Cosmic Significance

Are they friends? Someone asks.
“No, Omi hates me.”
“I don’t hate you.” If anything, he knows he could love him. There’s something magnetic. His skin thrums whenever they’re in close proximity. He knows it would be so easy to fall for Miya Atsumu.

If he could stop being an asshole for five minutes. Kiyoomi isn’t one to waste time in policing the actions and words of others, but there’s something about the way Atsumu enraged everyone he meets while maintaining a smile that makes Kiyoomi snap.

Atsumu is going to get his ass beat concave one day, Kiyoomi thinks. He doesn’t like that thought. Better for Kiyoomi to verbally rip him limb from limb then for real punches to start flying. So Kiyoomi bites, bites, and bites, hoping that Atsumu’s words will go down smooth-

This time.
“You sure don’t act like it, Omi.”
“My mouth murders my meaning,” is the only answer Kiyoomi has for him.

Are they lovers? Someone asks them.
“No.”
“No,” but Kiyoomi has a theory. He thinks, that once upon a time, at the very first spark of creation-

Miya Atsumu and he were of the same star, and only now are they reunited. That must be the explanation for why even as they cleave each other apart, they seem to cling without curling fingers into clothes and skin. Their gravitational field balances them.

Maybe that’s why Kiyoomi can’t seem to bridge the gap. He can’t break the laws of physics to feel complete.

“Do you ever feel lonely, Omi?”
“Yeah,” the word burns on the way out. Kiyoomi’s body is shaking, like his atoms no longer care for the shape they make.

“I do, too,” Atsumu offers. It sounds like a secret. It sounds like an apology. “I feel lonely, even when I’m sitting next to you. Isn’t that weird?”
Kiyoomi shakes his head. His fingers jerk from want to dig them into Atsumu, as if it could ground them, realign-

Their broken cosmic significance.

“Omi, do you love me?”
But Kiyoomi still doesn’t understand what this is.
“I think I need you,” he confesses, instead.

“Could you love me?”
It’s deeper than that. It’s something in Kiyoomi’s core that asks for Atsumu to fill it.

“Yes.”
Kiyoomi disturbs their orbit and puts his hand in Atsumu’s. It’s still not close enough.
He says, “I think we both know how it hurts to be apart.”

Atsumu grips his hand tighter. He tugs and bring their bodies flush together.

Ah, Kiyoomi thinks, this is the opposite of decay. The opposite of entropy. As if the remains of their ancient supernova were finally able to birth this new star.
“It’s like missing a limb, Omi.”
Kiyoomi wants to sob into Atsumu’s shirt.