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What is impossible? He says, slipping under the ancient spell of sleep.
There’s something off - no, not off, unusual - in his face.
He’s slipping under into the warm waves of his blankets.
And I’m here with him.
His bed is warmer than it was when I came over. Body heat and whatnot.
The stars are still spinning around us.
He put them there.
Look at what you can do , He says.
How can he say that?
If I had tried this (I wouldn’t even think of it), I would have blown up our whole room, the whole dormitory house.
I pull him closer to me,
(Our hands are still joined)(Why would I let go?)
I pull myself down to him.
Face to face on his pillow, I’m finally his height.
He looks past me suddenly. I follow his gaze.
You could build a new world in a fucking black hole, He says.
It’s not his usual anger, he’s trying to communicate something .
I’ve never been good at communicating.
I’m fighting a black hole, I say.
You don’t know what you’re fighting, He says, No-one knows what it is .
Isn’t that what a black hole does, though? Eat the universe? Eating magic isn’t a stretch.
His stare is piercing.
Black holes eat time , they’re infinite. If you set foot on one you’d be setting foot on it forever. You’ll never get completely through it. Time gets stretched out.
I have no idea what he’s saying. I’m no good at science. Or words. Especially sciencey-words.
Time feels infinite here.
I would never have imagined we could lie shoulder-to-shoulder in the same bed. . .
Something I’ve never pictured, happens, and suddenly I’m not so sure about the passage of time.
This moment is infinite, or maybe I want it to be.
He’s still staring at me (it’s not quite a glare)(why did I always call them glares?), his mouth is close to mine. Maybe there’s no air in the stars. Maybe we’ll make it. (I kiss him).