âiâm not domesticated enough for this bullshitâ
he stands on the edge of the docking platform of the vantablack and around him the whole universe is on fire. suns and stars and planets getting eaten alive, millions of people screaming as the light hits them, turning them all back into dust, back into star-stuff, and he watches the catastrophe explode all around him, the gravity of his boots being the only things keeping him rooted to the ship.
the end of the universe is come and heâs trying to out-run it in a twenty-plus-year-old space boat, but something in his bones knows heâs going to make it. vanta is fast enough and can reach whatever event horizon needed to escape, but the issue is more the screaming, the way heâll be alone in the whole existence, the way all these deaths and all these souls will forever be tied around his ankles, the blood on his hands, and he looks down and sure enough, his hands and clothes are wet with red stains. he watches the supernova, the world-eater, and considers just letting go and falling into it, and itâs almost peaceful.
but then he wakes up, jolting upright and pulling the gun out from its spot under his pillow, sweat on his brow, air heaving into his lungs. he aims the weapon at nothing, because there is nothing, just an empty bedroom, all metal walls and messy floor, his clothes hanging over the backs of chairs and randomly collected knickknacks across his dresser.
the hum of the ship swirls around his ears, calming him, kissing him morning-side, and he forces himself to breathe, forces himself to put the gun back, forces himself to stand and go over to giant window on the far side of the room, look out and remind himself the stars are still there. still burning, still spinning. and heâs hungry.
itâs very, very early, everyone is mostly asleep save for the few nightcrawlers around the ship, the kids who donât like going to sleep, and he doesnât bother them, he understands. heading into the kitchen is probably a mistake, same as it always is, but heâs sleepy and too full of planet-wide massacre nightmares to go wake up jinyi for some foodâit just feels too trivial. problem is, he doesnât know a ladle from a spoon and ends up dropping a couple of bowls on the floor before managing to get the right-sized tub he needs.
noâscratch thatâthe real problem is that jinyi has reorganized the whole damn kitchen and he canât find a single fucking thing in here. where the hell is the rice? he rifles through the drawers and the cabinets, making way too much noise for this hour of the morning, but at this point his frustration levels are too high to give a damn. he spills some salt and flower on the counterâwhy the fuck are those open? pulls out some of the other ingredients he knows heâll need. this is ridiculous.
