The universe was curved and he could see beyond it. He could see death there, lurking behind the infinite expanse of space and time. He could see white skulls there, collected to rot for thousands of years; they were stacked on top of each other, and when the ones on the bottom finally decayed, they fell and became part of the nothingness, the space, the deep and profound singularity. It was quiet there. It was cold there. It felt like he was already there, really. His eyes couldn't tell him otherwise. His senses were too sharp and too numb simultaneously.
A friend's voice gave him an instruction, and he could only oblige. With some effort, the lanky hybrid rolled over onto his back so that both his arms lay loosely at his sides. He tilted his head in the direction from which the voice had come, the direction that heat was coming from. Even then, with the universe and death and everything shining in his eyes, all he really wanted was the dim heat, the meaningless warmth, the closeness that was only physical. But he didn't reach out because he knew he only deserved to die alone.