We go about our daily lives understanding almost nothing about the world.
He finds Schuldig in his room, weeping. Silken red hair in matted tangles, strands wound tight around his fingers, pulled from his head in heedless pain. Jagged red lines mar Schuldig's almost transparently pale skin. There are flecks of blood under his fingernails.
Silence, Schuldig whispers, lips pursed, carressing the word like an absent lover.
The universe abhors a vacuum, he responds, and watches tears fall, each as bright as a newborn star.
When Schuldig grabs onto him, calloussed fingers pushing aside stiff fabric and blood-stained nails tearing fresh wounds, it's alright. Because together they make one whole universe.