"I shouldâve know itâd be you."
Things were not meant to end this way for either of them.
They were supposed to make amends and wrap their arms around one another, perhaps wipe away a few tears from their eyes and smile with apologies that are on the edges of stars falling from their mouths, because theyâre both galaxies that have no ends, but so many black holes.Â
But they have not made these conclusions about one another. Their galaxies never crossed proper paths; they only swallowed a portion of each other up instead.
Multicolored optics are ringed in charcoal. Streaks of crimson are smeared across his visage, leaking from his nose â his hands are bound, kept tightly behind his back as he was forced to his knees mere moments before. The world is dark around him save for a single light hanging above his head, swinging and creaking like a pendulum.
The blood rushing through his veins is warm initially. Remnants of the scuffle are scattered about in his mind â shards of glass reflecting money, a girl, a grave, and an azure scarf fluttering in the wind start to trickle along the abyss of his mind. But none of them make sense, and the sound doesnât resonate because heâs too focused on making sure he has enough stars in his body to stay alive.
His chest heaves once, spewing rubies, and he retches for a momentâs reprieve. Thousands of stars wither, but thousands more are created with the pumping of his heart, which feels empty and bitter because he knows that this is the end. And the hunch â the weight that rests upon his  shoulderblades so precisely â overpowers him to the point where he is nearly sprawled out on the floor. The pressure is building up, higher and higher and higher until he can hardly breathe. His lungs are constricted, and the stars are threatening to spill out from his lips â dying stars, stars he wanted to share, stars he refused to let show.
The scuffling in the background distracts him and somehow he chokes it all back down. A lone hazy emerald scours in the dark for something, a sign, a lingering shadow. He doesnât find anything, but he feels cold all of a sudden, like Winterâs pulling him back into distant memories where snowballs were pelted at him from irregular angles, snowmen were made and love was something kept sealed near a fireplace, albeit simply because he wanted to taste what kind of stars she was made of when she was breathing in everything but him.
Her fingers extend in that moment and her face is concealed by the shadows that frame her. The tattered fringe of an azure scarf that heâs seen before falls into view, and his jaw is properly poised toward her face â a face he canât see because his vision is fogged by mist projected by some outer force. His ears are halfway clogged with what feels like water, and so her words are garbled for a moment â purposely, properly orchestrated, because this is something she must do carefully. Her own beautiful performance, splattered against the canvas of the night where their galaxies could collide and disperse together.
He doesnât feel it at first because his veins have long since gone numb, since Winterâs beginnings. Her whispers of pretty little lies, pulling pleasurable strings in his mind had held him down. They lolled his eyes shut, kept his mind at bay, but it all clicks once he hears the corresponding safety. His eyes feel frosted shut, but he pries them open to stare at the sides of a familiar gun with familiar engravings. Heâs faced this before, and yet..
His head pulsates with the frostbitten aftermath. Realization hits him in a shockwave supernova, and all of the stars heâs tried to hold in are suddenly splayed across her body in wretched coughs that shake his entire body out. Heâs trembling, and he understands, because itâs all been a game even though their galaxies were meant to be one.
"I.. I shouldâve known it was you.."
But he receives silence in return, and not even Winter is cradling him anymore. He is alone, alone with the rupturing of stars in the back of his head â the click of the safety echoing, echoing, echoing and calling out for help into the abyss. But nobody is there. Nobody but her, and even she cannot help him, for her stars have disintegrated into dust that she cannot press back into constellations.
He swears he hears her choke. Perhaps the drip-drop of liquid stardust. But he feels the weight of her burdens in that instant. And heâs not nearly as resentful as he thought he would be, despite all that theyâve gone through before. He can taste her lips. She can taste his blood. And she canât wait anymore.
His planets and solar systems and all of the stars, every single one â theyâre blown out against the wall, and they twinkle for a moment as his body slams forward, head first against her boots. A sticky sweet ocean pools around her feet, and she stares straight ahead, becoming her own island among her galaxy. She wants to collect all of his stars, and put them together again to recreate who he was â who she thought he was, despite all of the searing kisses and the scars.
But there is no hope for stars that have already been burnt out long ago â no hope for stars that will never illuminate once more, for the stars that were meant to be shared had been given to others who were far less deserving and others who were considerably more important than they were to each other.
And their galaxies were never whole â they were black holes, spiraling and swallowing them both whole from the inside. It was simply a matter of time before it caught up to them and decided to take their souls with everything else.
