Chapter Text
Space was too far away for Black Hole these days. Even in the silent, airless blue of false stars, he dreamt of other things. Closer things. Warmer than the vortex above him pretending to be Earth's Sun. (No matter how much he soared and pulled and soared again and pulled and screamed and wailed and and and— its light would never reach him. He knew better now.)
It wasn't the first time Black Hole was trapped in some interstellar emptiness, but this time, lulled by the deep, soft hum of his own gravity, he dreamt of home.
Exosphere.
Thermosphere.
Ocean-blue laughter.
High-fives, awkward smiles, and the snap of photography. I HATE smiling!
A-twos-ment parks and trampolines with the awesomest, bestest friends ever. I always knew I was cool!
Yummy pit cakes and lemonades and fish burritos and dancing, dancing, dancing. Itty bitty buzzy little bugs. Preventing death. Compromises. All for the PACT, the PACT 'till the end.
'Till the end...
And when it was the end—when the sky was too wrong, too broken to hold itself and all the little people anymore, when he couldn't help, when he couldn't do anything, when—We'll do what we can.
They did what they could. They always did. Through that white shriek of Nothing, they held each other tighter.
Both then and now, no one could hold him. But he could almost imagine it. Black Hole could try, and maybe something like warmth would make him flutter like leaves in July. Months later, in a room with no windows.