𝄢 and sebastian, who usually has opinions about every musician he meets, just stares at you for a second too long before remembering how words work. that’s the replacement singer?

𝄢 “you know jazz?” he asks cautiously, still halfway expecting disappointment because he’s spent years dealing with people who say they understand jazz and then proceed to butcher it. you just smile softly. “i know good jazz.” that should annoy him but instead, it completely derails him.

𝄢 rehearsal is supposed to be quick. just one song, maybe two or three. just enough to survive the evening. but then you step up beside the piano and ask: “what do you want to hear?” sebastian studies you carefully before playing a few opening notes from “is it a crime?” almost experimentally. because how can you fuck that up? it’s a classic.

𝄢 most singers oversing it. push too hard and mistake restraint for lack of emotion. but you don’t. you sink into the song slowly like smoke filling a room. low velvet voice and perfect timing. no unnecessary dramatics. and sebastian— for the first time in his life, sebastian completely misses his next chord because he’s too busy staring at you.

𝄢 because suddenly the club sounds exactly like the version he’s carried around in his head for years. it’s intimate, it’s warm. late-night golden. it’s alive.

𝄢 when the song ends, there’s silence for a second. you glance over at him curiously. “well?” sebastian just blinks, then: “where the hell have you been?”

𝄢 the first performance is supposed to be forgettable. background music while people drink overpriced whiskey and pretend to understand coltrane. then you start singing and the entire room changes. not dramatically at first. quietly. all conversations slowing. glasses lowering. people turning in their seats without realising they’re doing it. because your voice doesn’t sound forced or theatrical. it slips through the room slow and warm and intimate, like smoke curling through dim light. smooth in that impossible sade kind of way. effortless. sensual without trying to be.

𝄢 sebastian’s standing by the bar when he realises he’s completely stopped moving. he’s just staring because suddenly the club sounds like the version he’s had in his head for years. not polished. not commercial. not obnoxiously drunk and loud. it’s full of soul.

𝄢 and the worst part is that you catch him watching halfway through the set. your eyes meet across the club while he’s frozen beside the piano and you smile slightly into the microphone.

𝄢 sebastian almost misses his cue entirely. after the performance the crowd applauds harder than they ever have before in that club. and sebastian, who normally acts deeply emotionally constipated about praise, immediately corners you backstage. “you free tomorrow night?” you raise an eyebrow. “for another emergency?”

“for employment.”

𝄢 from that point onwards, the club changes completely. because people become obsessed with the two of you. not just the music. you and sebastian. the chemistry is visible from the stage immediately and neither of you are subtle enough to hide it properly. sebastian watching you while he plays piano like he’s witnessing divine intervention.

𝄢 you leaning against the mic stand smiling at him knowingly during solos. the quiet little conversations between songs that feel far too intimate for an audience to be witnessing. people start coming back specifically to watch the dynamic unfold. entire tables placing bets on whether you’re secretly together.

𝄢 sebastian doesn’t call it “being attracted to you” at first, he calls it as “professional curiosity” which is his favourite lie to himself. he tells himself he’s just fascinated by how you bend timing, how you sit behind the beat like you’re refusing to be chased by it

𝄢 you notice him noticing you before he ever speaks properly. it’s not obvious attention, it’s worse: quiet attention. the kind that lingers too long on your phrasing after you’ve finished a line, like he’s trying to reverse-engineer you

𝄢 the first real shift happens when you start changing small things just to see if he reacts. a held note slightly longer. a lyric twisted into something more playful. he reacts every time, even if it’s just a micro-expression in his jaw. you start playing to him specifically without meaning to. not in a performative way, more like your instincts adapt. you lean into certain phrases because you know he’ll recognise them as a challenge

𝄢 there’s a night where you hold eye contact during a long instrumental break and neither of you looks away first. after that, everything changes slightly. not dramatically, just enough that it can’t be undone

𝄢 sebastian starts doing small, unnecessary acts of care that he immediately tries to rationalise: saving you a seat near his piano during your breaks without acknowledging it. adjusting the stage light so it doesn’t hit your eyes directly. rewriting the set order so your hardest song isn’t first

𝄢 he watches you more than he means to. not in a staring way at first, more like his attention just keeps drifting there. when he catches himself, he looks away too quickly and pretends he was listening to the band. you start catching him at it. sometimes you pause mid-sentence just to see if he’s paying attention. he always is. he just looks like he isn’t.

𝄢 he starts walking you out without announcing it, like it’s obvious. he takes your coat off the back of a chair without asking and holds it out. when you look at him, he says: “you’re slow when you’re cold.” and refuses to elaborate. you begin timing your exits so you meet him in the same corridor after shows. neither of you admit this is planned.

𝄢 sebastian starts getting protective in very quiet, socially unacceptable ways. if someone interrupts your set, they mysteriously don’t get booked again. if someone talks over you, the sound balance “accidentally” shifts so they can’t hear themselves properly. if someone flirts with you after a show, sebastian suddenly appears beside you with a question about “logistics”

𝄢 he never acknowledges jealousy. he reframes it as professionalism. “they’re distracting the room.” “they’re not respecting the music.” “they don’t understand timing.” you call him out once: “you don’t like people talking to me.” and he replies, without looking at you: “i don’t like people wasting your time.” that lands harder than he intends. he goes quiet for the rest of the night.

𝄢 he begins adjusting the club’s rhythm around you. not in big changes. just tiny edits that make your presence feel inevitable rather than scheduled. you start leaning into him emotionally in small ways without naming it: “was that set alright?” “you’d tell me if it wasn’t, wouldn’t you?” and he always answers honestly, which surprises both of you.

𝄢 sebastian becomes slightly worse at pretending he doesn’t care. people notice before he does. someone says: “you’ve got favourites now.” and he replies: “i’ve got standards.”

𝄢 you start noticing he only fully relaxes when you’re still in the building after your set. not speaking, just present. one night, you ask: “do you ever go home?”and he says: “eventually, but not when you’re still here.” he immediately regrets it. you don’t let him retract it. you just nod like it makes perfect sense.

𝄢 sebastian is falling in love and he feels like control he regained after mia is slowly failing in very precise ways. he starts waiting for you to arrive because it’s the best part of his day. he begins smiling slightly when he hears your voice before he sees you. and your falling in love looks like familiarity turning into dependency. you look for him first in any room. you sing differently when you know he’s listening. you start staying longer just to see what he’ll say when the crowd leaves

𝄢 neither of you define it, because if you do, it stops being something you can hide behind work. and right now, the work is the excuse that lets him stand close enough to you without falling apart.

𝄢 bar goers openly complaining about the way sebastian looks at you. band members hanging around after hours just to witness whatever strange romantic tension keeps happening onstage.

𝄢 because sebastian wilder, chronic snob and professional emotional avoider, becomes ridiculously obvious about you. he’s impossible. introducing you every night with increasingly lovestruck descriptions disguised as professionalism. “and now, the reason any of you people actually showed up tonight…” or: “if you talk during her solos i’ll have you removed physically.”

𝄢 meanwhile you stand beside the piano trying not to laugh while the audience loses their minds over him. he starts dressing even better than he already does too. not intentionally at first. but suddenly his nice button ups are nicer. his shoes extra polished. his hair actually brushed perfectly instead of loosely.

𝄢 because you complimented one outfit once and sebastian has apparently decided to build his entire self-esteem around that interaction forever.

𝄢 the rehearsals become unbearably intimate. all dim lighting and old records and lingering eye contact. sometimes you stay after closing while sebastian plays piano softly just for you, tie loosened, whiskey abandoned somewhere nearby while the city glows outside the windows. and he talks more around you. that’s what surprises everybody most. because sebastian usually keeps people at arm’s length emotionally. he hides behind jazz trivia and pretentiousness and sarcasm. but around you? he softens completely.

𝄢 suddenly he’s telling stories about childhood records he used to play. talking about music like it still hurts him a little. looking at you after songs with this open vulnerable expression like he forgot how to hide for a second. and you always notice.

𝄢 one night during rehearsal you quietly tell him; “you only tap your fingers like that when you’re nervous.” sebastian looks genuinely alarmed. “you can tell?” you smile, “i can tell everything with you.” he spends the next hour completely unable to make eye contact.

𝄢 the audience notices that shift too, because your chemistry evolves from flirtation into something softer and infinitely more dangerous. suddenly there are moments onstage where you look at each other too long after songs end. little smiles meant only for each other. sebastian adjusting the microphone for you with absurd tenderness before performances start. and the crowd eats it alive every single night.

𝄢 articles start appearing about the club. “the jazz revival hidden in downtown la” “the impossible chemistry keeping audiences returning weekly” sebastian pretends to hate the attention. meanwhile he keeps every article folded carefully beneath the counter in his office.

𝄢 after shows the two of you always end up sitting together in the empty club long after everyone leaves. exhausted. half-drunk on whiskey and adrenaline. music still humming softly through the speakers. sometimes you sit on top of the piano while sebastian talks nonsense beside you at three in the morning. sometimes he plays quietly while you sing only for him. those are his favourite moments. no audience, no applause. just you in the dim golden light sounding like true love and velvet.

𝄢 sebastian falls first obviously, catastrophically too. because you understand music the way he does. you make jazz sound intimate again, human again.

𝄢 and sebastian looks at you like you saved something inside him he thought had died years ago. one night after a packed show, you find him alone at the piano after closing, absentmindedly replaying one of your songs. he doesn’t notice you immediately but he feels you there. he’s smiling to himself softly while playing. completely gone. “you know people think we’re sleeping together,” you tease lightly from the doorway.

𝄢 sebastian glances up. and the look on his face is so fond it almost catches you off guard. “yeah?” he says quietly. “they’d probably lose their minds if they knew i’m actually worse than that.” you lean against the piano curiously. “worse how?”

it had been a while since you’d seen him. usually, living right next door to your attractive neighbour meant that you saw him almost every day, sometimes twice if he had had a bad night and needed some comfort or just someone to be around. you’d caught him going out late one night, a duffel bag in his hand and some car keys in the other.

they weren’t his usual keys. they were missing the rabbit’s foot he always carried around.

“where are you going?” you smirked after looking him up and down, making him stop in his tracks on the way to the elevator. “you’re not going to murder someone, are you?” you were joking, of course you were. he knew that. but hearing you say that stirred something inside of driver. something you couldn’t see then, but you’d eventually learn later.

“just for a drive.” he replied softly, turning his head to look at you while giving you one of his soft smiles. you would never get tired of seeing that.

“okay,” you were skeptical but teased him nonetheless. “be safe.”

“okay.” he replied, nodding once before continuing his way to the elevator.

you thought little of it for the rest of the evening. you organised your laundry and cleaned up the apartment a bit before a knock came on your door just before eleven. the only person it could be was your neighbour, but you looked through the peephole nonetheless.

and there he was, still in the same clothes you’d seen him in earlier, but he didn’t have the duffel bag any more. you unlocked the door and pulled it open, immediately leaning again the door frame wearing a smile reserved for only him.

“did the murder go down easily?” you teased, eyes twinkling with mischief as you looked him up and down. he huffed out a laugh, stuffing his hand into his empty pocket before glancing down the hallway then back at you.

“can i come in?” his voice was soft, almost timid as if he was worried you wouldn’t let him in. you nodded quickly, realising that he might not be in the joking mood and moved aside. he closed the door behind himself, clicking the lock into place. you moved cautiously into your living room.

his back was still to you, his hand still tightly wrapped around the doorknob. he looked over his shoulder in your direction as he asked his first question.

“do you know?” his voice was quiet once more, his eyes following a panel of flooring before finding your feet and trailing up your body. “do you know what i do?”

“erm, you drive…?” you replied, tone unsure as to what he wanted to hear. you knew he had a couple of different jobs, but you didn’t know why it was relevant or why he was acting this way. “you drive for the movies and you fix cars?”

“yea,” he nodded, turning around to face you before leaning against your door. “i drive for the movies and i fix cars. i also drive people after they’ve robbed somewhere, or stolen something.”

“so, a getaway driver?” you clarified, looking into his eyes for a sign of him joking, or that you’d gotten something wrong.

“yea.” he nodded again, a hand dipping into his pocket to pull out a toothpick. you watched as he nervously bit into it and pushed it around his mouth.

he stayed where he was planted on the floor, watching you as you nodded your head a couple of times and shuffled on your feet. you turned to look out the window, processing what he’d just said, imagining him in situations like that. it didn’t seem right. his words settled in your bones and made you uncomfortable. it didn’t feel like something he would do.

you spoke up after a moment, head still turned towards the night sky, “how long?”

“a little while.”

“how often?”

“depends.” you nodded again at his answer, turning back to face him. the look he wore was one you hadn’t seen before. he looked nervous, worried. his eyebrows furrowed as he waited for you. he followed your every move as you stepped closer to him, something akin to rejection ready in his mind.

“is it safe?” you whispered once you were close to him, your eyes dropping to the zip of his jacket as your hand reached to pull it up slightly. you needed to be close to him, but also needed to distract yourself. he titled his head, confused with your question.

“do you do anything? or do you just drive?” you clarified, your hand staying on his chest as you finally looked back at him. “can you get hurt?”

“no,” he replied immediately, his head shaking as a hand emerged from his pocket to rest on your cheek. “i just drive. i don’t carry a gun, i don’t do anything.”

“just drive.” you repeated, leaning into his warmth. it fell quiet between you two. you kept looking up at him as he did the same back to you. his words were still floating around your head, your mind picking them apart as you realised how much he trusted you.

you huffed a deep sigh before saying, “will you tell me? when you go out and do all of this, will you tell me you’re going?”

driver nodded his head gently, his other hand coming up to the back of your head. his touch was soft as he pulled you closer to him, tilting your head slightly to allow his lips to press a soft kiss on your forehead.

“i’ll tell you,” he agreed, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “i’ll tell you when i’m leaving and when i’m back. it might be late some nights.”

“i don’t care.” you admitted, voice quiet as you wrapped your arms around his waist. both of you stayed like that for a moment, enamoured with each other’s touch with a lack of willingness to move away.

it took everything in driver to be the first to pull away from you. he pressed another kiss onto your forehead before moving backwards. your arms dropped away from his body, allowing him to turn around and unlock the door. his hand gripped the door handle as he turned back to you. he gave you one of his soft smiles, waiting for you to return it before he opened the door and began to disappear down the hallway.

“you can always come here, you know?” you said as you moved into the doorway. he had barely made it out of your apartment before you leaned against the doorframe and poked him in the back. he turned to give you a glare, raising his eyebrows at your action before he saw the look on your face. you were being serious.

you continued, “if anything happens, or you just need a place to be, i’ll always be here.”

driver nodded at that, smiling once more before he made his way to his apartment. you followed his movements down the hallway, watching him fumble with his keys before jamming them into the lock and opening his door. he gave you one last glance before disappearing completely out of view.

after that night, you saw driver more often. now that he had told you about his job under the cover of darkness - and he had promised to tell you when he was going out - the time you spent together was tenfold. he would come over and let you know he was heading out, and you’d stay awake until he was back safely. most nights he sat with you for a while, sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting in comfortable silence.

he would always leave you with a kiss on your cheek, whispering a sweet “goodnight” as he did so before turning away and heading back to his apartment. you both fell into a pleasant routine, and more recently, you’d hear the elevator stop on your floor and have the door open before he had even rounded the corner.

he would just walk straight in and close the door gently before making his way over to you, shedding his jacket and hanging it over the back of one of your dining table chairs. he’d sit next to you on your couch, carefully pick up the glass of water you put out for him and wait for you to say something first.

most evenings went like that. on the nights that you knew he wasn’t going out, you’d hang out with friends or head down to do laundry since the washers were empty at night. and even when he wasn’t escaping the echoing sounds of sirens, he’d sometimes still come around and sit with you.

you had had a crush on him since you moved in, and you’d managed to keep that under wraps with your minimal interactions. but now? seeing him almost every day, those feelings increased, and it became harder and harder to let him escape into the night and put himself in danger.

there was one night that felt different to the others. he came to your door like usual, told you he would be out and when he should be back. you waved him off with a meaningful “be safe” and he gave you a smile and a silent promise that he would.

as the evening went on, you couldn’t get comfortable. you anxiously paced back and forth, wearing your flooring down, but you couldn’t have cared less. you tried to distract yourself with cleaning, tidying and moving things around to pass time, but nothing calmed you.

all you could hear were the sounds of sirens and horns honking through your slightly open windows. the city lights seemed brighter tonight, although they did little to help your nerves. often times it would be reassuring to watch the lives of people down on the streets as you waited for driver, but tonight it felt more of a mockery.

you waited and waited and waited, ear pressed against the door to hear something, anything, from the hallway as time ticked on.

a knock just after midnight made you jump slightly on your couch, your half-asleep body taking a minute to realise it was your door someone was knocking on. you pushed yourself off the cushions, eyes glancing to the side to see that the night was still here and the lights were still sparkling. a second knock came; impatient, hurried.

you stumbled over to the door, pulling the chain across and turning the lock as you looked through the peephole. what you saw made you gasp, hands fumbling with the handle as you struggled to open the door.

as you pulled it open, it revealed driver, slumped to one side of your door frame (although his shoulders still took up almost the entire width), his face and the top of his jacket covered in blood. it was his, it had to be. he never got involved with the crimes he drove people away from, always being on the opposing side of violence unless necessary.

it took a second for your brain to catch up with what you were seeing. you took in the busted lip and the cut on his eyebrow, the bruise that had started to grow on his cheekbone and under his eye. you willed your body forward, looking over his shoulder for anyone in the hallway that might have been lurking, but found nothing. seconds later, he was in your apartment and the door was locked once more.

driver leaned into your warmth as you wrapped your arm around his waist. he tried to walk with you, following your steps to your bathroom that he could probably do blindfolded now. you were gentle as you eased him down onto your closed toilet seat, taking care to unzip his jacket and pull off the soiled material from his body. there was no blood underneath it, a silent prayer you had made earlier. it was just his face to worry about.

he had never wanted to show up like this. you already looked out for him so much; making sure he was home, staying up when he was a little later than usual, checking in on him after he was silent for a couple of days. you didn’t deserve this. you didn’t need to be patching him up.

but your touch was so soft. you felt so warm. your hands were gentle as they ghosted across his face, pressing into his skin as you checked out his injuries. he didn’t flinch, only watched and followed you around as you grabbed a first aid kit from a low cupboard and washed your hands.

his jacket was in his lap, his hands clasped together on top of it. anything to stop him from touching you, corrupting you, tainting you even more than he already had done. as you got closer to him once more, his eyes found yours and all he was met with was worry and sadness. was that a tear he could see?

that thought was snapped from his head as he felt pressure on his forehead, a groan involuntarily slipping from his already parted lips.

“sorry,” you squeaked, tapping against his skin a little softer as you tried to clear away some of the dried blood. “you’re going to have some bruising.” driver just nodded at your words. he had seen what he looked like in his rear view mirror as he drove home, the only thing running through his mind being to come straight to you.

it took a few antiseptic covered cotton pads to remove enough blood to get to the cuts on his skin. they weren’t too deep; they would heal themselves without stitches, but they would definitely be painful for a while.

you turned away to grab a couple of steri-strips for his eyebrow, and when you turned back, you were met with driver’s bright blue eyes once more. you could feel his eyes on you as you moved around earlier, and now, as you started to patch him up, you couldn’t pull away from his gaze. deep down, you were grateful it had been nothing worse. you don’t know how well you could have handled seeing him in a worse state.

you didn’t want to think about it.

“now who would do this to such a pretty face?” you whispered, finally pulling your gaze away from his as you started to place the steri-strips on his skin. you could feel the tears threatening to spill over at any second.

“jus’ a couple of idiots.” driver replied, his words mumbled over the cut on his lips.

“what happened?” you asked, your hands moving down to cup his cheeks.

“they finished the job. i took them to a parking lot, and before i could leave they started swinging punches,” he started to explain, his hand shifting nervously in his lap. “i couldn’t stop them. they took everything they stole. beat me up. i couldn’t do anything. took me a while to get home.”

“you shouldn’t have driven home like this, you can barely stand,” you chastised him, but there was no venom in your words. your thumbs had started to absentmindedly stroke the marred skin of his cheeks. “you should have called me.”

“no phones,” he reminded you, one of his hands coming up to wrap around your wrist. they were so big. it didn’t take much of him to cover your skin. “i had to get back some way.”

although you knew he was right, you just shook your head, sniffling slightly as you looked down to his lap. his other hand had a tight grip on his jacket, like he was still restraining himself from touching you. you didn’t care; he could do whatever he wanted to you.

you took a deep breath before looking back at him. his eyes were now hazy, matching your own as you stared into them.

“need to get some ice on your eye.” you said plainly. he looked better than when he showed up on your doorstep. the majority of the blood was gone, his cuts were still red and raw, but they would go down after a day or two. he really did need that ice, though. you’re sure the only thing you had were frozen peas. they’d have to do.

driver nodded, his hand loosening its grip on your wrist as you began to pull away. you started to tidy up the blooded cotton, pushing them into the small yellow bag that comes with the kit with shaky hands. you were turned away from him now, but he still watched your every move. he noticed you shaking, fumbling with the first aid kit more than you had done earlier.

so, he stood up, his jacket abandoned and left to fall to the floor as he stepped forward and towered over your side. you could feel him next to you. the hand that had held your wrist moments ago was now halting your movements, covering the bag to get you to stop. you did. you turned to look at him.

his other arm came out to wrap around your waist, pulling you to his chest as your hands came up to cover your face. you pushed into his shirt, gripping the material as his other arm came around your shoulders. it didn’t take you long to sob out the cry you’d been holding in since he knocked on the door.

and he just held you. his steady heartbeat filled your ears, the distinct smell of oil, and diesel and something so him filled your nose. knowing you needed the comfort, driver leaned down slightly to press a gentle kiss onto your forehead, holding his lips there for a second as he felt you sigh heavily. you let out another sob before trying to control your breathing, realising how stupid you now felt after he’d been the one beat up, not you.

“i’m sorry.” you mumbled into him, continuing to breathe as you tried to keep calm. his chin was now resting on the top of your head, the hand on your lower back rubbing in circles as he left a trail of his warmth with it.

“it’s okay.” he reassured you, his voice gentle with you, like always.

“come on,” you pulled away, quickly wiping your eyes before you looked up at him. his hold on you never left, just loosened to give you space to move. “let’s get something on your face.”

“okay.” he nodded, smiling slightly to try to make you feel better; it’s like he knew that you loved his shy smiles.

as you pulled away, he let go of you completely. his jacket was still abandoned on the floor, the first aid kit still in pieces on the countertop, but neither of you cared. you stepped towards the bathroom door, reaching behind you to grab one of driver’s hands before you got too far away from him. he grabbed onto you immediately, allowing you to pull him through your apartment and into the small kitchen.

once you reached your dining table, you pulled out one of the chairs with your free hand and gently guided him to sit down. he let you manhandle him however you wanted him, his eyes following you once again as you opened the freezer to find something for his face.

you turn back to his with both hands full, “i only have half a bag of peas and this old ice pack.” he just nodded at you, a hand reaching out to grab the peas and press them against his eyebrow. that one was throbbing the most.

as you got closer, his free hand reached out for your waist and pulled you closer to him, guiding you to straddle his thighs before lowering you down onto his lap. you landed with a sharp gasp, your free hand reaching out for his shoulder as you tried to regain your balance. you looked at him with a pointed glare to which he gave you another one of his smiles. you shook your head as you carefully placed the ice pack against his busted lip.

“you still mean it?” driver asked after a few moments of quiet, the only sounds being the humming of the fridge and the rustling of the peas as he shifted the bag around a couple of times. you were still pressed against him, the hand on his shoulder now on the side of his neck as you held him still.

“mean what?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to remember what you had said to him.

he clarified, “that i could always come here. if i needed you, or needed somewhere to be.”

“always.” you nodded.

“can i come round more often?”

“definitely.”

masterlist!

For a moment, there was only sleepy confusion in Ryland’s eyes as he drew them back into yours. Then, recognition dawned upon him like the rising sun, followed immediately by the most profound sense of betrayal. He groaned. A long, dramatic sound of complete suffering that started deep in his diaphragm and tore through the air to tangle with one of your laughs. Simultaneously, one arm threw itself around your waist, Ryland working double time to move both of your bodies back as he rolled rather unceremoniously onto his back with a loud groan that just screamed, ‘Oh god, my back’.

You drifted with him, a smile on your face as you rested partially on his chest, that now being the only sense of decency from nudity as yours crushed against his. His other arm draped itself over his eyes, blocking out the light and what Ryland had to assume was your smug face.

“I was trying not to think about that.” He mumbled cutely, his voice muffled by his muscular forearm and the all too tethered notion of going back to sleep.

You hummed softly, bringing your lips to his jaw and laying a saliva-stricken kiss right on the sharper edge of his mandible. Ryland drew a deep breath in, your bodies moving from the action as you drew your heated mouth down to captivate along his jugular. 

“Hmm… Why not? It’s something to celebrate…” There was sensuality in your voice, something that was tugging at Ryland in the best way he could imagine and left it lingering between his legs as you brought a heady kiss to his Adam's apple in some attempt to get him to open up.

Ryland dropped the arm from his eyes and peeked at you, your shoulders raising your body just enough to gaze back through half-lidded eyes. Your lips were pink and soft, he wanted nothing more than to lean in and let you celebrate but there was something there itching his mind in the way that would make whatever celebration you had planned unpleasurable. 

“Because… I’d be seventy-one back on Earth.”

You sat yourself up against him a bit more ardently, one hand resting on his waist under the sheets, tracing at the waistband of his make-shift pajama bottoms as your other kept you supported, flat against the bed next to his head so you could look down at him. “Well… For being that old…” Ryland licked his lips as if he were eating your words. “You look incredible…” “Hn…” He sounded almost unamused. “Says you…”

“I’m being serious, Ry.” You drifted your fingers up the length of his torso, dancing for a second along his collarbone before brushing carefully through a strand of blonde-silver kissed hair at his temple, soft and silken under your fingertips. “Honestly, you’re aging ridiculously well. I would wager that most people in their seventies would kill to look this good.” Ryland’s mouth propped open as your touch came down to trace his plump bottom lip urgingly. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he pressed a hot kiss to your fingertips. “Are you flirting with me to distract me from the oncoming existential crisis?” “Is it working?” You whispered, bringing your head down to plant a kiss to his mouth, your fingers pinching his chin to keep him in place. Ryland nearly melted right into it, hand sweeping up and cupping the side of your face before exploding his slender fingers out and caressing you with more intent. 

“It’s…” Another kiss, this one a bit deeper as you tilted your head into it, swinging your legs around the narrowing of his waist so you could come to rest in his lap. “An effective…” And another as Ryland shifted beneath you, bringing his body up just enough to prop against the headboard, his shoulder blades screaming from the chill of the air but it was all worthwhile feeling the grind of your hipbones against his as a response. “Strategy…”

“Hmmm…” You grinned, bringing your mouth to his jaw where his stubble prickled slightly against the smoothness of your lips. Ryland’s eyes fluttered shut at that feeling, his arm snaking around your waist, hands pressing into the small of your back to keep you near him.

“Besides,” Your tone was heated. “Who’s even counting Earth years anymore? We live on a planet in a completely different system…” Ryland moved to press his face against your sternum, mouth splayed open to trail a few wet kisses coupled with the sensation of his rough beard against your skin caused you to arch against him. “Different orbit… Different calendar… For all pra-practical purposes, you’re still o-only fifty-three.” “Fifty-three.” He repeated carefully against your skin, like he was testing the number for some type of structural weakness. “Mhm…” You bit your bottom lip and watched as he tilted his head up, resting his chin against your chest as your eyes played with each other. Your fingers tangled into his hair, the strands fluttering into your touch, unprovoked. “You’ve still got it…” That earned you the tiniest sound of embarrassment from the back of Ryland’s throat, a little huff of air that always escaped his body when you complimented him directly. He had no reason to stop it especially when the smile it garnered him from you was… Breathtaking. 

“You know…” You murmured, quieter now as if you became aware all too quickly in the heat of the moment that your conversation could very well be honed in on. “The silver fox thing really works for you.”

Ryland immediately groaned again, tossing his head into your chest. The vibrations of the sound rattled against your ribcage and caused you to laugh as he muttered, “Absolutely not.”

“What?” You giggled. “It does!”

“That’s just the polite phrasing people use when they’re trying not to say old man.” Ryland brought his hands up and grasped your shoulders as he nuzzled his face further into your chest. You got a near mouthful of his hair, a breathy laugh leaving your lips. 

“You’re being so dramatic.” You informed him. 

“I’m being accurate.” Ryland argued, poking his nose right to the middle of your sternum as you brushed out some of his hair, “Do you understand how horrifying it is to realize you’re technically in the same age bracket as a retired dentist?”

That made you laugh outright, the sound alone in the quiet of the room seemed to ease something in Ryland as the tension in his body seeped away from the mattress to linger elsewhere. His shoulders relaxed visibly, bringing themselves in to make him appear much smaller as he held you tightly. 

Ryland laughed against your skin.  “You know what the stupid part is? I can’t stop thinking about it…” The words conformed against you. “If somebody told me there was a seventy-one year old scientist living on another planet, teaching alien kids about quantum physics and orbital mechanics, I… I’d think that that guy sounds pretty cool.”

You smiled. “He’s more than cool, if we’re being honest.” “Debatable.” Ryland countered with a goofy grin. 

“No, actually.” You shifted in his lap to get more comfortable as he leaned back against the headboard once again. Ryland’s breath hitched as he handed back over dominance. “Objectively true.”

Ryland… Had always carried time strangely. Even back on Earth, before Erid and your lives together, he used to joke about getting old long before he actually was. He complained when he stood up too fast. He’d hold his back and yap. He groaned about aches and pains after sleeping awkwardly. He called his students ‘kids these days’ despite dedicating his entire life to teaching those kids.

But underneath the jokes had always been something quieter. Fear… That one day, Ryland would wake up and realize that life passed him by and he had very little to show for it. Ryland tipped his head back and looked at you again as you brought your hand to cup the side of his face. Aged… But to you, still the same. Something softened in him, something in the minute cracks of his expression shifted into that warm, almost shy look he still got sometimes when you looked at him.

The vulnerability in Ryland’s eyes made your chest ache. This was a man who never quite seemed to understand how easy it was to love him as you craned your head down and laid a sweet, open mouthed invitation against his lips. He seemed to moan into the affection, his eyes falling shut once again as he pressed the back of his knuckles against the smooth scape of your cheek. Ryland’s mouth shuddered against yours as he swiped his thumb against your bottom lip. “Y’know… I think… Part of me expected getting older to feel… Lonelier.” Your eyebrows furrowed a bit, chest tightening in a way that was both painful and tender. “But… It doesn’t. Not here. Not with you.”

The room settled into silence after that, the words hanging in the air between you as you drifted that much closer to him. Neither of you spoke as Ryland traced shapes against your lips with the tip of his thumb, his blue eyes seemingly transfixed on it like it was anchor keeping him on the planet. You perked your mouth and kissed lightly at the tip as he squinted thoughtfully at the action.

“Also,” His voice tore through the emotional atmosphere. “I probably have the bone density of like, a one-hundred and twenty year old with Erid’s gravity. So… I guess seventy-one is not too bad.” You bursted into helpless laughter, your entire body tensing in amusement as you tossed your head back. Ryland watched with a smile on his lips before feeling inclined to join you in the maddening descent, his chuckle harmonizing with yours in the best way as he dropped his hands to rest on your waist. “I-I was beginning to worry I lost you there, Dr. Grace.” You wiped a tear of laughter from the corner of your eye.

“Science comforts me.” “You’re impossible.”

And yet…” Ryland tilted his head and brought you that much closer to him, the tenacity of the moment back as you were more aggressively pressed skin to skin. “You remain deeply obsessed with me.”

“Unfortunately.” You grinned. 

“Mhm.” Ryland pecked your lips. “Tragic for you.”

Later, long after the birthday celebration turned panic turned celebration, the morning melted into something a bit more warm and ordinary. You were still tangled in the trenches of the bed, unwilling or unable to move, you were unsure but there was no doubt in your mind as you watched Ryland shift out of the bed, pulling on his sleep pants. His shoulders were broader than you remembered, your fingers twitching in desperate need to touch them despite almost having the muscles memorized. His back was still straight and strong despite the complaints as he stood up and shuffled a bit around the room to get ready for the actual day. 

You caught him though, pausing in front of the darker reflection of one of the habitat windows. Ryland just… Stood there. Staring at himself. Not critically, not searching for any sign of aging. Just, looking at himself thoughtfully. Like, maybe for the first time in a long while, the number floating around the day didn't bother him quite as much anymore.

You watched Ryland run a hand through his silver-streaked hair, a gesture so wildly familiar it made your heart flutter. When he turned his tall body and caught you looking at him, that all knowing blush crept up his neck, the same one that appeared and still did when you told him that you loved him. 

“W-what?” He murmured, slipping on his glasses with a hint of self-consciousness in his voice before running his hand through his hair again. This time, it was done out of nervousness. “D-do I have something on my face?”

You shook your head slowly, allowing the sheets to fall away as you sat up, exposing your chest to his eyes once again. He did his best not to gawk, but you could see the shine off his golden frames as he spared a glance downwards. “Just… Watching.” Your reply was soft and sweet, hand coming to pat the space beside you. So empty, so yearning. “Come back to bed for a minute.”

You could see the hesitancy in Ryland. His glance towards the xenonite clock display, a reminder that the workday would begin soon and he needed to still get ready. But, you were also treated with the visual of his shoulders relaxing and his long legs bringing him back to the bed, weight sinking onto the mattress as a soft sigh left his mouth. You were not one for hesitating as you reached out and traced the lines of his shoulder blades with your fingertips. 

“Are you feeling better?” You asked as he leaned into your touch, your lips ghosting a barely-there kiss against the nape of his neck, right above the top of his spine. His fingers found your other hand immediately, tangling with them and bringing them closer. 

“Better.” Ryland murmured, leaning back into your touch with a quiet, reserved sigh. His fingers tightened around yours instinctively, grounding himself to the warmth your body gave him as you curled in closer. The room was still dim with the early morning light, softer grays and blues now tossed into the air, stretching along the walls. 

You bit your bottom lip, trailing your fingertips down his spine. “You were staring at yourself in the xenonite.” “God, that makes it sound weird.” You giggled, pressing another soft kiss to the back of his neck. “Not weird. Just something I noticed. What were you thinking?” Ryland shuffled a bit and tilted his head in thought despite already having a response lined up. His mouth opened and then closed a few times as he contemplated how to phrase it. “I… thought getting older would bother me… more.” “On Earth, maybe…” “Yeah…” He nodded in agreement, eyes dropping towards your tangled together hands. “But here… On Erid… With you, it just… Feels nice.”

You smiled softly at that as Ryland turned on the bed so he could face you properly, a silver-highlighted piece of hair falling messily across his forehead which you carefully whisked away with the tip of your finger. He smiled a small ‘thank you’, crested by sleep and warmth, the prospect of teaching still far off in the distance.

“I love you.” “I know.” Ryland groaned, tilting his head in and sweeping his mouth along yours before hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “The Star Wars response? That’s so unfair.” “But, it’s effective.” You wiggled your eyebrows teasingly.

“Unfortunately, it is.” He muttered, kissing your neck.

Your hand slid into his hair carefully, thumb coming to crush against his temple as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment of vulnerability. “Happy birthday, Ryland.”

Please like, comment and reblog if you liked! Support writers!

When word got out that there was a very real possibility that the sun would die sometime in the next few decades, most people felt compelled to do their part to help in some way. At least, most of the company that you kept did.

Granted, it was an odd thing. For years, everyone was told that the planet was going to get too hot. Flying and driving excessively was terrible for the environment because it was going to make that damage far worse than it needed to be. AI Data Centers were one of the most harmful things that one could imagine, and if these behaviors didn’t stop, the planet would get too hot. Irreversibly hot.

So it was odd when an unexpected crisis emerged, causing people to wonder if they would need to reverse the world-shattering damage by doing exactly what they knew to be damaging the Earth.

As with anything, some people choose not to believe it. As with anything, it became political. Maybe, you reasoned, many of the people who claimed that they didn’t believe what they were being told just didn’t want to believe it. Who would want to hear that their lives were going to be significantly impacted, shortened, or both by an impending doom that they couldn’t exactly see with their eyes? Sure, they could see the dots; they could see the probe launch and the public announcements that were being made by the world’s governments. They could see the entire world (for the most part) united with one specific goal for the first time in history. And yet they chose not to believe it. Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe they just liked being contrarian.

When whispers of the unexplainable line in space started circling to begin with, it was mainly on science forums. The people who were naturally interested in things like this were the ones reacting to it and discussing it. That was how you heard about it for the first time, anyway.

You had been studying in Germany under a mentor with connections to the broader community when your email was flooded with people talking about some line that was connected to the sun. You’d brought it up and eventually got a real answer. But the answer came in the form of a proposal. Since you were so interested in it, your mentor had reasoned, he knew the person who was in charge of the project, and he knew that she was looking to get a large staff as quickly as possible.

She needed scientists, and she needed top-notch security, and she needed astronauts. She needed people who could be there day in and day out, and people who weren’t going to miss their families too much, though she was willing to overlook that last part if need be. But she also needed an assistant. She couldn’t be in a million places at once, and she needed someone smart and competent who wouldn’t feel underwhelmed during the days when being her assistant meant running around to find her some big cups of coffee. Someone who could keep up with her lack of a sleep schedule.

Someone who felt compelled to help.

It wasn’t much of a difficult decision, really. You were competent and smart, you were willing to stay up for days at a time if it meant that you could help save the world, and you were already in Germany and had been for the last year. You had friends and family, but you were more than willing to uproot your life for a few years to study, and you were sure, even if you weren’t, that they’d understand why you needed to do what you were doing. Besides, you had been planning on being here for another two years before returning to the States anyway.

Eva Stratt was intimidating the first time you met her. And the second time. And probably the third time. But she didn’t want a mousy assistant who stuttered every time she spoke to her; she wanted someone who was at least mostly confident in her abilities, and that someone happened to be you. Or, maybe she just didn’t have enough time to go through a whole hiring process and took whoever was qualified and applied first.

It got easier to work with her over time, though. She wasn’t some scary person when you really got to know her; she just knew that she had to do what she had to do to prevent the world from ending. She had a lot of pressure on her shoulders, and once you accepted that, it became easier to do what you were hired to do and take as much of that pressure off as you could without overstepping into territory that you had no place being in. After all, you were smart and qualified, and you were rather well-versed in the science that was being discussed in regards to the Hail Mary.

Relieving that pressure became a bit different when she assigned you to work with Dr. Grace.

Stratt found it reasonable, really. You were a scientist, so you wouldn’t be clueless about what he was saying when he said it. You tried explaining to her that you studied a different kind of science than he did, but she figured that just meant that, since both of your studies pertained to the project, it would be beneficial. She really just wanted someone to be there when he needed it, someone whom she had grown to trust who would do what she would do for the most part. She wanted an extension of herself, in a sense, since she lacked the ability to clone herself and be there with him at all times.

There were a million and one diplomatic issues that Stratt needed to handle at one time, and she could easily just assign someone like Carl to be there with him and she absolutely would. But she knew that her biggest source of pressure now was making sure that everything that could be known about astrophage and the ship was known about astrophage and the ship as quickly as possible. Plus, if just babysitting Dr. Grace wasn’t enough work for you, you would also be filling in for her with the other scientists on the project when she wasn’t able to be there.

Really, it was more of a promotion than anything. You were still assisting her, but you were helping her with the project in more ways than coffee runs. It was a lot of pressure on you, too, but you had agreed to do this job when it was offered to you because you wanted to help. If this was the way to help, then you could stomach the nerves that having that much responsibility placed into your stomach.

You weren’t sure what you expected Grace to be like. You’d heard that a lot of people in the science community didn’t like him because of some comments that he had made a while ago. He had been fired from his job because he lost his temper with another member of the project some time ago. But you had yet to meet him; all you knew was that he was being given a small lab and three living dots of astrophage to study.

Some part of you worried that he was going to be some creepy, mean old man that you were going to be stuck with for some time while you were working on this project together. So you were pleasantly surprised that he wasn’t mean, creepy, or old when you walked into the room where he was.

He was taking a small break, lounging at the table with a packet of Sour Skittles in his hand, when you walked in with a clipboard and two coffees in your hand.

“Dr. Grace?”

“Hi? Wait, hi! Hi, Stratt told me you were coming.” He rubbed off some of the sour dust on a napkin on the table before he stood up to hold out his hand. “I read one of your papers just to prepare, I mean, I would have read more, but I was working.”

There was a bit of relief that you felt as you shook his hand. He was normal. Well, more than normal. He was irritatingly attractive, which was something that no one had warned you about. He had a warm smile when your eyes met his. He was disarming; he seemed easy to get along with.

“Yes, uh-” You told him your name quietly before your eyes darted over to the table that had an open drawer on the side. “Were you planning on eating thirty-nine packs of Sour Skittles for lunch?”

“No, of course not.” He responded, brushing off what you had said like you were insane. “How could you even think something like that. I mean, thirty-nine whole packs of Skittles for one meal would be absurd. I was planning on eating thirty-eight, like any reasonable person.”

He made you laugh pretty quickly, which you figured was a good sign.

“Seriously, though, you must have had a long flight wherever Stratt had you before she decided that I needed a babysitter. Do you want one? I see that the two coffees thing trickled down to you.”

You glanced down at the warm cups that you’d been balancing on one palm since he shook hands with you and shook your head. “Mm-no, one of these is for you. I asked Carl what your order is.” You replied, handing the cup that was marked with his name up top off to him. “I think they assumed that you were a woman based on your name.” You joked, drawing attention to the little flower that had been drawn on the lid of the up. “Maybe not, anyone can like flowers.”

“Happens more than you’d think.” He responded, sitting back down where he was, but pulling up a chair so you could sit beside him. You did, watching as he pulled out a computer to show you the model that he had been working on. “Are you really here to babysit me? Because sometimes it’s a whole lot of this.”

This is sitting around and waiting for something to happen. It was tedious, but expedited. Everything about this project was just science on crack. Everything needed to be done faster and more efficiently than everything else in the history of research. What might have been a ‘set it and leave it to develop overnight’ type of thing just a few years ago was something that needed to be watched and sped along however possible right now.

“Only partially. Stratt wanted an extension of herself to be here since she can’t be here most of the time, and she trusted me to do it.” You explained, watching the screen change ever-so-slightly. It was a whole lot of nothing. “I was nervous you were going to be some crotchety old man. Imagine how awful sitting here and doing nothing would be then.”

A tease, at most. It was doing nothing for maybe ten percent of the project. Even just sitting here, the stress had to be gnawing away at everyone. The world was counting on you; the survival of every single species on Earth was counting on you right now. That pressure wasn’t light for anyone, even people with smaller roles to play in the whole ordeal.

“Do you get nervous?” You asked, taking a pack of Sour Skittles from the open drawer before Grace had the chance to close it.

“Yeah, about a lot of things. What thing are you particularly asking about?”

“This… thing. This-everyone is going to die if we don’t do everything just right.”

“Sure, yeah, but when you phrase it like that, it’s no pressure at all.”

You paused for a moment before popping a lime Skittle into your mouth. “I did make it sound pretty bad, didn’t I?”

“Definitely.”

“Sorry, a lot of Stratt trickles down when you spend so much time with her.”

“Well… now you’re spending a lot of time with me, so get ready to leave this lab saying knock-knock jokes every time someone enters a room.”

He wasn’t wrong.

After about a week, it just felt like second nature to be with him. Working with him every day was different than working with Stratt every day for a number of reasons. He was stressed, sure, but he didn’t have the entire world necessarily on his shoulders in the exact same way that she did. He had pressure being placed upon him, but he didn’t let it dim his personality. Besides that, you weren’t working for him; you were working with him. You took turns getting coffee and snacks, and you worked together even when you didn’t fully understand some of the concepts that he was talking about, since it wasn’t your area of expertise.

But he was also funny. He joked around whenever you got distracted or tired. He made the stress feel a lot less draining because he kept you laughing and engaged. It didn’t feel like a bummer to go into work because you got to be with someone who made fighting against impending doom seem a lot less terrible. When you recognized that you could be more carefree with him than you could with really anyone that you had worked with before, it made it a whole lot easier for you to feel at least a little bit at ease.

Things changed a bit more when he was moved onto the carrier in the middle of the ocean. More accurately, when you were both moved onto the carrier in the middle of the ocean.

You were separated from him by a single, thin wall. You could hear him when he snored, and he could hear when you accidentally bumped your head in the middle of the night because you weren’t used to the shoebox size of the sleeping quarters that you had. You woke up at the same time, took the same amount of time to get ready in the morning, and fell into a routine of leaving your rooms at the same time so you could get breakfast together before getting to work.

Some days were more routine than others.

A lot of the time, you were working on developing the astrophage required for the trip, but other days, you were working on the trip itself. The Hail Mary wasn’t a problem, really. Logistically, it was figured out. But there were variables in it being the first of its kind. There were variables in sending people to Tau Ceti, too. No one had ever been that far, and the only way for the trip to even work was by accepting that the volunteers were never going to come back.

But there were plenty of people who volunteered despite knowing the risk. People with the same motivation as you. People who knew that not helping meant that the world would end. Granted, they were a bit braver than you. You weren’t lining up to throw your hat in the ring when it came to taking a one-way trip to Tau Ceti and having the entire world rely on you more than ever. And besides that, you didn’t have any sort of coma-resistance when your blood was tested.

Or, you didn’t think that you did.

Stratt had all but brushed you off after that, like something was bothering her. Maybe she wanted you to have the right gene, you figured. Maybe she had it, or maybe she didn’t. You weren’t sure. You just knew that she hated the mere mention of it, so you eventually dropped it when you saw her.

Work was a lot, but it was easier with Grace when you weren’t staring at him when he did just about anything.

Carl liked to joke about irritating sexual tension whenever he was in a room with the two of you were too long because both of you liked to stare and neither of you liked to do anything about it. You could be working together and drop something, and somehow Grace would appear behind you, grab it for you, make almost full-contact with your body, and then walk away. Sometimes it was aggravating, other times you wondered if he was unaware that he made your stomach flutter every time that he got too close.

“Something weird happened this morning,” Grace commented, observing the reproduction of astrophage on the screen while you took a sip of an oversized coffee that you’d been nursing for the past half hour. “DuBois and Shapiro are definitely hooking up. I mean, I saw them making out in the hallway before they noticed me and stopped.”

“It’s not… that weird. They’re just finding comfort in the fact that they might be about to die.” Shapiro wasn’t about to die, but DuBois was. So long as everything went to plan, there would be no need for a backup. “Though, I guess only one of them is. That makes it worse, doesn’t it? Watching someone you’ve been with go up into space knowing that they’re never going to come back?”

“It has to.”

It was a tricky thing. They volunteered for this, but there was something difficult about knowingly sending people to die for the betterment of humanity. Were you any better than the scientists who sent Laika up to space? You wanted to imagine that you were, given that a dog can’t consent to being sent to space, and that these humans have. Plus, the whole issue of the world being about to end wasn’t something that was lost on you. Project Hail Mary had to happen, and you should just be grateful that there were people willing to be brave enough to volunteer to die for humanity.

That was what you told yourself, anyway. Sometimes you wondered if you only told yourself these things so you could sleep better at night.  

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“They’re seeking out each other for comfort. How do you… how do you find comfort in all of this?”

You let your attention leave the screen that you were watching so you could really look at the man standing beside you. There was almost a nervous energy about him that wasn’t there before. Like he was afraid to ask what he was asking, but there was nothing inherently telling about the words that were coming from his mouth. His behavior, on the other hand, made you wonder if there was something more going on here than you really understood.

“I mean, I don’t know that it’s entirely for comfort. They spend a lot of time together, and they have the same position, even if she’s his backup. Maybe it’s just a thing that formed at the wrong time, or maybe the right time, so DuBois doesn’t have to be alone before going up into space.” You reasoned, tapping a finger a bit anxiously against your hand.

Your hand was a sight for sore eyes. You had been maintaining a full set of nails for a bit, but with more hands on work, they kept getting caught on things. It was too painful to just remove them, and you weren’t about to request that Stratt bring some nail remover to soak them in. Some of the false nails had come off, leaving a bit of torn up nail for a few days in their wake. Others were still clinging to life. You had two lingering on one hand and one lingering on the other, making the entire vibe seem just a little bit off.

Still, you hadn’t really answered his question. You’d just opined on two other people rather than actually thinking about what he had asked you. Or, maybe you had. Maybe you thought about it, and you were too nervous to answer. But the world could end in a handful of decades, and maybe it didn’t suit you to not be entirely honest while you have the chance to be.

“I mean, the only thing that’s really brought me comfort in all of this is… um… you, mainly.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

He was quiet for just a second, and for a moment you wondered if you shouldn’t have said anything at all. But when your eyes met his again, you were certain that he had known in some capacity why you got a little fluttery when he got too close to you. And maybe that was why he did it, judging by the look in his eyes. He did it to make you fluttery; he just didn’t know how to express what it was that was going on. Neither did you, really, so who would you be to judge him?

“Likewise.” His tone was quiet, a bit shy. And for a moment, you just sat in the semi-awkward silence and just watched the astrophage.

It felt like some sort of switch was flipped when you looked back at him, though. He had been standing a mostly respectful distance away from you at first, but the next thing you knew, you were pressed back against the edge of a table, and your fingers were tangled in his hair. It was reckless, you knew that. There were cameras everywhere in this room and people who were probably checking them. But you were just kissing, anyway.

Kissing with a bit of his tongue pressed into your mouth, and his hand pushing underneath the bottom hem of your shirt so he could rest his fingers against your skin. You sighed as he pressed into you, your teeth nipping softly at his bottom lip before you let out a quiet noise when his tongue brushed against yours. You could taste a sugary-sweet candy residue on his tongue when he did it, but you were mainly distracted by the whimper that he let out when you sucked his bottom lip in between yours when he pulled away.

“I’d say-” You were a bit out of breath, your eyes in something like a trance when they met Grace’s again. “That it was probably more than just comfort.”

“Probably. Definitely.”

“How much longer would you imagine we have to just stare at this screen for?”

“Mmm…” He turned back to look at the screen. The process was in the middle of being sped up, but there were variables that needed to be figured out. Stratt was in New Zealand the last time you heard from her. She claimed that she had a contact there who could help with the project and help to speed up the production of astrophage. There were still people lingering, other scientists, but for now, you were working with what you had. And what you had was going to take a while. “Five hours, probably. Then we can move on to something else. Why?”

“I’m just thinking that we’ve been standing here doing next to nothing, no issues, for the last half hour. Would it be that bad if we left for like… another half hour?”

“I mean, anything could happen-”

“Yeah-”

“And if we leave them, what if something bad-”

“Gr-”

“And we just had lunch so- oh, you don’t want a break.”

“No, not exactly.”

“I see.”

“So…”

“Yeah, they can do without us for thirty minutes.”

You laughed as he all but dragged you back to where you woke up every morning, your fingers intertwined tightly with his as he tugged you into his room. It looked almost the exact same as yours, but where you had some pictures with family for friends taped to the wall, he had drawings. Drawings that you were pretty sure were made by his students. Drawings wishing him good luck, people who looked up to him, and knew that his leave of absence from work was brought on by the science that he was contributing to the world.

There wasn’t really a lot of time to think about that, though.

Not when you were tugging him back against the twin-sized cot, certainly not when you helped him tug your shirt up and over your head.

“You wanna go quick or slow?” He asked, his voice a little needier than you had ever heard it before. Your fingers were on the edge of his shirt, tugging the t-shirt with a pun printed on it over his head and pulling him closer to you. His lips were on your neck the moment that he was close enough, your thighs pressed against his hips as you sighed and let your head fall back a bit.

“I don’t think we can afford slow, right now.”

“Probably not.” He agreed, his hands moving to your jeans. You pushed your hips up so he could get them off easier, toeing off your sneakers as best as you could with them still tied. Grace was careful and gentle as he tugged your jeans down, his kisses trailing down your chest and stomach before resting on your skin as his blue eyes met your face again. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive, yes.” You responded, your eyes locked on his. He was utterly sweet, something that you had been grateful for from the moment that you met him. You really should have known that would extend to him being careful in bed with you. But you could still feel that unexpected fluttering in your chest when he spoke like that. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely.”

He was enthusiastic, really. As were you.

But he didn’t waste too much time taking your panties off, letting them fall to the floor before resting his hands on your thighs. You didn’t need a whole lot of prompting to spread them, your eyes still on his face as you watched his gaze descend to the wetness between your thighs.

You almost wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to eat you out since you were in a little bit of a rush, but the moment his tongue ran through your folds, you knew that there was no chance you were going to tell him that he needed to hurry up. You’d been pent up for a bit. The walls were thin, and if you did anything, he was going to hear it through them. So you were a bit too distracted to say anything to the contrary when his mouth pressed against your pussy.

Your head fell back as you sighed, a quiet moan leaving your mouth. Your rooms were connected, but there were other rooms connected to these ones and other people in these hallways. It was all too easy for you to be heard, so you knew that you needed to keep quiet. It was just a little bit hard when Grace had his head between your thighs, his lips wrapped delicately around your clit while his tongue lapped diligently at the throbbing bud.

After a moment, your fingers tangled into his hair. You didn’t tug, didn’t really hold him there. You just held him, brushing them through the blond locks for a moment and gripping them tightly for another moment. Your lips were parted, your eyes struggling to stay open as you bit down harshly on the inside of your cheek to try and keep quiet. The occasional soft mumble of his name left your mouth, but you were too blissed out to really think about it as you felt a coil tightening in your stomach.

Your hips ground slightly against his lips, your fingers tightening in his hair as you felt your breathing and heart rate increase. You were as quiet as you could be when you came against his mouth, when he lapped up all of the additional wetness that had seeped out of you before slotting his hips in between your legs while you were still working on getting your eyes open again.

The second you were aware, though, you had your fingers fumbling with his belt. Grace laughed when you got too eager and struggled with it, and it was your turn to laugh when he got too eager and struggled with it, too. But he was unclothed before you knew it, pressing inside of you as you leaned back against the bed.

His movements were careful at first, making sure you were comfortable before he moved again. And he was good at it; he made you feel good, and even being quiet, the noises that left his mouth were heavenly. But he was giggly, too. He made you laugh while he fucked you, and then he fucked the laughter right out of you, only to make you laugh again. He hit just the right spot inside of you, and then made some stupid comment about getting a noise complaint every time he did it.

But he held your hand when you grabbed at his, he whined into your mouth, and let your hips meet every single movement of his hips. He sighed and told you how good you felt wrapped around him, how tight and wet you felt, how he needed to come as soon as possible. And he was responsible. He pulled out and came on your stomach, even though you’d both been irresponsible and had sex without protection.

If you were going to linger on it for a moment longer, that was interrupted when Grace spoke up from beside you. “How are we possibly going to ask Stratt for condoms?” His voice was teasing, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes full of a bit of euphoria. But there was something beneath his question. He was making sure that this was happening again without actually asking the real question at hand.

“Just ask DuBois and Shapiro, I’m sure they know.”

You teased, leaning your head on his chest for a moment.

And for just a few minutes, it felt like everything was normal. You could forget the world outside, forget the fact that everything might come to an end if you don’t get everything just right.

But not all good things last forever.

It was an odd couple of weeks. You had been training the people who were going to space one day, and the next day, both the science officer and his backup were dead. It had been an accident. A terrible mistake that had been caused by someone mis-measuring astrophage for an experience. Astrophage was so new and experimental that it was difficult for anyone who wasn’t an expert to know what they were doing with it. That alone made you feel guilty. Maybe it shouldn’t have been just anyone handing it out; maybe you could have done more.

Maybe it didn’t matter when you were sitting face to face with Stratt in a room while she handed over test results to you.

“I don’t understand-”

“You don’t have the coma-resistant gene, and I don’t have the coma-resistant gene, but given that you work for me and the two of you are close, I think you have the right to know that he does.”

Your eyes followed the text on the paper. You had never had a hard time reading before, but right now it seemed like nothing was processing.

“Why are you showing me this?”

You knew why. Deep down, you knew why this was being brought up. Stratt had lost her science officer and her backup science officer. She needed a new one, and she needed them soon. But you didn’t want to accept it, you couldn’t.

“Dr. Grace knows this stuff inside and out. He’s been in every meeting, he’s the leading expert in this, and he knows everything there is to know about Project Hail Mary. I need an eligible science officer in a matter of days, and he’s the only one.”

“There’s plenty of volunteers.”

“And those volunteers haven’t had months of training. They can learn in a few days, but they won’t learn enough. It’s too risky.”

“So we push it back.”

“You know why we can’t.”

Your fingers tightened in your sleeves as you shook your head. “Fine, I’ve worked with him this whole time, I know just as much about Project Hail Mary as he does. Send me.”

“You’re not a biologist.”

“And yet he’s taught me everything he knows about astrophage.”

“You’re also not eligible because you have a far lower chance of surviving the coma.”

“Well, then-just-just take the risk.”

“He’s the best pick for this.”

There was never really any talking Stratt down when she made up her mind, and you knew that she was right. Grace was the best pick; he knew everything there was to know, and he was the only one who could make the trip that was ready for it. He was humanity’s best shot right now, and you knew it would be incredibly selfish to sit there and deny that.

“Let me go with him, then.”

“Absolutely not, three people are enough.”

“Five.”

“What?”

“DuBois and Shapiro. Five people.”

“Five people, fine. I’m not making it six.” Stratt stood up from her seat. While she needed to be cold with this, she owed it to the world to do what needed to be done; you could see that there was some empathy in her expression. “Had I known you would fall in love with him, and had I known that we’d need to use him, I wouldn’t have sent you to do this. But I had no way of knowing that. And I am sorry, for what it’s worth.”

You felt like your head was spinning a little bit.

It was a lot of information all coming in at once, and you hadn’t the slightest clue how to adequately process what you were being told. Your first gut-reaction was to deny that you were in love with him since that wasn’t something that you’d discussed with Grace in the time that you’d been getting closer, but you’d known him for longer than that by now. You worked together day in and day out. You knew him better than anyone at this point, and you couldn’t send him to die.

“He’s not going to agree, Eva.”

“I hope he does, but even if he doesn’t, I have no choice.”

You knew what that meant. Grace was always the third backup. He was always the one who was going to be sent if something like this happened. But the chance of something like this happening was next to zero at the time that the plan had been thought out. How could Stratt possibly know that DuBois and Shapiro would both be a part of a terrible accident? No one knew, no one had any possible way of knowing. And now that it was the reality, the most unlikely situation was coming upon you.

“Can I be there, at least?”

“Of course.”

“And what if I sneak on the Hail Mary? What if I just stay awake-”

“There’s not enough rations, and you know that everything was measured down to the last coma-goop treatment. Any extra food isn’t going to be provided, especially if you sneak on.”

You nodded, your face almost blank. It was a shock, you knew that. You had to be in some form of shock, and you didn’t know how to cope with it. You didn’t want to cope with it. The idea of being honest about what had happened felt unreasonable, but it was happening. And it was happening fast.

Within an hour, you were sitting beside Grace and across from Ilyukhina and Yao. Your hand was within Grace’s, your leg shaking anxiously. He had been asking if you were alright all day, but he was going to come to find out why you weren’t, rather quickly. As you expected, there was some protest in him, but then that shock set into him just as it had set into you. He was being asked to give his life, and you knew that just as well as he did. But he didn’t want to, he didn’t want to go.

You’d ended up with him on the rooftop after a little bit, your head pressed against his shoulder while the rain soaked into your shirt.

“I can’t do this, I’m not qualified for this. I don’t know the last thing about-did you know?”

“What?”

“You were upset when I came in, did you know?”

“Stratt told me I had the right to know that she was going to ask you, that she had no other choice. She even told me that she was sorry.”

Normally, that might have warranted a joke about Stratt apologizing being difficult for her. But right now, you were both quiet.

Grace tugged you a bit closer, your face pressing into his neck while he held onto you. “I can’t do it.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“I can’t leave you, the kids, the-I can’t. I’m gonna fuck it up. The entire world is going to die because Stratt thinks that a middle school science teacher is somehow the only choice.”

Your arms wrapped tighter around his. You were pretty sure you were crying into his skin, but you weren’t sure if it was the rain or not. “I told her I’d go in your place, but she said I don’t have the right genes. Some shit about how I’m not a biologist.”

“You aren’t.”

“And-”

“I wouldn’t let you go in my place, either.”

You only tugged him closer, letting his face press against your head while you tried to not to think about what was going to happen.

Selfishly, you wanted to tell him that Stratt was going to make him go. If you told him that just saying no wasn’t going to be good enough, maybe you could help him get out of here. Maybe you could find a way to get on the quickest flight to the opposite side of the planet and go entirely off the grid so Stratt wouldn’t find you until after the Hail Mary launched. She was probably going to go on trial anyway, wasn’t she? She had done everything she did to save the world, sure. She had been given immunity, sure. But there were still people who were going to give her a hard time.

If you told him, maybe you wouldn’t feel like you had his blood on your hands. But something told you deep in your gut that Stratt was right. There was no one who could do this mission like Grace could. There was no one who could learn quickly enough, and society wasn’t going to work together to ration food. Life on Earth while the Hail Mary was in space was going to be decades or war, and famine, and pain. You were going to have a terrible time, and if the Hail Mary failed, then everyone was going to die. You would have every single person in existence’s blood on your conscience in addition to Grace’s eventual blood.

What life was that, anyway? People would die during the duration of the trip to Tau Ceti. What if one of them was him? What if you told him, escaped with him, and he died anyway?

You couldn’t tell him.

As much as you wanted to, as much as the short-term solution was telling him, and trying to run. As much as you knew that not trying meant, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you were never going to see him again, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t be selfish. You’d gotten into this whole ordeal because you couldn’t let the world die, and you couldn’t lose that now.

“I was right, you know.”

“About what?”

“Shapiro and DuBois. I think it’s harder to do this knowing that-” When you cut off, it was like there was something lodged in your throat. “I love you, you know. I wasn’t supposed to, I guess. But I do love you.”

“You’re talking like we’re never going to see each other again. I could still back out.”

“I know.”

There was a finality in your tone, one that he noticed. Because deep down, Grace was at least a little bit aware that this, just like being dragged out of his classroom, wasn’t much of a choice. He still wanted to be in denial, to believe that he had a choice in the matter, but some part of his gut instinct was telling him that you were right to treat this like a goodbye.

“I love you, too.”

Everything was like a traumatizing blur, but you waited until after he was knocked out to cry. You didn’t want to make him feel worse; you didn’t want that to be the last thing that he remembered of you, either. He would have some form of amnesia at the start of it, he wouldn’t remember pretty much anything, much less whether or not you were crying for a while. But he would eventually.

You slipped a note into his pack before the launch of the Hail Mary, and it felt morbid.

People were gathered like they always were, but everyone knew that it was different. This wasn’t some trip to the moon; this was a trip to Tau Ceti. This was a trip for three heroes who, as far as the public knew, volunteered. People who were risking their lives to save humanity. The science and math communities alike knew that when they came back, it wouldn’t be for a very long time. But people still believed that there was a chance the Hail Mary would return someday.

No one really needed to know the plan or how much astrophage was on the trip. The fuel itself for the ship was to unknown to most people that it was nearly impossible for people who didn’t have their hands on it and hadn’t worked on the project to know that there wasn’t enough on the ship for a return. Some knew that it was unlikely, but others chose to keep the faith. To not just believe in the Hail Mary, but to believe in a happy ending that you, and everyone on the project, knew was never going to come.

​

It had been almost twenty-seven years when the Beetles entered the atmosphere again. Following your work on Project Hail Mary, there had been some investigations into you, but for the most part, you had been let off the hook. You had immunity, the same as Stratt. You didn’t, at first. But she made sure that you got it as her own form of apology for what happened to Grace.

You were older now, and you volunteered some of your time to a large air and space museum that valued your relationship to Dr. Grace. It had been a referral from one of the women who worked there that made you start volunteering. Olivia, she had said her name was. You only found out after a month of being there that she had been one of Grace’s students.

Life wasn’t normal, not anymore. Everything was all messed up, and a lot of people had lost hope in Project Hail Mary a long time ago, but you never did.

The light of a large display screen illuminated your face as you walked past it, pausing when you noticed two men in suits lingering by the door. They looked federal; you’d been around enough federal suits to know what they looked like. For a moment, you wondered if your immunity had somehow worn off. But you heard the speakers on the screen beside you.

It was sometimes used for documentaries, but it was connected to the satellite. Still, it was unusual that anything not on schedule would be airing right now.

But it was unusual because it was airing on every screen imaginable. A message recovered from one of the Beetles, a message recovered from the Hail Mary. Your eyes met the familiar face of Ryland Grace, a man who looked exactly the same as he had when you last saw him. You felt your eyes widen a bit, your hand covering your mouth as you tried to mask the way your lips had quivered. But you watched. Listening as a message of him talking about the Hail Mary played on the television, a message confirming that he had done exactly what he was sent to space to do, without the other two crew members of the Hail Mary, who hadn’t survived the journey.

You weren’t even fully aware you were crying until the message was over, until the screen went back to normal, but nothing else did. Everyone was talking or cheering or crying or a hefty mix of all three. But you were being ushered out by the men in suits, one of them handing you a note that had been recovered from Ringo. A note from Grace.

Surely, you figured, you would be given a copy of the messages, you would see Stratt again, you would be involved with the science of this whole thing all over again without Grace. But you’d have his messages, you’d have his letter. And you’d known that the best thing that you could have done for humanity was  not stopping Grace - Grace, who hated rising to the occasion, who didn’t want to go on the mission at all - from saving humanity. You’d done your part, even if it tore your soul out a bit.

Ryland Grace glared at you over the rim of his glasses as he righted himself, straightening the papers he'd been grading. His dirty-blond hair was a right mess, sticking up in all directions like he'd just been touched by a static spark.

"Have you ever heard of knocking?"

You grinned, crossing your arms as you leaned against his desk. "I don't think you wouldn't heard me with the way you were snoring."

Grace made a face, offended. "I wasn't snoring."

He wasn't. But you liked to make fun of him.

You made a show of checking your nails (which weren't manicured, but you had nothing else to make a show of), frowning. "You were late, so I came looking for you."

Grace's deep blue eyes widened. "Late?" He checked his watch and shot to his feet like a man possessed, shuffling to collect his papers and shove them in his briefcase. "Oh no. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll go with you right now. Is now okay? I know it's late--"

Your mischievous giggle gave him pause. You flashed him a cheeky grin over your shoulder. "The release is tomorrow, Grace."

His shoulders fell. "Y/N, what..." He fell back into his chair with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. Tomorrow was the release of a new book in a series you'd been reading together, and he'd promised to go with you to the signing. With the deadline of the broadcast for the Petrova Line's probe getting nearer and nearer, everyone was acting like it was their last day on Earth. Since it was a Saturday, he'd promised to come with you early to get a signed copy-- which might take several hours, if people weren't chaotic enough to just storm the venue. "What am I gonna do with you?"

You pulled a bright yellow beanbag out of your hoodie pocket. It fit perfect in your palm. "Take me to the movies. Go get ice cream. Go for a walk in the park. Anything you do that involves me is going to be awesome." You tossed him the beanbag. "Here. A sun for your Earth."

He snatched it out of the air. "Oh, that's cool. Thank you." He turned it over in his hands a couple of times, thinking. "How about... ice cream, then my place? We can watch a movie on the TV? I'm really sorry, I'm just so exhuast--"

"If you apologize one more time," You warned, "I'm gonna dump water on your head." You waved his water bottle at him pointedly. You both held a hard, cold stare for as long as you could; he cracked first, smirking slightly. You widened your eyes suddenly and he fully broke with a soft laugh.

"Okay, fine. I won't apologize again. Today."

You and Grace had known each other a very, very long time. You grew up in the same town, were bullied at the same school, attended the same college, and now lived in the same city-- and not wholly by intent. But you're glad for it, because if you had to go a day without seeing Grace, then you might as well go a day without breathing.

You'd been raised in very different lives. While his was a science household, yours was very strict Catholic. You escaped through science and were punished severely for it, which pushed you into a career as a doctor that you didn't want but were extremely good at. You'd won a couple of awards. It just felt... hollow. It wasn't what you wanted.

You lived in an apartment chock full of biology books, projects, and knick knacks that you'd collected over the years, and it just made you sad. It was like a memory of the life you could have had if you hadn't listened to your parents-- parents you didn't speak to anymore, but you were so deep in medical school debt that going back to school was just unattainable. You didn't have any friends; maybe some friendly coworkers, but never anyone close.

No pets, no boyfriend, no kids, no plants. Just you, yourself, and Grace.

No one was like Grace.

When you were kids, he'd help you with your science projects. In college, he supported you when you cut off your parents when they were trying to set you up with guys your age and trying to get you to get married-- the final straw that broke the camel's back with them. You guys moved to different cities briefly after that, but kept in touch. When he was fired, he moved to your city and got a job as an 8th grade science teacher.

Just like you supported him; when his parents died after college, when the rest of his family cut him off because of his "crazy" theories that got him fired in the first place. You helped him find an apartment in your city, cosigned for him, and since he only has his bike, you let him use your car, and you ferried him around wherever he needed to go.

You two were close, to say the least. And you loved him with all of your heart. The dorky way he wore his glasses, his stupid science shirts, his perpetually messy hair, his passion for science and his kids and biology, his theories, the little things he'd do...

It's a shame he doesn't know any of that.

Somehow, you knew each other better than you knew yourselves, and you couldn't bring yourself to admit that you were in love with him; that you've been in love with him since you were young. Ninety percent of the pictures in your house were of you and him. The pictures and the gifts from Grace were really your only pops of color against the plain backdrop of whites and grays in your apartment. You weren't going to risk ruining the only good thing in your life. At least, not any time soon.

Grace had tried to date around awhile back, which hurt your heart, but you said nothing. When his college girlfriend Linda left him for a geology professor, Grace essentially swore off dating because he was scared of getting hurt again-- which left him with only you.

Not intentionally. You both did try, separately and together, to have friends and go out. Nothing ever seemed to work out. It felt like it was you and Grace against the world.

Wordlessly, you admired him as he collected his things and threw on his jacket. He noticed you watching him only as he started toward the light switches. He slowed down halfway there, pausing to look over his shoulder at you. "...What? Do I have something on my face?"

Heat crept up your neck as you averted your gaze. You shook your head minutely and hurried to catch up with him. "Nope."

He waited for you to reach him and put his free arm around your shoulder with a smile, leading you out of the classroom. You flipped off the switch as you left. "How was school today?"

"Long," He sighed. "The kids are worried about the Petrova line, but I can't tell them anything about it until the probe reaches it." He readjusted his coat hung over his arm. "What about you?"

You took a deep breath. You didn't want to tell him about what was going on at work, but you didn't really want to keep anything from him. The only secret you'd ever kept from him was that you were in love with him. "So... I think I might get fired." Grace stopped in his tracks, brow bunching together with worry. "I had a patient the other day who'd been banned from three other practices... He kept starting fights over his care. Wanting us to do specific procedures but not wanting us to perform the needed tests. Dr. Meyer-- you know him--"

"Unfortunately," Grace grumbled, a muscle ticking in his cheek. Dr. Meyer was the office manager and lead doctor of your practice, and very very persistent in getting you to go out with him. Every time you denied, you got repercussions at work-- forced leave, complaints from staff, and every time you reported him nothing was done. He was apparently under investigation, but you saw no evidence of that. The only time Grace had met him was at a plus one work event a few years ago, and despite Grace being right there had kept trying to flirt with you and pull you away.

Needless to say you'd been looking for other options, but you couldn't afford to be without a job and it was very, very difficult to find a position in your town.

You continued with a sigh. "Well, he accepted him, and when he started requesting the procedures, I denied care. He wouldn't accept the pre-admission tests, and we can't do anything without that. He didn't even want me to read his medical history. Nothing is wrong with him physically. It's neurological, but he refuses to see a specialist. He just keeps coming to doctors.

"Yesterday, I found forged papers okaying the procedures with my name on them. Once it leaves our practice to the surgery department, I'm screwed. I never even did a full exam on the guy."

"Y/N," Grace interrupted in warning, his voice soft. "...You won't be able to work in healthcare again. At least, not easily." You shook your head solemnly. The wind blew your hair into your face and you pulled it away. "Maybe that's a blessing in disguise," Grace added, helping to tuck your wild hair behind your ear and wholly unaware of the way your heartbeat quickened. "You'd be able to pursue a science degree like you always wanted."

"I can't afford that, Grace."

He stared at you for a moment, like he was doing calculations in his head. Finally, he took your arm and began leading you to your truck. "We'll figure it out, don't worry. Whatever happens, happens. You know I've got your back."

"I know." You tossed him your keys and turned toward his bike. You didn't have to look to know he caught them. He always did. He didn't have to ask to know you'd already snatched his bike lock keys out of his back pocket. By the time you'd gotten his bike unlocked, he'd already pulled up behind you. He parked by you and started to get out. You rolled your eyes. "I'm fully capable of putting it in the bed."

He shrugged. "It's my bike, though." He tossed it in a bit unceremoniously as you got in the passenger side. He smiled at you when he returned. "Sooooo, Dairy Queen, then my place? What do you want to watch?"

"I dunno." As he pulled out of the school, you added, "To be totally fair I don't even know what kind of ice cream I want. Or if I'm gonna get food while we're there."

Grace chuckled a bit. "You'll figure it out."

"That's your answer to everything."

"Our answer to everything," He specified, and pulled up his right sleeve to reveal a bracelet you hadn't seen in a very, very long time. Just simple brown cord with a couple of beads, it said "We will always..." You'd made that for him in high school.

"You still have that?!"

Grace smiled at your agape jaw. "What? You still wear yours." He laid his arm on the center console, silently asking for you to lay yours by his. You pulled up your own sleeve a bit, dumbfounded, and let your bracelet finish the sentence on his. "...Figure it out." "Your job, ice cream, movie, the Petrova line, doesn't matter what it is. We'll figure it out."

"I guess we will," You were stuck staring at the bracelets in shock for a minute. You were sure it'd been stupid when you made them. You still wore yours out of habit-- you'd never gone without it-- and your half of the sentence kind of made sense by itself, even if it made it singular rather than involving Grace in whatever you were figuring out. Seeing that he still wore it unlocked some kind of giddy well of emotion that you struggled to keep under control as you turned your gaze to admire his profile.

"What?!" He laughed, glancing at you while trying to pay attention to traffic. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Maybe I'm trying to decide what kind of ice cream I want."

"By looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

Grace sighed with exasperation and shook his head as he pulled into Dairy Queen. "Nothing. Nevermind. Drive-thru?" You just nodded, frustration keeping you silent. You wouldn't show it, but sometimes you wished when he caught you staring he'd actually keep going with it. Push you into admitting how you feel.

You kept your hand where it was-- hanging beside his over the center console-- and leaned forward to turn up the news. They were still talking about the Petrova line, speculating on what it could be. You both tensed, anxious at the possibilities that all ended in global catastrophe. Subtly, you slipped your fingertips between his. "Grace..."

"Yeah?"

You couldn't look at him. At some point, you'd have to confess before you both inevitably died terribly, but not yet. "...Will we figure this out, too?" You weren't just talking about the Petrova line. You're sure he must like you too, at least a little bit-- unless you were just wishful thinking. Surely his tender hugs and gentle touches like you were made of glass or long stares meant something more than just friends to him too.

Grace surprised you by shaking your hand away. You were briefly hurt before he repositioned his hand to take yours, entwining your fingers with a gentle squeeze. "Yes." He ran his thumb over the back of your hand and met your gaze meaningfully. "I promise."

Maybe he wasn't just talking about the Petrova line, either.

~~~

"Grace! Grace!" Your hoarse voice cut through mechanical beeping and squealing of the medical systems panicking as you crawled out of your cot. Tubes left every orifice but your mouth, which was raw from the feeding tube that had been removed. Everything hurt worse now. You couldn't stand. Your vision blacked in and out. This was day two of trying to get to him.

Olesya and Yao were dead. They had to be. But Grace's vitals were still working. He was fine, right? What if he died next?

No. You couldn't take it. Not your Grace.

"Grace!"

The computer's mechanical voice cut through the chaos: "Eye movement detected. Preparing Dr. Ryland Grace for wake up procedure."

You felt the anesthesia in your IV again. It was quick-acting. Your vision began to fade as his cot was pulled from the wall. He has eye movement. He's waking up. But is he sound? Did Stratt actually induce amnesia? Please tell me he fought it. Please...

You filled your lungs and yelled his name with everything you had before you were swept away into darkness again.

~~

You and Grace sat on his couch, half asleep as the credits of Return of the Jedi played.

"Good movie," You mumbled, head nodding into the pillow on your lap. Grace didn't answer right away. You smiled warmly at his sleeping form before switching off the TV and bracing yourself for the drive home. It wasn't long, but it was certainly lonely.

"Y/N," He said groggily, making you jump. He didn't seem to notice. "I was thinking."

"Apparently hard enough to knock you out."

He hummed a laugh and cracked his deep blue eyes open, hesitating. "What if we just moved in together?"

Your heart dropped. "What?"

Grace started listing things off on his fingers. "We're literally always together, we're always spending the night at each other's apartments, you're about to lose your job, you have a car we both can use. It's not like we really have any concept of personal space anyway."

"I mean... I have seen you at your worst. You were dying." Grace immediately knew you were talking about when he was sick a few years ago-- just a basic cold. But he'd taken a week off of work because he could barely breathe or move, you stayed at his place to nurse him back to help, and he acted like he was on death's door. You dramatically started mocking him. "Oh my God, I can't feel my face, I'm gonna die--"

Grace raised his voice to speak over you, rolling his eyes. "I was sick, I couldn't even walk--"

"Please, get me a pen so I can write my will I'm not gonna make it--"

"The one time I call for you for help because I'm sick and I could barely breathe--"

"I'm LITERALLY dying I need to go to the hospitaaaaal--"

"I thought I really needed to go!"

You busted out laughing. "To be totally fair, you really were sick enough to have me worried. I just like teasing you."

"So I noticed!" He scoffed, glaring at you from his place on the couch-- still half-asleep. "You're one to talk, anyway. Any time you get the slightest congestion--"

"I'm gonna stop you right there--" You held up a hand in a futile effort to stop him, but he ignored you.

"Graaaace, can I borrow some benadryllll?"

"I do not sound like that!"

"You're a doctor how do you not already have benadryl?!"

"I keep forgetting to buy some and you're always prepared for anything."

Grace made it a point to judge you over the rim of his glasses. "Well? Living together? You'll always have access to Benadryl."

"And you'll always have someone to take care of you when you're sick, you big baby."

"I am not--"

"Can I think about it?" Your tone had shifted into something more serious that Grace could sense. You two hadn't lived together since that one summer you'd both went to your grandparents' house out west when you were teens to run a science experiment on the Great Plains. But living with him now?

The world could end any day now. You're kind of on a deadline here. Living with him might push you to make the leap into confessing. But could you bring yourself to do it?

Grace only nodded. "Take as much time as you need. No pressure if you decide to or not. You know that. You sleeping here tonight?" You answered with a distracted hum. You usually slept over on the weekends, insisting to stay on his pullout couch while he got his bed. He brought you some bedding as you got everything ready and pulled a pair of pajamas out of your purse.

"Y/N?" Grace lingered in the door to his bedroom, the rest of the lights in the house off except for the TV.

"Yeah?" You paused on your way to the bathroom to change, turning to look at him.

He chewed on his bottom lip for a minute and straightened his glasses before clearing his throat. "I don't know if you... have anybody. Romantically, like that. But if they're uncomfortable with it--"

"There's nobody, Ryland." Your voice cracked. You never used his first name unless it was very, very serious. He knew that. He couldn't bring his gaze up to meet yours. Nobody but you. "I don't have anyone." You hesitated, then added with a breezy cough, "But if you--"

"I don't." His eyes flicked up once, almost like he was gauging your reaction. "I-I'm not with anybody. Haven't been in a long time." A heavy silence dragged between you. You were only separated by a hallway, but it felt so much longer than it really was, so much deeper. It was like the vastness of space itself stretched between you. "Do you have anyone you're interested in?"

You froze. Say it now. Say it. Your tongue was like lead in your mouth. "Grace--" You choked, and you inwardly cursed. It sounded like you were only reprimanding him. "Grace uh..." Panic made you change the subject. "Do you?"

Grace met your gaze intently. Your face flushed. "...I don't know yet." The two of you lingered in the hallway a moment before he half-turned away. "'Night."

The door clicking shut behind him was the loudest thing you'd ever heard.

~~~

You choked as you woke up. A tube was in your throat again, hindering your screams as you groggily flailed around, trying to pull out the IV but finding yourself restrained.

You had moved in with Grace. You two had been living together for only a couple of weeks when he told you about getting signed on for the Petrova taskforce against his will, then his discoveries about astrophage. He told you all about his findings-- a mistake, actually, because you woke up in the middle of the night to a couple of FBI-looking guys kidnapping you and whisking you away to the lab, where you were basically put on house arrest unless Grace was with you-- and Stratt, refusing to deal with the loopholes of getting you slowly in the loop, allowed you top security clearance just so you could be with Grace. She called you his security blanket, which wasn't entirely a lie, although he was also yours. Comforting each other from shared panic attacks wasn't easy, though.

Stratt had been nice enough to order some of your things returned to you. Stratt had been nice enough to do quite a lot of things, and you couldn't even blame her for doing what she did to Grace.

From an unbiased perspective, it was the logical thing to do.

To you, she wrestled your love onto a ship bound for a star never to return, against his will, forced him into a coma, and erased his memory for a little while.

"Hey, hey easy!" Grace. Oh my God, he's okay. You weren't thinking straight. All you wanted was off of the damn bed. "Calm down! Let me help you!" It took everything you had to calm down. You were in space. No trees, plains, rain, ever ever again, just endless space and death waiting for you--

--but Grace was here. Grace, who you'd chosen to die for.

"Hold still," He urged, leaning over you. You welled up, tears streaming down your face when you see him. A little more tired, his hair a bit longer and his face hastily-shaven. "I had the robot take everything else out. You were out of it for a couple of days though, so I had them put the feeding tube back in. I didn't want you to starve. Relax." You forced yourself to, watching as he gently began to pull the tube out of your mouth.

You choked and coughed, doubling over; it was over quick, and he undid your restraints hurriedly. "The computer did this. It said you kept throwing yourself out of bed-- oh--!"

You threw your arms around his neck and let out sobs held back by four years of a medical coma. You'd had all of twenty minutes to decide if you were going to die for Grace by the time Stratt got to you. Now that you were awake, and so was he, it was all hitting you at once.

You were going to die. Within the next couple of years.

You weren't ready.

"Grace--"

"I don't remember you," He managed, voice cracking. "I know you're important. I just can't remember why."

Your sobs came heavier. You'd hoped she wouldn't have drugged him. You'd hoped she'd trusted you enough to keep him from sabotaging the mission-- and you both knew he'd never do that. But she had to take precautions. Vaguely, you heard Grace mumble more to himself than anything, "You're shaking... Uh..." He kept his arms wrapped around you, though, supporting you on the bed. "Computer, do we have heated blankets?"

A moment later, a wall of warmth enveloped you. "I take it you remember a lot more than I do," Grace commented, resting his chin on top of your head. "I'm sorry. I don't know how else to comfort you except hold you."

"It works," You choked, eyeing his wrist. Stratt had listened to you. She didn't have his bracelet removed, or yours. You stared at it as your sobs slowed and your vision faded away.

~~~

"This is stupid," Grace grumbled, adjusting the telescope again. Your eyes found the bracelet on his wrist and smiled. "We can't see it. It's too cloudy. We're on the wrong side of the hemisphere anyway."

"Then find a star other than Tau Ceti," You countered softly, "Find a closer one."

Grace huffed and squinted against the telescope. You fought a giggle, despite the seriousness of the circumstances. At the end of a long, difficult, tiring day, Grace had still wanted to come out and stargaze with you, even if he was being grumpy about it. Being on Baikonur, if you got a few miles away from the base, the sky was endless. Of course, a security detail had to follow you, just so you wouldn't decide to bolt. Grace had disguised it as "research."

He froze then, locked on something. You saw him turning the knob to zoom in and excitement fluttered in your chest. "Find one?"

"Um. Yeah?"

"Why do you sound unsure about that?"

He stepped back, frowning. He extended a hand for his notebook, which you happily handed over. You liked watching him when he's doing something science-y. "It's... It's supposed to be Betelguese."

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline. "'Supposed to be'? Does it have on a fake mustache or something?"

Grace shot you a glare and you raised your hands in poor self-defense. "It's really, really dim. Take a look." You did as he asked and the usually bright red, pulsing orb was much fainter than you'd ever seen it. Your stomach dropped as Grace sighed and jotted down a couple of notes.

"Grace..." You tapped on the telescope's metal casing worriedly. "If... Even if the Hail Mary saves our sun... Will there just be a massive star-death? Will our sky be dark?" You couldn't help the crack in your voice. The thought of thousands of stars dying scared you. A dark sky at night felt unnerving to even think about. Ever since you were a child, you'd adored the stars. You and Grace used to take camping trips solely to stargaze, before all of this with building the Hail Mary.

"Probably," Grace breathed as an icy wind blew across the fields, "Yes. Most likely. I'm sorry. If I could save them all, I would."

"I know you would..." You stepped back from the telescope and let him take over again as he pivoted toward another nearby star. Your heart was pounding. It's now or never. Literally. "Grace... I uh... Can I tell you something that might utterly ruin our friendship?"

He glared at you over the edge of the telescope's eyepiece. "Is it worse than the time you called me back in college and told me you drove into my dorm when you were drunk and trying to park? And then I had to come bail you out of jail?"

You weighed the possible outcomes and winced heavily. "In my defense, I wanted to say hello to my best friend ever?"

"You don't sound sure about that." He tried to hide a smirk and sighed deeply as he went back to the telescope. "Nothing's going to ruin our friendship. Not at this point. What is it?"

You turned away from him, heart pounding and breath coming in short, quick bursts. You can do this. You can definitely do this. "...We've known each other a really long time."

"Yeah."

"We're pretty close."

"Well, I didn't invite you to live with me and get you trapped on this mission because we're not close, so."

You started pacing, keeping your back to him. "You didn't get me trapped here."

Grace scoffed. "I did, actually."

"No, you didn't, last I checked you didn't dress up as some FBI guy and bust down the front door to kidnap me--"

"I love you."

You're pretty sure your heart collapsed in on itself. Your lungs just decided to stop working entirely. You whipped around to face him; his hands were shaking as he fiddled with his pen and notebook, unable to look at you. "Always have. I just... Recently, I realized just how much. I invited you to live with me because I hated being away from you. After I moved back... It was like finding out you can poke an astrophage and kill it. It was jarring." A smile spread across your face at his own reference. "I can't stop thinking, dreaming, about you. Every day is just waiting until I see you again. Just..." He kept his head down as he shortened the distance between you slowly, cautiously, like you'd run away if he moved too fast. "Your cooking, your laugh, your smile, your eyes, your humor, your hair, the way you talk, the way you look at me when you think I'm not looking or the way you interrupt every single movie with your own commentary. I love it. All of it. Every part of you. And if I could go up there and save all your stars, I would. I love you." Finally, only a foot away, he looked at you. Really looked at you, his sapphire eyes glistening with a hint of fear. "Is that by any chance what you were going to say, or did I just ruin everything?"

Now that he'd said it, it was less intense. Your hands and knees trembled as you took a few more steps forward, until you were practically up against him. From here you could hear how quickly he was breathing. "Ryland... I wouldn't want you to save my stars." His shoulders dipped ever so slightly. "I need you here. With me. Every day until it's over. Every day until the stars are all gone. I need you more than any star, even our own. You mean everything to me. And to answer your question, yes. I was going to say 'I love you' and make a whole dramatic speech, but you stole my moment. So. I love you."

You'd barely finished your sentence when he kissed you, as gentle as his fingers were ghosting across your face; like he was asking for permission, almost. You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer and he took that as a sign to go ahead, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you flush against him. He pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours, cupping your face in his hand. "When this is all over, we'll move somewhere where you can see the stars every night before they're gone."

"Only if we can get a dog."

Grace smiled, kissing you again. It was softer this time, more passionate as he moved slow, taking his time. He was savoring you like a man starved. "Deal," He said against your lips.

~~~

On shaky, unsteady legs, you left the washroom of the Hail Mary.

After Grace had helped calm you down, he carried you to the washroom since you couldn't walk by yourself. Even not knowing who you were, he was still resoundingly kind. He helped you where he could, and then he left when you decided to clean yourself up. You detangled four years of rats in your hair, washed, and when you smelled decent, you pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top underneath an orange NASA jumpsuit.

Finally, having eaten a tube of surprisingly good-tasting sludge, you made your way to the lab. You couldn't imagine he'd be anywhere else. You turned the corner and there he was, fiddling with a couple of instruments with no particular experiment nearby. Nervous, maybe.

You watched him for a second; he'd cut his hair since he'd helped you out. It had been hours ago, now. Messy, just like it always was. His glasses hung by one ear and he wore one of those stupid science pun tees under a yellow cosmonaut suit. The man who'd promised to save your stars metaphorically. You'd never wanted him to do it physically. Yet here you were.

The love of your life sat only feet away, and your entire lives together had been erased.

A hollow, aching hole opened up in your chest and you hiccuped with the effort of fighting back sobs. "Grace..."

He looked up. Unknowing of who he was to you, of how much you meant to him, about the sacrificed promise of a home to watch the stars and a dog you'd never have. Of a life you'd never have. You weren't sure if the amnesia was permanent, but it hurt. It hurt worse than knowing you were going to die. Grace's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I... I know you're important. I just can't... I can't remember. Did I know you?"

"Yes," You choked out. Forcing memories on someone coming out of a coma was a shockingly bad idea. You would have to suffer alone for however long it took for him to regain his memories. The thought made you hiccup again. "Yes, we knew each other."

"How long?" His eyes pierced through you, vague recognition there. But he didn't know you. Your Grace was gone, even if temporarily. Who knows? Maybe he was gone forever. When you didn't answer, he asked again. "How long did we know each other?"

You wiped tears away. You needed to be professional, like he was your patient, but... It's Grace. It's my Grace. "A long time."

Grace stood up, taking a deep breath. "Who are you?"

"I'm..." Your best friend. Your lover. Your lab partner. "Your doctor," You choked, managing to look him in the eyes. "I'm your doctor."

"What's your name?"

The sentence hurt more than you thought it would. "Y/N."

The silence that dragged between you was as heavy as your uncertain fates.

~~~

Stratt had you sat across from her. It was only a day after the explosion that killed Shapiro and DuBois. Why were they in the lab together? They knew better than to be in one place... And to use that much astrophage... Worryingly, after he'd come to check on you in the chaos, you hadn't seen or heard from Grace.

And you had a sinking feeling as to why.

"I think you know why you're here," Stratt breathed shakily. Tears rimmed her red, puffy eyes. "I didn't want to do it, Y/N. Really, I didn't. But I had to make a choice."

The ragged gasps of your struggling lungs gave way to desperate sobs. I'll never see him again. I'll just know he's out there. My Grace, my Grace-- "Oh, hail Mary," You breathed. A coincidental exclamation leftover from your upbringing, one that didn't come out for anything short of life-changing.

"I'm about to give you a choice," Stratt's voice cracked as she spoke. You couldn't villainize her. However much you hated her right now, you couldn't. She murdered the love of your life, but her reasoning was so legitimate you couldn't blame her for what she did. Grace was the only one who knew anything about the astrophage. The Hail Mary launches in three days. There's no time to train anyone else, and the human race is on the line.

Even if Grace was the sacrifice.

"A choice?!" You shrieked quietly, "Like you gave him?! What's my choice, Stratt? What kind of statue to build in his honor?"

She drummed her fingers on the table, taking a breath like she was trying to hold back the tears. "...Do you want to go with him?"

Your heart dropped.

Stratt continued with little emotion in her voice as she tried to conceal her pain. "You're a capable doctor. They might need one. You know everything about the medical robot, the supplies, everything. If you want to go, I will let you. You can have a few hours to decide."

You'd leave Earth. Forever. No grass. No rain. No wind, no storms, no waterfalls or hiking or camping or going to Dairy Queen. No BBQs or mindless grocery trips or just going for a summer night drive.

But you wouldn't have Grace.

"I'll go." It felt like a bullet to the chest. It might as well be. Stratt didn't even seem surprised. "I'll go," You reiterated, "I don't need to decide. I'm not letting him go alone. I can't."

Respectfully, Stratt nodded. "Whatever you want, within my power, I can give to you."

"Seeds," You said immediately. "Fruits, vegetables, flowers, trees. I want a whole ecosystem. Eggs. Uhhhhh... Any way to get a small population of breedable livestock would be cool. A dog, maybe. Definitely a dog, if nothing else. I want all the kitchen utensils and ingredients and food that you can get. When we're not in zero g, I want everyone to feel at home."

"Done," Stratt whispered. There were still tears in her eyes, but there was also gratitude. A profound, deep gratitude. But also grief, like she was saying goodbye now. "You could die for him so easily. He couldn't do it for the world."

The words stung your heart.

~~~

You stared at the frozen assortment of seeds, plants, and embryonic livestock. At the bottom of the fridge was a puppy, frozen in cryogenic fluids and vacuum-sealed like you and Grace had been. Stratt really had given you everything you'd asked for. It wasn't like you were interstellar colonists, but she'd been happy to give you a couple of chickens and small pigs to work with if you'd wanted to take the time to raise it and make the crew fresh chicken stew.

And the dog. She'd included the dog. Plenty of chicken and dog food, too.

"I named her Laika," Grace mumbled from behind you. "I can't find any logs on why this was included. Everything down to the last piece of dirt was cataloged, except for this. I just can't figure out why."

"I asked for it," You explained softly, closing the fridge. Now wasn't the time to defrost any of it. "You could say I was a very, very last minute addition to the crew."

"Why?" Grace pressed, following you to the control room's ladder. "What aren't you telling me?"

You whipped around, frowning. "What?"

Grace put his hands together, clearly exasperated. "You're hiding something. I don't know why I know that, but I do. You're hiding something and you won't tell me because you're a doctor, and if I freak out from how much you're loading on me then you're gonna blame yourself. I get that, I really do, but you have to tell me why I'm here. I know we're not orbiting our sun, but why?"

You were backed into a corner-- literally and figuratively. If you told Grace everything and left out the parts about you being a couple, or him being forced, he'd feel betrayed later. If you told him now, he might not trust you. Unfortunately for him, letting him remember on his own might be the best way of going about this.

So, start slow. He isn't asking about your personal relationship right now. You took a deep breath, and tried to recall every detail of the Hail Mary mission you could to brace for follow up questions. "Well, Grace..."

His own words under the plains that night came back to you. If I could go up there and save all your stars, I would.

"...We're here to save the stars."

ryland isn't helpless in the bedroom by any means – that man would 100% talk you through it.

sometimes, though, that confidence wavers. you're not a thesis he can prove or an equation he can solve for, you're a human being who – for some reason – has a romantic interest in him. That's infinitely more complicated (and a little terrifying for him).

on the contrary, you're of the belief that his attractiveness is fairly easy to study. is a study even necessary? (not like you'd complain if it was.)

it is.

you try explaining this to him one night in your shared apartment. it's not going very well. he's not very responsive to words of encouragement alone... hm, maybe apply supplemental stimuli?

your eyes darken. "do you need me to just show you?"

his throat bobs as his cheeks flare crimson. "maybe."

without further discussion, you lead him into the bedroom.

you have him undress first. slowly. "let's see... initial observations." his dark t-shirt falls to the floor. you allow only a sliver of distance between your bodies.

"lovely mouth." a brush of your thumb under his bottom lip. "best kiss-bitten. pretty words," you slip the digit passed his teeth and he welcomes it readily. "good with your tongue." with a hushed, dreamy huff, you withdraw to explore further.

"big arms." drag your nails down both his biceps, let them dig in a little. "always hugged so nicely by your sleeves."

he's tense, adorably so. muscles taut like he's trying not to sweep you up and forget about this whole experiment.

"broad chest." you flatten your palms there and his breath catches.

"strong core." a shiver as your touch trails down his stomach.

he's listening, ears straining to absorb every word. you're saying simple things, too sultry to be entirely clinical, but he's already pink around the ears.

a strangled little sound when you pull at the loops of his jeans, pressing his hips into yours. he's already hard. you have to feel it – the denim doing little to hide it.

his hands are flexing at his sides. he's literally aching to touch you. but ryland wants to listen to you, so he contains himself. this will be about you, you'd said to him.

you pull away – ever controlled – just enough to unfasten his belt, having the nerve to hum as you're systematically unravelling him. he lets you undo the button and zipper. reminds himself to inhale, exhale when he's left on display for you in only his boxer briefs.

are you going to–? you are.

his eyes are so big as you start to lower yourself, leaving gentle kisses in your wake. worshipping. memorizing. oh, and speaking of big...

"more than enough to fill me up." and you actually lick the imprint of him – a single stripe from base to tip – through the fabric of his underwear. a broken moan of your name. there's a weak spasm in his abdomen as his dick gives a desperate twitch for more pressure – more of you. he's honestly surprised that he doesn't combust right then and there. statistically, he isn't sure he'd be able to replicate that outcome.

his skin is burning. you can feel it near your face. under your hands, which are gripping his bare thighs.

poor thing.

when you stand, ryland is biting back a soft cry. your breath had been so warm on him, right where he needed.

you lick your lips. make sure he watches you do so. "take everything off. sit back on the bed, ry." barely a whisper and he's scrambling to obey. the command you hold over him is more than any worldly power he can name.

you remove your own clothes, relishing in the cool air against your own heat – molten just below the surface. your results aren't due anytime soon. you take your time.

"syllogisms," you sigh as you climb on top of him – straddling his lap, but sat forward on your knees, "are deductive tests where a conclusion is found to be either true or false given a set of assumed premises."

fuck, it's hot when you know what you're talking about. both of you are all too aware of the mere inches separating where you want the other the most. he rests his large hands on your thighs, steadying you. his thumbs are rubbing twin arcs into your skin. don't stop, please, he just can't help it.

bringing your lips down, you kiss him. despite the salacious nature of everything else, it's sweet. loving. you don't want him to forget what this is for. "so let's test that original hypothesis, yeah?"

a swallow, "okay."

"attractive things make me wet. this is fact, the main propostion." you reach down to your practically dripping core. ryland doesn't dare tear his gaze away as your cupped hand glides between your folds, gathering slick. you don't even need to push them inside to have enough to coat your palm.

can't refuse when you bring your fingers up to his mouth again. he swallows them greedily, your taste exploding across his tastebuds, pure wonder in his expression as he looks at you from under mussed blond strands.

ryland is still licking them clean when you ask, "taste that?" he's a bit dazed, but he nods, too busy to speak. "mm, good. minor premise: I'm presently aroused. another fact." you remove your fingers and his jaw clenches at the loss.

he doesn't have time to complain. because, in the next moment, you drop. you're flush against him, laving your silken sex across his in blissful rolls of your hips. the sound he makes – mixing with a gasp of your own – is unfathomably embarrassing, though he can't bring himself to care. only manages to blush a deeper red. match your rhythm.

"feel it too? 's because of you, ryland." he actually whimpers. his mind is blank, it's just consumed by youyouyou–

and then, because you must love seeing him tormented, you rise. it borders sin, a glistening thread of your essence still connecting the two of you.

his hips jolt upwards involuntarily, trying to chase the sensation you've taken away. "oh, god, I'm sorry, so sorry," he babbles, words tripping over one another.

"so," you shakily regather your composure, fraying yourself, "if physically attractive things cause me to produce lubricant, and I'm soaked from looking at and touching you, then what can you determine?"

he knows the answer. ryland looks like you just asked him to stand up in front of the class. "don't make me say it." you repeat the sequence. no change in tone – the reiteration alone does the trick. he groans. "attractive things make you wet." his grip on your thighs tightens. "I made you wet." he's looking up at you over his glasses. god, his pupils are huge. "therefore, I'm attractive."

satisfaction swells in your chest. "there you go." the praise makes him throb.

he needs to be buried inside you, now. whatever gets him that honor.

"Be.. fucking...quiet," Court warns with a low groan, "you've been way too loud tonight."

"I...I'm trying not to be, god... 'm sorry, it's just so good," you whimper, your hands clawing desperately at the large expanse of his back. 

Despite his words, Court thrusts into you at such a punishing pace that the bed frame is hitting the wall with a low thud. The lewd sounds caused by his hips snapping into yours fill the room. The mixture of your combined heavy breathing along with your admittedly noisy moaning are definitely disturbing a few neighbors.

"Do you want everyone to know how I fuck you just right...?" Court whispers, voice gruff as he watches the pleasure ever so apparent on your beautiful face. "Tell me."

“Nno.. I'm so embarrassing,” you breathe, more moans slipping out of your plush lips as your eyes squeeze shut.

“Mmm.. not at all, sweetheart, every sound out of you makes me wanna ram into you harder.”

As if to prove his point, Court does exactly that which elicits noises of delight from you both.

“That’s right.. You take it so so well.”

Every filthy phrase out of his mouth causes your core to pulsate even more as if he isn't only pulling you apart with his cock, but that sinful mouth too. Court doesn’t play fair and uses every method at his disposal when it comes to making you feel good.

You can't think, can't comprehend anything but the way Court slides in and out of you like he was made for you. No other experience measures up to the earth-shattering pleasure he always gives you.

Eyes opening, you peek up at your partner to see his deep blues already on you. His large hands are holding the bedframe to fuck you properly and as your gaze travels over his broad shoulders to the multitude of scars, you feel so lucky.

"Too..mm… much, but .. need hnnn more,” you whine.

Your moans are more frantic now, the erotic music of your bodies moving louder too.

"You're such a desperate little thing for my cock, aren't you? Can't control that pretty voice of yours a bit when we fuck."

"I-I can.." you protest weakly.

“Really? Show me, baby.”

Unable to ignore the challenge in his voice, you bring a shaky hand up and press it against your own mouth.

Court narrows his eyes and immediately adjusts his technique in response. He sits up, pulls your legs up so they’re slung over his shoulders, and fucks into you from a new angle.

The new sensation caused by the way his cock is now reaching even deeper inside your pussy causes a sharp gasp to escape. The hand that is supposed to prove you can shush switches to grip the satin sheets under you desperately.

“C-Court, god!” You call out, chest heaving and body so overwhelmed by him.

“Good, always respond just how I like,” Court chuckles darkly. 

It’s not long after that Court doubles over with his climax and as you clutch onto him in absolute satisfaction…You know that the neighbors most assuredly know his name.

It's the next morning. You're in a huge rush; having woken up late and are not going to be on time to the monthly condo board meeting. As you hurriedly shut your door and lock it, the sound of another door opening across the hall makes you pause.

You don’t even have to look to know which neighbor it is. 

Refusing to give the man any satisfaction, you promptly lock your door and start walking down the hallway to the elevators. You keep a quick pace, but feel him easily fall into step next to you.

His presence causes you to swallow hard and adjust the purple turtleneck sweater you wear. It is the middle of summer, but after last night you suddenly feel very very cold.

“You made such a racket last night. I nearly called the police out of genuine concern,” Court's deep voice says.

“E-Exucse me, I’m sure I do not know what you mean, Courtland.”

“Must you always call me that?”

“As the condo board president, I address every resident by their proper name,” you snap.

“Right, must keep it professional at all times, hmm? I admire that about you."

You roll your eyes, lips pressed together. Court never misses a chance to tease you, damn him.

The two of you make it to the elevators and as you press the ‘up’ button, you steal a glance his way.

Court looks tediously handsome–as always–this morning in a black button down with gray slacks and much too expensive shoes. His dark brown hair is slicked back and as his cobalt eyes appraise you back, you spot a hickey peaking out just above his collar.

Heat flaring beneath your cheeks, you quickly look away. Memories of last night flood your brain causing heat to pool in your stomach and your legs to press together.

Unfortunately, Court has already noticed and as he brings his fingers up to gently brush against the love mark, he chuckles.

“Sorry, the partner I’m seeing can be quite possessive of me.”

“I-I don’t know if possessive is the right word.”

“Mhm. You know I’m wondering if you’ve received any of the noise complaints I submitted?”

“Any condo business will be discussed at the meeting.”

“Oh, I’m thrilled to hear your defense, sweetheart.”

Thankfully as if to save you, the elevator light flashes and as the silver metal doors open in response, you step in.

Unfortunately, so does Court. Whatever. You are going to hold your head high and ignore the troublesome man.

After selecting the correct floor, you stand as far from Court as you can, body stiff as a board. The apartments elevator system is old and seems to take forever.

You cannot let Court get to you. You repeat that in your head over and over. You're going to win, you won't break...

At least, you think until his deep voice speaks over the thick tension in the air.

“...God, I fucked you so good last night. I only regret that we got so swept away in the moment that I didn’t get a chance to taste you.”

Warmth spreads throughout your body at his persistent teasing and you let out a shaky sigh. “C-Court, please. I need to focus now. Can't this wait until tonight?"

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You’re absolutely right. I'm being rather mean, aren't I? I guess I just got caught up remembering how I love to go down on you."

You almost break at that, a shiver going over you as your own memories appear in your mind.

Then there’s a brief moment of silence.

Court backs off, crossing his arms over his chest and not making another peep.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you try hard to not think about what Court just said. However, as the evocative images of you laid out across his bed whilst his head is between your legs fill your mind... You suddenly feel so hot and sweaty.

Tugging at the neck of your sweater, you huff, “Claire get off to school well this morning?”

Court nods.

“Mhm. It’s a long day to since she’s got one of her clubs to attend.”

“I see.”

Court glances at you, his lip twitching as he waits for you to process this.

“Well, I’m very late by now, I’m sure they went ahead and started without me...” you mumble.

“Yeah. They probably don’t even need you at this point.”

There’s another ding and the elevator finally opens to the correct floor. It is time to get off, but instead you shyly slid a glance Court’s way.

His heavy gaze is already on you, a smug look on his dashing face. You know he is practically daring you to step out onto the floor.

The goddamn tension in the air makes you let out a trembling breath and making a decisive choice, you have the elevator take the two of you back up.

The moment the doors close again, Court is on you, pinning you to the side of the wall. He brings one hand up to pull at your sweater and reveal the numerous hickeys hiding from his previous handiwork.

The groan of appreciation that leaves him causes anticipatory pleasure to shoot through your core.

“Fuck, baby, you really made me lose control last night.”

“Apparently, I’ll be wearing this for a week, Court! I only even own one like this.”

“Don’t fret, darling. I’ll go out and buy you a few more after lunch.”

You giggle as he presses a steamy kiss to your lips and throw your arms around his neck.

Sadly, you know that your presidency is not long for the world, yet as Court presses his growing bulge against you, all you can think is: Screw it.

｢My Masterlist || My AO3 || Please leave feedback, helps motivate my writing! ♡ Thank you for reading || Let me know if you would like to be on the Forever Tag List ｣

｢Like this? Check out: || Star Crossed Lovers|| Together In The Void || Proximity Protocol｣