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as the phone booth flies away, bill’s wail of absolute horror and fear fading with it, ted screams in pure terror, tumbling through the circuits of time with no control. glimpses of ages past and future rushing past him, images of wars and lovers and peasants and kings and fire and ice flashing by and searing themselves into his subconscious. he’s tumbling, spinning through the hallways of time and space and everything and and and--
he falls through.
nothingness surrounds him, leaks through him and into him. he is nowhere, he is everywhere, he is alone and he is all. there is a void around him and within him, a silence so thick it can’t really be called silence, an emptiness so pressing it almost hurts, stealing away his fear and worry. the air in his lungs is stagnant, and when he exhales slowly, it’s like a bang in the heavy silence, particles spiraling out and changing in the void, expanding and becoming something new, something different. watching in wonder, an awestruck smile forms on his face as they begin to grow and change before him, softly glowing within the vacuum in front of him, and he recognizes something that strikes him deeply: stars. he’s created stars.
unbidden knowledge rises in his mind, and he isn’t sure how it comes to him, but he knows it to be true on some deep, core level: this is the beginning of the universe. this is the creation of all. someday, his stars will collapse, and someday, his earth will be formed and they will all lead to the one thing he wants in the universe, the one thing he knows deep within will be worth the wait. someday, bill will be created from the dust of his breath, but until then, he will have to wait.
he settles down in his void beyond the brand new stars and watches.
--
time passes, slowly and quickly and frozen all at once. his universe- it’s funny to think of it as his, but he can’t help but realize it as true, seeing as it came from him- grows and changes before him, he watches it with curiosity, wonder in his eyes as his stars burn brightly, as dust forms rock forms planets, as colours he’d never imagined could exist form from light shining upon galaxies. nebulae form, and slowly, solar systems begin to coalesce.
it’s been a billion years.
--
stars are collapsing, and he watches in awe as black holes form from them. the gaps in the universe are small holes to him, tiny rips between him and his universe that he soon realizes he can reach through, formless yet with more power than gravity. light bends around his fingers, and planets roll off their orbits to be cupped in the palm of his hand. he feels like a child playing with marbles as he spins them idly, before casting all out but one. he looks at the small orb in his hand with curiosity before gently clenching his fingers to his palm, crumbling the small planet into dust. blowing it back into the universe with a small breath, he watches with satisfaction as the dust, sparkling, slowly forms a small asteroid belt.
it’s been three billion years.
--
he’s so lonely. he’s so, so lonely. he wanders through his created cosmos, searching for something amid the fire of his suns and deep cold where they are absent. nothing seems to be there; the void he has sat in for eons upon eons seems to have crept into his gut, climbing over his heart, making him feel empty. in his fits of lonely rage, he screams and cries; the planets and stars suck in his wails and echo them back, his tears becoming small comets, flying untethered through space. he retreats back to his void and sobs brokenly.
it’s been five billion years since he’s seen bill.
--
when he closes his eyes, the backs of his eyelids are illuminated by the stars of his pupils. his blood courses through him with the dust of a million galaxies that have formed and collapsed and been rewritten by the wind of his breath, his heart beating with the distant drum of creation. time is irrelevant to him now; he sits and he waits patiently, scanning his lovely horrible empty full universe, watching for his earth to someday appear. sometimes, he feels the billions of years alone are driving him insane; when he actually feels the loss of sanity is when he’s the sanest. his stars breathe with him, fire popping form their surfaces when he screams in lonely rage, extinguished by his tears and brought to burn by his breath once more. amid the stars and outside them, he waits despite the mind-numbing pain and loneliness.
eight billion years of solitude.
--
finally, finally, when he is sure he can’t wait any longer, a new planet begins to form near a solitary star. his interest in the rest of his universe forgotten, he watches it slowly form, molten core sucking in more and more dust until it finally forms a full sized planet, the cosmic winds slowly cooling and shaping it. slowly, of so slowly, water forms, an atmosphere solidifies, and finally, finally--
life.
after nine billion years, his wait has paid off.
he watches as life sprouts and grows, ever so small yet so very monumental in its importance. mountains rise and valleys form, oceans appearing across the globe. land breaks apart and drifts, and life evolves. when he gets too close, his heart swells, and he tries to help when he can. even the eons of loneliness have not hardened his heart; he just wants them all to be happy, wants history to run its course correctly so he can be reunited with bill. empires rise, civilizations are toppled, and he watches anxiously, waiting for his friend to appear.
--
ever since bill was small, he knew he wasn’t alone. his earliest memory is of the stars murmuring his name, a gentle wind caressing his face like the warm hand of a friend. since he was small, nobody else was his friend, no other kids wanting to be around him. but he was okay with it; he had the stars that whispered softly to him, and they felt more friendly and loving than he could imagine anyone else would be. at night, he would open his window and rest his head on his elbows, talking to the stars. starlight would fall on him and illuminate his face, the warm wind wrapping around him like a blanket as he spoke and eventually drifted to sleep, only to wake up in his bed, smelling the faint scent of something cosmic, something other, something that made him long for the stars.
when he was sad, he would feel the same wind that blanketed him at night caressing him, gently blowing the tears away, wrapping around him like a gentle hug from a friend. petals would fly from flowers and trees around him on a windless day, spiraling around him and settling in his hair. as he grew older, his need for comfort became more frequent; every day in school was spent anxiously waiting to run home, to speak with the stars and the sky again. the weather changed at his wishes, and he knew that somehow, the being in the stars was to thank; he always had his own ray of sunshine following him like a spotlight, the eye of a lover trailing him.
everyone noticed that he was always cloaked in sun; everyone knew not to upset him or risk not seeing the sun again for a year. bullies learned the hard way not to bother the boy who spoke to the sun; when he was hurt, the sky seemed to explode around him, lightning crackling in the air as ice cold wind buffeted his attackers. when bill yelled, thunder boiled above him; when he sobbed, rain dripped from black clouds like oil, dark and cold and menacing. but the stars kept him happy, for the most part: they were always there for him, murmuring happily when he spoke, comforting and holding him. slowly, throughout his life, bill realized he was content only having his friend in the stars. eventually, as he sat in class looking out the window, smiling as a soft wind sent leaves fluttering from the tree outside, he realized with no fanfare or surprise that he loved whoever they were. it was as easy to admit to himself as breathing, and somehow he felt that he had already loved them for a while before the realization crossed his mind.
on his seventeenth birthday, just days after he graduated, a figure comes up to him as he walks to the circle k, someone he’s never seen before. something compels him to slow down and stop, waiting for the figure to reach him. finally, they do, a mop of brown hair covering their face, and the stop before bill, seeming as if they’re waiting for him to do something.
“do i… know you?” bill asks after a minute of silence. sun gleams off of their hair, though the only sun around is shining on bill; they feel achingly familiar, like an old friend long lost from memory. when they look up and grin sweetly at him, his breath seems to catch; stars shine in his eyes, bright and loving and so very familiar.
“i really hope you do, bill.” he extends his hand to bill. “hey, dude. i’m ted. do you want to come back to me?” bill looks down and sees galaxies instead of veins dotting the inside of his wrist, swirling and glowing faintly. looking back up at ted’s face, he slowly raises his hand and places it in ted’s, and his face lights up with joy and hope and so, so much love, impossibly warm and perfect. as his skin meets ted’s, images flood into his mind, images of a past life forever ago of the two of them growing up together, travelling together, playing together, the two of them triumphant. he is bill again, and ted has waited for billions of years just to see him again, to love him again. bill smiles, finally realizing why his love for the stars had always felt so right, felt so natural. this was always meant to be, throughout the universe's mistakes and surprises. this was meant to be.
“most definitely.” he laces his fingers with ted’s, and suddenly the universe is theirs.