He nods, afraid to speak.
"And what did they tell you?"
He now brings his gaze to her, his one hand, reaching out to stroke his face.
"That everything," he smiles with tears, "is gonna be okay."
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