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It’s only natural for Meiri to know all sorts of threads used to knit and sew. Her mother worked as a seamstress, after all. Bunch of threads would fill the floor of their small house every once in a while, earning an excited squeal of three children, followed by a mother’s complaints to them for being too loud and a disgruntled scowl from the father because of the dust and lints it would leave. But all of it could be easily dismissed by them, three children who had leftover yarns as a new toy to play other than their worn-out dolls.
Meiri learned a lot of the brands, the colors and textures that come with each, and she would help her mother to sort the threads. Which yarn is suited for knitting a winter scarf, and which is used for sewing regular clothes. On a good day, her mother would sit her down on her lap, teaching her how to sew her own clothes; ”So, when you get married, you could make your family, your husband and children, their own set of clothes.” her mother would often say.
She would also learn the price of them, who could afford it and who couldn't. A lesson her little self had to learn the hard way after her hand got swatted away by her own mother, just because she almost touched a bunch of gold threads that was always kept in the highest part of her cabinet, along with other high quality threads and fabrics. “We don't have enough money to refund them if it's damaged!” was what she hissed to little Meiri right after, tone high and forehead scrunched, before Meiri could even know how they felt between her fingers. In her defense, she didn't know about them, she just got curious over the material that sparkles under the sunlight that brightens up her mother’s workspace. But Meiri knew better than to retort back at her own mother. She never had enough courage to touch or even see the threads up close since. Accepting — or rather, forced to accept — the fact that something that was beautiful is unattainable for her.
Maybe it became one of the reasons why she wasn't interested in following her mother's footsteps to be a seamstress. Half-heartedly learning about how to thread a needle only for her own survival skill, and leaving behind everything she learned when she left her home for good. Maybe that's why she ended up as a Soul Reaper, severing things off with her blade instead of sewing them back together.
But that one particular day, she felt the immense need to learn how to sew all over again. As she locked her gaze to Rangiku’s deep blue one, as she finally intertwined her fingers with her love that she had yearned since she was younger, and they both scooted way too close towards each other — she desperately wanted to know, how do one latch themselves so close to their lover?
Is it with how both fell onto the soft mattress, with their bare bodies pressed against each other, lips slotted with one another like a perfect piece of puzzle? Or with her hands and lips that traveled on every nook and cranny, leaving trails of red and blue on her skin, limbs that tangled as they each chased their lover for another kiss, for the ecstatic feeling that filled their chest as their breaths intertwined? A small part of herself lamented the day she chose to abandon sewing altogether. It was a foolish decision, now that she understands how just being a few seconds away from her lover felt like an eternity. Even when she found herself to keep reaching for Rangiku several times that day, it never felt right, it never felt enough.
If only she continued to learn, she would've known many sewing techniques to stick her own being onto her presence. After all, how else was she supposed to become one with her love, if not sewing herself tightly onto her?
But alas, she had forgotten much other than her pathetic stitches that could barely mend ripped clothes, messy lines of threads that her mother would frown at — just like how she maintains all of her old romantic escapades; hanging on a thread, fragile.
A heavy sigh escaped her lips and her head turned to her left, fixing her gaze at Rangiku who was still asleep since the sun tilted to the west. Tired, Meiri assumed (who wouldn't after the whole day spent with her lover, doing things that cost them lots of their energy?) that she didn't wake up when the clock strikes past their dinner time and Meiri had lit up the lamp reserved for her lover’s private quarter.
Under the bright oil lamp, her blonde locks are akin to the gold threads used to sew a noble’s cape. Reflecting the light that filled her room, tempting Meiri to reach, to touch — just like hundreds of years ago, when she first saw her mother take out the luxurious material from where it was kept.
However, there was a tinge of dread inside Meiri as her fingers hovered above her head. Which was unusual; it’s not like she never touched her hair before. Meiri had always been the one to help Rangiku to take care of her hair since forever. Was it the weight of their relationship? Now that they are together, every touch feels more meaningful, more intimate than it used to be. The gold threads are now within her reach, yet she felt so afraid to let herself get close to it. Afraid that she would ruin everything if she dared to touch, to sew with the thread onto herself, a cloth that none had interest to steal a glance at. It was as if she anticipated another slap on her hand to come in the near future — such beauty is unattainable for her, after all.
But those fears quickly subsided as a few unruly strands that stood out from the rest grazed with her own skin, greeted her with the familiar texture she always loved. No harsh friction that follows, only a small whine that replaced her soft snores and her head that leaned to the touch, before the room turned quiet once again. Meiri couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle as her fingers played with those golden strands. Maybe part of her that dreads over what to come, forgot how she had cut and left the string that used to bind her long ago. Unlike the memory that had been bugging her, Rangiku had always let her close; whether to caress, or just to take a peek, and nothing bitter would come as a punishment. No one would be mad at her or leave a sting on the back of her hand anymore.
Meiri had always wondered if those threads her mother kept were as soft as Rangiku’s hair, easily slipping between her fingers, before falling prettily into the pillow where she rests her head. Or if she stared at them long enough, would their yellow glow so bright, it outshined the sun or the lamp that illuminates the room? Whatever the answer was, Meiri felt that even the gold threads, nor real gold would win if they were put against Rangiku’s own. And now what her mother had said with her eyes were proven wrong, she could attain all the beautiful things she yearned to touch. Rangiku had become hers, and Meiri had become Rangiku’s — free to bask themselves with their love, whenever they wanted to.
“Mei, you’re awake…? What time is it…?”
In the end of her inner monologue, she could feel another set of fingers that reached into her own. Stopping her from playing with the blonde hair to interlace it in a grasp. Plump pink lips that were tainted orange from the light of the lamp, left a chaste kiss on the back of her hand — which Meiri returned with a similar gesture after, “Yeah, yeah, have been for a while. It’s already dark. Am I interrupting your sleep, Rangiku?”
She moved a few inches back, making a space for Meiri to fall back onto the mattress and lay down with her. Rangiku pulled her close, didn't even bother to brush her hair away to share her own pillow where her head rests, maybe her blonde hair would be tangled with Meiri’s brown one at the end of the night. But she didn't seem to care. She didn't even respond with words to what Meiri had asked, instead she wrapped her arms around her, hugging her so tight that her breath hitched as she yelped and their nose almost bumped into each other.
She only voiced what was inside her heart when Meiri could finally settle in the suffocating hug. Still heavy with sleep, but her eyes twinkled as she giggled; similar to the sparkle that Meiri saw when a gold thread caught the daylight, stealing her breath once again, “I’ve never seen you look this happy. Not once in the last 100 years…”
Was it that obvious? Meiri wanted to ask, and simultaneously show that she agreed with her musing, except Rangiku was fast enough to continue her own words, sewing them together as an addition to the statement she just gave to Meiri. Still with the same laugh, though much quieter — much gentle than she ever was.
“Just so you know, I feel the same way. I’ve never been happier than right now, Meiri.”
Meiri had always known that she was easy to read, it shouldn't be surprising for her that Rangiku knew what she felt. Yet, she still felt like those small musings — probably said while half of herself was still living inside her dream — collapsed the last line of shield that guards her heart. Never once she imagined their relationship would end in some way; but when she leaned forward to steal another kiss on her lips for the hundredth time that day, she realized that she wanted more than the usual romantic escapades she had in the past.
She was used to cutting things with her blade, severing old shrouds and leaving them behind. But that day, those words that dripped from Rangiku’s own lips, made her choose to put down her sword and pick up the sewing lesson she had long forgotten.
Meiri took the golden string that she had admired since forever. With no fear to see nor touch, gently threading her into the needle in her hand. Rangiku on her side, with reddish-brown strings in her palm. Guiding her hand to make the first stitch on the new fabric they both chose together. Starting to create, to weave a new project of tapestry that she hoped would never end until she took her final breath.