....

"But what if I close my ears?" another boy said, pressing his hands to them. "I can't hear anything now, miss!" he screamed, setting off a wave of sweet giggles from his classmates.

The small green ball flew his way, and the boy caught it in one hand, scowling. "Hey, miss, that's not fair!"

"That was not, I do admit," you slipped off the desk, walking around the classroom. All small pairs of eyes followed you like puppies. "But you see, in space, there would be no need to cover your ears, because there is no air or matter for sound to travel through. Even when you're sleeping, there's always something out there, right?" Your eyes met a few nodding Einsteins before drifting towards the window. "You can hear the crickets singing under your window and the wind swirling between the leaves. But in space, there's nothing. Simply an empty, endless realm stretching beyond our comprehension."

A few droplets of sweat coiled on your temple, and you quickly brushed them with a thumb. Glasses sat crookedly on your nose, hair slipped away from a pin-up, and so you pushed them behind your ear.

"Miss, the space sounds so scary," the girl with round frames sighed. "I don't want to be an astronaut anymore."

You chuckled, coming to the previous boy and stealing a soft lump of earth from his sticky fingers. "The space may feel lonesome if you're there alone. But now, astronauts usually go in groups." The ball landed back on your desk, brushing gently against the wooden spaceship. "But even if you were alone, I think the view would be worth the night spent in loneliness."

And as it would soon turn out, nothing was worth the years spent alone. On the huge spaceship, with endless darkness spreading across the little window and years spent somewhere doing God knows what.

"The sun is dying," the government envoy had said. "Can you help us save the world?"

She caught you right after one of the classes, with a half-empty cup of instant noodles and cheeks peppered with crimson chilli-oil kisses. Arrived with a tall, muscular man and a printout of the PhD dissertation, placing a copy on your messy desk.

Your forehead crinkled, eyes landed on a neat, Times New Roman formatted title, An Analysis of Water-Based Assumptions and Recalibration of Expectations.

"That's not mine," you mumbled, going back to the cup of noodles. You hadn't eaten anything for a whole day, and your stomach was already pressed against your spine, with hunger twisting your weary mind.

"That's your name, isn't it?" she said, pressing a neatly trimmed nail against the smaller letters beneath the title.

You didn't even spare her a glance and simply shook your head. "No, I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

Both she and the man sighed, rolling two small chairs from the children's desk to sit in front of yours. With eyes fixed on your face, grimacing in ignorance, and a few locks of hair slipping into the cup.

"I'm Yuki," she said, crossing her legs before looking at the man with the dullest, most bleary eyes you have ever seen. "And that's Choso. We're from a… well. Now you only need to know that we work for NASA."

And that meant one thing – trouble.

Seeing your utmost disinterest, she continued in a warm tone. "Listen, we know your dissertation was a fantastic breakthrough that the supervising committee didn't appreciate. But–"

"A small correction," you interrupted, with eyes still glued to an almost empty cup. "They did not not appreciate me, but completely failed me. My research was proven wrong, and I spent almost five years chasing something that was never there. So no, it wasn't a breakthrough or anything."

Her long fingers clenched into a fist, and a tongue nervously filled a creamy cheek. "Listen, in our current world situation, we believe that your research wasn't pointless. The hypothesis that life can exist without water–"

"Which was ultimately proven that it cannot," slipped in a whisper, gaze still following anything but those two.

"Right," she sighed, staying shockingly patient. "But the thing is, it actually may."

And for the first time in the past five minutes, you finally looked at her. With eyes hidden behind librarian-like glasses, a white shirt neatly pressed against your body, and chilli oil still coating lower lip. You brushed it quickly with a tissue before clearing throat.

"You have five minutes."

But Yuki needed just a second.

"There are some… microbes, the nature of which we aren't yet sure, that are slowly eating the sun. If we don't do something, in thirty years the global temperature will drop enough to kill every life on Earth."

A long, heavy silence stretched between the three of you, though she was the one doing the talking. The man in a suit sat in silence. He was rather handsome, with dark hair falling long down his neck and purplish under-eye bags framing his deep, doe-like eyes.

Feeling your eyes fixed on his face, Choso wriggled in place. "We believe that you are one of the few scientists who can help in research on those microbes."

A deep sigh slipped past your lips as you took off your glasses and closed eyes. A pulsing headache was filling your mind, weighing down an already overstimulated brain. A few short strands of noodles clung to the bottom of the plastic cup, looking up at your weary eyes, pleading to go home.

You finally murmured, throwing the cup into the bin, "I don't see how that's my problem. I'm just a physics teacher, the academic environment pushed me away, and I believe there are many more qualified scientists for this role."

Yuki's forehead furrowed, lips pressed in a line. "Not your problem? The world is dying, and you think it's not your problem?"

You could almost see a grey smoke drifting above her head, eyes shining like two coffee beans. Golden hair brushed against her suit-covered breasts, with a few straight strands sticking to soft cheeks. She appeared magnificently commanding, exuding a dominant aura of someone beyond the law. Even sitting on a small children's chair, you felt goosebumps cover your bare shoulders.

You leaned back in a chair, the hard backrest digging into your spine. "I just don't understand why it should be me. This," you pointed at a three-hundred-page dissertation, "was just a foolish fantasy of my younger self. And trust me, I felt how stupid it was," your eyes fell to your fingers, playing with a soft, earthy ball. "No one treats me like a scientist anymore."

And then, Yuki stood up.

Suddenly, reaching over the desk right to your shirt, before pulling you closer with a single move. Eyes fixed on yours like a deadly viper, and a sweet note of heavy perfumes hit your nostrils.

"Try it," she gritted through her teeth. "Accept my offer till I'm still begging. I don't want things to get messy, but I really need your help on this one."

And so, feeling rather threatened, you nodded swiftly and followed the kind smile that lifted up her lips.

Now, three years later, reflecting on that time, you never felt as happy and alive as you did then. Surrounded by the world's most exceptional scientists, working on alien, new microbes – the freshest discoveries in current scientific research – spending days and nights fuelled by bitter coffee, sitting in the labs.

The time didn't matter, as long as you could work on your research. To once again feel like a valuable input to the academic environment and a student from your PhD days, when the world was most beautiful under the microscope and while collecting the newest data.

Your heart raced during the meetings as your fingers carefully noted each idea, each plan that other scientists put forward. The greatest minds in the world, flooding your own with plans and speculations you could've never thought of. Your brain fired multiple times a day, always running, always getting fed with new questions and solutions.

Why is the sun dying?

How can we stop it?

How to produce enough fuel to go all the way right to the sun?

Is that even possible?

But then it was revealed that an alien microbe was composed entirely of water, and your world collapsed. Because it finally confirmed the very point you've been secretly trying to reject for years, proving to you that cells cannot survive without water.

Your heart broke, and a wave of shame washed over your spine. The shame connected to your younger self, foolishly believing in a greatness of discovery no one has ever made. Something worth the international conferences, massive grants, Nobel Prize, and yet, you needed a single, alien cell, something not belonging to the human world, to finally prove those old geezers from your committee right.

The white, big lamp of the lab flickered; darkness spilt over the endless night. Nothing but a faint buzz of mosquitoes filled the lab, hitting the window again, and again, and again. Hungry and relentless, looking at your body hunched over the failed experiment and slightly trembling lip.

You haven't noticed someone else's presence until something cold and wet touched your cheek. Turning the head around, you noticed a can of soda and Choso's pale fingers wrapped around it.

"Thanks," escaped in a whisper, as you took the drink.

He nodded, sitting on the stool right next to you. Your lab partner, who's been through your highs and lows for the past few weeks. The biggest encouragement and life support, always reminding you to eat well and drink something other than a third coffee in a row. He was another government body, Yuki's closest friend, yet – you liked him.

He felt the most normal here, and thus, your head rested on his shoulder, while hair covered the slightly wet cheeks.

"Are you crying?" he asked quietly.

Your head shook, and a second later, a loud sniff rolled. Choso chuckled, offering a tissue.

"Thank you, Cho," you mumbled, trying to hide the streaming tears behind the wide glasses.

He nodded, waiting for you to calm down a bit. The white lamp buzzed quietly, and the screen of the computer shone bright with your PhD dissertation. The thick letters of the title, with your name written right below.

Three hundred pages of bullshit born from your silly dreams. The Nobel Prize? Dear heavens, you barely deserved to be part of the current team.

"That's not the end of the world, you know?" he said, then pressed his cheek with tongue. "Hm, no. It actually is."

You laughed disgustingly, with a snort slipping out of your nose and another wave of tears streaming down your face. "I'm sorry," slipped almost silently. "I'm sorry, I proved you all wrong."

Choso sighed, looking at your sorry state. He pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear and brushed away a single tear with a soft thumb. "No, you didn't. Now that we know what it's made of, you can think about another solution."

But there isn't another solution, you wanted to say, and instead bit down on your lower lip. The words bubbled in your throat, but a thin thread of hope still pulled at your heart. A faint wish that maybe this discovery wasn't a disaster. That the alien cell, made almost entirely of water, could somehow help with the mission.

That you could still prove yourself as a true scientist.

"Hey," Choso whispered, turning your face towards him. Deep, warm eyes shimmered with kindness as he offered a soft smile and gently pinched your cheek. "You are one of the smartest people I have ever met. I'm sure you can figure this out. Yuki believes in you. I believe in you." Staring into his eyes, you nodded with a pout. He chuckled and opened your soda with a quiet hiss. "Alright, let's call it a day and get back to it tomorrow. We still have time."

But the fact was that – you didn't.

And it was painfully obvious in how Yuki glanced into your lab every few days, asking about progress and results in halting the spread of alien microbes on the sun. Her neatly plucked eyebrows furrowed whenever you shook your head, and a short, stressed sigh escaped her rosy lips.

Try to hurry up, she would usually say, pulling a not-so-comforting smile.

Weeks went by, and everyone's stress increased. Yuki decided to set up a deadly mission, sending a team of astronauts to collect data personally.

The catch? They wouldn't return.

While there was enough fuel to reach the star teeming with alien microbes, there wasn't enough to return. Their goal was to collect the microbes, find a way to stop them from consuming the sun, and send all the data back to Earth.

The first time you heard about it, your knees almost buckled. It sounded outrageous, absolutely crazy, and the chance of finding someone mad and healthy enough to meet the requirements perfectly was already impossible.

And as it turned out, you were wrong.

The four astronauts were more than willing to sacrifice their lives for the greater good – to venture into the vast, endless space and perish there, in the company of strangers and eerie silence. To become saviours on a mission that could save the entire world.

Except, there was a risk the mission would fail.

Except, no one knew if they wouldn't lose their lives for nothing.

Because if that happened, if it turned out that all the money and sacrifices the government has invested in it would go to waste, the world would truly descend into shambles.

You stood against it from the very beginning, but Yuki had already decided. And so there was nothing left to do but help the spaceship travel the twelve light-years towards the only star that was also dying, devoured by an alien microbe.

One hundred and thirteen trillion kilometres.

An unimaginably vast distance a simple mind could not grasp, yet you had to find a way to make it work. To figure out how to gather enough fuel to propel the massive, metal spaceship through every single kilometre.

And after a few weeks of getting yourself filled with coffee and nights spent outside the NASA base, gazing up into the endless darkness, you finally got it.

"The alien microbes possess unimaginable power," you said in one breath, looking like a madwoman. With hair twisted into a messy braid, hands shaking from too much caffeine, eyes glimmering as if possessed by Einstein himself. Your fingers gripped the black marker before drawing another black dot on the whiteboard. "You see, what we can do is allow the engines to feed the alien microbes into a reaction chamber and boil them to the point of natural breeding. This way, the cells will multiply and multiply, allowing us to use them in a much more efficient way," the black marker swooshed all over the board, drawing a crooked picture of the spaceship.

At least thirty pairs of eyes, seated in a conference room at NASA headquarters, stared into it with furrowed yet hopeful gazes. Yuki and Choso, among them, tried to understand the point you were making. The crazy discovery you had made mere hours earlier, before quickly asking for a meeting.

"Our ship doesn't need turbines, generators or heat exchangers, because there's no conventional fuel. It works as a sort of ship driven by light energy–"

"That's impossible," someone among the other scientists interrupted. "You cannot fuel a ship of such dimensions with light alone."

You nodded, whispering like a psycho under your breath, head buzzing with numbers. "Yes, you cannot do it with the sources we have here, on Earth. But," you turned back towards the whiteboard. "Our ship is not like the others, and the microbes allow us to actually use the light force as a fuel. Look, for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. Newton's third law, we all know it, right?" A few heads nodded in unison. "Well, our ship will emit light in one direction, while Newton's law will push it in the other. I know it used to work only in theory, but with the amount of power packed into a single microbe, we can use it for our good. In short, the alien power goes into the ship, the light comes out, and we can move forward."

A long, heavy silence filled the room as you finished your little drawing. Black lines coated the board, crossing the black dots and twisting around the childishly drawn ship. You pushed your glasses up your nose and tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear.

That was it. Nothing else could've been done on your side. If none of the scientists and governmental bodies believed your crazy plan could work, there was no other way to put the ship on a direct course towards that star.

Yuki sighed and looked around nervously. While people whispered, shook their heads, or took notes, no one offered you a warm nod or made direct eye contact. But it also seemed that no one else had a better idea.

"Are you sure it can work?" Yuki asked, a heavy gaze lingering as warmth crept up your cheeks. "It's over a hundred and thirteen trillion kilometres. Are you sure the ship can be fuelled only by this alien microbe?"

Something weighed on your heart. Fear, panic, years spent believing you weren't good enough to become a real scientist. Those snickers from the PhD commission stating your research was useless. The rejections from one scientific conference after another, as no one wanted to accept your proposals.

Days spent on crying and staring at your dissertation, as if looking at it long enough would suddenly make it all worth it.

And then, under the cold light of the conference room, with thirty heads staring at you in blank mimicry, you needed to make a decision.

The one that would soon turn into a weight on your life.

"Yes," finally slipped. Strong and confident, as you corrected glasses slipping off your nose. "I can make it work."

But then…

But then the catastrophe came.

The betrayal.

Yuki apologising with utmost sincerity. Choso sitting quietly in the corner of her office. Three men keeping your body down.

From the moment you saw the space crew, one thought kept lingering in your mind. You dismissed it with a casual "they'll figure it out" wave, ignoring the instinct that indicated something was off – something that should have been clear from the start.

Why didn't the space crew have the scientist?

And a day before the departure, you finally discovered why.

"I'm sorry, I'm really so so sorry," Yuki said, trying to calm your wriggling body. The man's hands dug deep into your spine, keeping the hands and knees in place, with a cheek pressed to a dirty carpet. "We don't have any choice, and you wouldn't agree if I asked–"

"Of course I wouldn't!" you screamed, trying to bite the soft hand that reached towards you. "It's a fucking suicide! I'm a simple teacher; I can't go to a fucking space–ah, can you be a bit more gentle?!" But the men's fingers were already wrapping your hands with a thick rope. "Yuki, you can't do it to me!"

The woman didn't say anything. She merely opened her office door and beckoned someone inside. Wearing a white robe and holding a syringe between their fingers.

Your mind raced, breathing became almost impossible, and your throat clenched as you fought the sudden urge to vomit on the carpet. You tried to meet Choso's gaze, but he sat in the corner with his head in his hands, avoiding your gaze since you entered the office.

"Choso," you cried, as the doctor came closer. Long, thin needle shimmered under the office's cold lamp, sending a shiver down your spine. "Choso, l-look at me. You fucking coward, you bastard!" Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as the man sat like a stone figure. "You knew about it from the beginning, right? How could you do this to me?!"

Deep, warm eyes that you spent days gazing into finally looked up. Slightly wet, a bit hazy, while taking in the miserable state you found yourself in. Your glasses slightly crooked, lying a bit away from teary face. A few strands of hair sticking to your cheeks, arms twisted painfully behind back.

His fingers dug into the leather chair, as if trying to force himself to stay back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't… I couldn't bring myself to tell you…"

"That I'm going for a fucking suicidal mission?!" you interrupted, still trying to kick the men off your body. "I thought we were friends! I trusted you! And you simply sold me away?"

Yuki shivered, her gaze shifting between coldness and heartbreaking warmth whenever she looked at your writhing body. She slipped her trembling hand into the pocket of her jeans before giving the doctor a small nod.

"N-No," you cried, when the man in white bent down. A sudden, sharp pain washed over your body, tickling the ends of your fingertips. "Please, I d-don't want to, I can't…"

And then, a weariness slowly filled your mind, lulling it into a deep sleep. Your body relaxed, eyes half-closed, as if weighted by the countless sleepless nights you had spent in labs.

The men lifted you up, keeping your head steady, but you didn't feel a thing. Your feet felt funny, light, as if blending into feathers. Some hushed voices started to argue, someone's warm hand brushed your cheek, and a heavy, musky smell filled your nostrils.

And before you lost consciousness, a silent save the earth sneaked into your ear.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

"Amazing," a low sigh slipped past your lips as you watched a massive ship slowly follow yours.

Monstrous, at least twenty times larger than the spaceship you called home for the past three years, which couldn't be contained within the small window you looked through. It appeared incredibly bright, almost as if it were made of glass, yet you couldn't see anything beyond the thick walls.

It's been shadowing you since yesterday, and it has been following you since yesterday, regardless of how long you travelled or how fast you went; it remained right there. Always in your line of sight from your window, constantly mirroring every move you make. 

It was… fascinating. To say at least.

A little frightening? Sure, as you were alone on a ship, with the crew long gone and drifting silently through the vast emptiness of space.

But still – fascinating. It marked the first time a human saw an object outside Earth. Majestic and otherworldly, it looked somewhat familiar yet vastly different. A faint cosmic glow shimmered on its diamond-like walls, casting short beams through your solitary window, as if attempting to communicate. As if the creature within tried to contact.

Still drifting slowly, you bit down on your lower lip. "Maybe I should stop?" you thought out loud, as another flicker of light hit your window. "What if they'll attack me?"

But at this point, already being alone on an impossible, suicidal mission, it seemed that an alien attack would be the least of your problems. In fact, maybe it would even sweeten your life a bit, and before meeting death, you would still have a chance to make the first human contact with life outside Earth.

"Okay," You took a deep sigh, pulling down the engine handle. "Let's see what you want from me."

Your ship stopped, and the monstrous glassed vehicle followed right away. With your forehead pressed to the window, you waited.

And waited, waited, till ten minutes passed and the ship stood still. Your tongue pressed against the soft cheek as you walked back and forth, awaiting any sign of activity. Yet, the vast galaxy outside remained tranquil, a gentle glow reflecting off the smooth, wall-like surface of the enormous ship. It lacked doors and windows, being just a glassy, shimmering exterior that–

"Oh no," your throat tightened as it drew closer. And closer, closer, swooshing towards you, something long slowly sliding out of the ship's tall wall. "Oh, that's bad, fuck."

A panic squeezed your heart, thoughts rushed through a tired mind, and there weren't enough cuticles on your nails to bite them all. The window was too small to see the thing clearly, but it seemed to be heading straight towards your ship's door. A long, shining tube swooshed closer and closer until your ship suddenly vibrated, as if gently brushing against a foreign object.

Your fingers fidgeted with the plush fabric of the shirt, while droplets of sweat made your glasses slide down your temple. With unsteady legs, you cautiously moved toward the astronaut's suit and started pulling it over your body. The zipper felt heavy under your touch, and the bubble-shaped helmet was more suffocating than usual. The oxygen backpack almost doubled your load as you headed toward the door, with heavy pounding in your chest.

Your heart was always perfectly healthy, and yet for the first time in your life, you tried to remember all the possible symptoms of a woman's heart attack.

Chest pain, severe shortness of breath, nausea, radiating pain in the neck and jaw, you counted in your mind, marking each and every sign in your current state.

"Fuck, okay," trembling, glove-coated hands squeezed the handle of the massive, metal door, before you pushed it. It opened with a low, soft creek, inviting you into the endless tunnel filled with darkness.

To your surprise, gravity worked here, and thus you dropped heavily onto the hard floor. A soft oh filled the helmet as you lifted the flashlight a bit higher. Something shimmered at the end of the darkness, yet you weren't sure what.

Your steps didn't echo from the thick walls as you slowly approached the entrance to the alien ship. Thoughts clashed painfully in your mind, questions rose one by one as you breathed with a squeezed chest under the weighty kilograms of a spacesuit.

How many of them were there?

What did they look like?

Were they friendly?

How quick and painful would your death be?

Your mind tried to ignore the last one, as the chance of a cardiac arrest before meeting an alien seemed much more likely. Fingers clutched the flashlight tighter, feet moved carefully, one step after another, sticking to the tunnel's crooked surface.

"Hello?" Your voice bounced off the walls, lined with terror. "Whoever you are, I come in peace!"

Oh, what a cheesy line, you thought, biting down on your lower lip.

After a few steps, the glimmering thing came fully into view, and only then did you notice it was a thick glass wall. Or at least something similar to glass, with a hard surface that stopped you from going any further.

Glove-clothed hand touched it, helmet bumped against it, as you tried to light the darkness spilling behind it.

"Hello?" slipped a bit louder, with your fist knocking on the glass. "Anyone there?"

A silence, dull and endless, filled an eerie tunnel. Looking back, you took a note that your spaceship was still there – safe and sound – and you let out a deep sigh. It's not as if it would suddenly float away, but–

A heavy thump suddenly shook the tunnel's floor.

Your head snapped back, breath hitched, fingers squeezed with a tremble around the flashlight.

"H-Hello?"

The light reflected off something towering and shimmering, slowly moving toward you in a relaxed, unhurried manner, nearly as tall as the tunnel itself. A bluish halo beamed off the creature's body, filling the dark space with a soft aura.

You stepped back, trying to direct a flickering beam straight at the thing coming your way, but your hand trembled too much. The heart was on the verge of stopping, and dread haunted the mind as it drew closer, revealing its height. At least two and a half metres, brushing the ceiling of the tunnel's crooked walls, filling the narrow space with its wide body.

And when the light caught on their face… oh.

The pale blue skin shimmered softly under a luminous glow. It appeared unnaturally smooth, soft, and a sudden, foolish wish to brush it with your thumb swirled inside your mind. White, snowy hair touched the handsome forehead, while nearly inhumanly pale-blue eyes gazed down at your spacesuit-covered body. You looked tiny and short in comparison, with a gloved hand once more resting on the glass wall.

The creature was dressed in a white suit, clinging tightly to its body and digging deep into the hard muscles bulging under its skin. Alien's head tilted, knees bent down, and within a second, it found itself on eye-level with you.

White lashes decorating endless, luminous blue fluttered, as if trying to take in the terror twisting your face.

"⊑⟒⌰⌰⍜," a low, manly voice crept past the glass.

Your eyes bulged like two porcelain plates, fingers pressed closer to the wall.

So he was a man.

Well, you could already figure that much based on his looks, but the warm tone slipping under your bubble helmet was evidence enough.

Your mind didn't register the language at first, but when his soft brow travelled up, and lips curled in a smile, you thought that maybe he was awaiting an answer.

"Oh, um," you took a step back, waving your hand clumsily. "Hello."

The creature's head tilted again, and he mimicked your gesture.

You blinked twice, still struggling to believe the situation you're in. "Uh, okay, what now?" you whispered. "I am..." You pointed at your head and said your name clearly and loudly. "What about you?"

"⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑ ⊑⟒⍀⟒," the creature said, and a wave of different sounds and tones once again hit your ears.

You sighed, pressing tongue against your cheek. "Right, it's not going to work."

He looked at you, and you looked at him. You, with a slightly furrowed forehead and your mind rushing through all the possible ways to communicate with the alien. He, with lips curled cheekily and pale eyes fixed on your face.

"I wouldn't mind your cooperation, you know?" you mumbled, but he tipped his head left and right, like a curious puppy.

"⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒," the same sounds once again slipped past the glass wall.

His head was tipping and tilting, and a second had passed before you finally understood that he wanted to say something.

"What? I don't understand," you said, mimicking his movements.

And thus both of you were shaking and tilting your heads, going over and over the same ⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒, and I don't understand.

His brows furrowed as if irritated, and large hand touched his chest. He took a deep breath – first and second – then pointed at his head and finally at yours.

Oh.

"You want me to..." you gestured as if removing the helmet. A quiet chuckle escaped him, and eyes glinted. "But I can't breathe here."

He didn't understand and thus pointed at your head once again. "⏁⏃☍⟒ ⟟⏁ ⍜⎎⎎."

Your head shook. "Whatever you say, I cannot take it off. Because I will…" Your hands slipped up to your throat before a wave of trembling convulsions bent your body. It wriggled, shook, before, with a theatrical cough, you fell down the crooked floor.

The creature was staring at you with a furrowed forehead and a gentle flicker of amusement coiling in his spectral eyes.

"Not the best first impression, I know," you muttered, swiftly standing up. "My point is, I can't breathe without it."

But it seemed he either didn't understand or was simply relentless in his pleadings. As the long fingers hit the glass wall, pointing right at your head. Another deep breath slipped past his lips, and he nodded, as if trying to say it was fine. Whatever he filled the tunnel with, you could breathe here.

And thus, the thought of what if slipped quietly into your mind.

What if he was right?

What if he really did fill your half of the tunnel with oxygen?

But what if he was wrong, and the moment the helmet would go off, you would die in inhumane suffering?

Light blue eyes shone with anticipation, lips curled into an encouraging smile, and a finger pressed harder into the glass wall.

You took a deep breath, feeling the droplets of sweat coiling at the nape of your neck. He seemed to be a highly intelligent creature, with the ability to communicate as well as you and a rather comprehensive understanding of the differences between your species. For some reason, trusting him felt almost natural, and the assuring look of his spectral gaze made you drop your head with a sigh.

When fingers hooked on the helmet's edges, your heart was nearing its death. Chest squeezed painfully, eyes closed till the eyelids dug deep into your balls. The sweat was now dripping down your spine, wetting the nape of your neck and shirt that clung to your body under the heavy spacesuit.

"Okay," you whispered, both to yourself and him, and it seemed that he was rather amused by the agony twisting your mind. When he chuckled, your brows furrowed. "Don't laugh. There's a rather big chance this air will burn me from the inside."

And so it happened – your fingers slowly unclasped the neck ring, allowing the pressurised seal to loosen with a soft puf. The bubble helmet was lifted unhurriedly, as if your lungs were still trying to grasp the rest of the oxygen swirling inside it.

With still closed eyes, you took the first breath. And the second, and the third, and then, looking back at the alien, a sweet, loud scoff slipped past your lips and flushed cheeks.

"⌇⟒⟒, ⟟ ⏁⍜⌰⎅ ⊬⍜⎍," he chuckled, pressing his forehead to the glass wall.

Still in shock, you stepped closer, also touching the warm, crystal surface with your brows. "Sure, whatever you say."

You looked at each other for a while, with beaming smiles and foreheads almost brushing as you leaned in, a rather intimate gesture. It seemed that the first meeting with another species broke down some specific walls for both of you. The curiosity and fascination with one another blurred the lines of proper manners, breaching all the careful first steps you surely should think of.

His eyes flickered, suggesting a new idea had just come to him. He raised a finger and gestured for you to stay put. After your gentle nod, he vanished into the darkness of the tunnel, leaving you alone with your thoughts swirling in your mind.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and as you sat on the crooked floor and took off the heavy spacesuit, he finally came back, with something gripped by his hand.

You looked closer, noticing the collar-like device and a small earplug. He placed it inside his ear while wrapping the collar around the pale neck. A faint, crispy sound filled his side of the tunnel, and milky brows furrowed as he pressed onto the device in his ear.

And then, with a gesture, he asked you to say something.

"Um," your head tilted, and he sat right in front of you, waiting with a soft smile. "You are rather pretty for an alien."

His fingers still pressed the small device, and after a second, cheekiness flickered in his eyes. "Am I, question? You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

To say you froze in shock would be an understatement.

Your lips parted, eyebrows nearly touching hairline, as body leaned forward before your hand pressed against the glass wall. You didn't know whether you were more surprised by either his ability to speak your language or the casual compliment that caused your cheeks to heat up.

"You can…" You shook your head, barely breathing. "But how is it…"

He pointed at his ear. "This device recognises your language," then gestured to his neck. "And connects with this. Whenever I speak in my language, this collar converts it into yours."

A soft ah slipped past your lips, eyes fixed on the thin, crystal band made of a sort of rubber material. Your finger brushed the glass wall, as if trying to feel the device beneath it.

Your brows furrowed when another issue started to bite into your curiosity. "But how do you know my language? How did you build this translator? Our species never made contact."

He sat closer, pressing his forehead to the glass again. At this point, you started to wonder whether it was a sort of typical signal from his species, carrying a special, unknown meaning. And when he beamed with joy, you noticed little white droplets shining faintly, sprinkled around his cheeks. Was this an equivalent of a blush?

"You didn't with us," he pressed a finger to yours, and only then did you see the true, monstrous size of his hand. "But the Reds had been studying you for years."

The reds…

"Oh gosh!" A gasp ripped out of your throat as you covered your mouth with a hand. His head tilted. "The Reds, you mean, Martians?"

"Why are you shocked, question?" he asked, carefully eyeing as you quickly stood up and started walking back and forth between the walls.

Your mind pulsed, trying to comprehend everything that had happened over the past hour. The strange spaceship, the first-ever human contact with life beyond Earth, the final confirmation that aliens did, in fact, kidnap people and conduct experiments on them.

"I'm shocked, because humans never made any contact with life outside our planet," you said, biting down on a fingernail. "How long have you known the Reds?"

A low hum slipped past his lips, and smooth, blue forehead creased. "Five hundred years, I say."

"What?!" Your knees buckled as you once again sat in front of him, with hands and forehead and breasts pressed tightly to a glass wall. "Five hundred years? How is that possible? Are your planets close to each other?"

His head shook, but forehead remained wrinkled. "Humans are very underdeveloped."

You chuckled softly, noticing small, adorable language mistakes the translator made here and there. It's still, robotic voice muffled the creature's deep tone, and something squeezed your heart, as you surprisingly discovered that the honeyed warmth of his tone wrapped your mind in a rather pleasing manner.

"Yes, it seems so." Your head turned, with flushed cheeks pressed to the wall. "But till now I had no idea how far behind we are."

He stayed quiet for a moment before tapping gently on the wall. Your eyes slipped back to his, noticing the droplets sprinkled across his face, radiating adorably like flickering stars.

"My name is Satoru," rolled quietly, as the shimmering dust coated his cheeks ever wider. "Your name, question?"

When you said it slowly, he nodded, still tapping on the surface. Right against your pressed hand. "That's a very beautiful name."

"Yours is not bad either."

He hummed, as if in agreement.

Your head grew heavier and heavier, and the warmth was gently trying to coax you into sleep. As you yawned, Satoru's ghostly eyes carefully followed the exhaustion clouding your forehead.

"Are you tired, question?"

His throat bobbed when you giggled. "You don't have to add a question at the end of each ask, you know?"

You assumed that, because of his grammar rules, he needed to emphasise the difference between normal sentences and inquiries. You've noticed that his language sounded much more melodic than yours, yet it lacked the upward pitch humans use.

"But I am tired, thank you for asking." Looking over your shoulder, you've noticed that your ship was, fortunately, still there. "How about I go to sleep, and we'll get back to our talk in a few hours?"

You slowly stood up and grabbed your heavy spacesuit. Glasses slipped off your nose, and hair stuck to still-warm cheeks, as you lifted up the flashlight and… oh.

It seemed that you missed the sudden sorrow deepening between Satoru's brows. Eyes widened in panic, big palms plastered to the wall with lips just slightly opened, as he looked with a fearful expression at your attempt to move away from the wall. From him.

"Satoru–"

"Can you please sleep here?" His voice trembled, although the translator's robotic tone remained unwavering.

You looked around the tunnel, feeling the crooked ground bending beneath your feet and the dark walls emitting a deep, earthy smell. "I don't think that's a good idea, Satoru." A warm smile lifted your lips as you turned towards your spaceship. "But don't worry, I'll be back. Sleep for a bit, and before you'll notice, I'll–"

"Please," the anxiety filling his shaken voice stabbed right through your heart. "Please let me watch you sleep."

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing him in the same position. With hands pressed against the wall and eyebrows furrowed deeply.

"Watch me sleep?"

He nodded. "I… I didn't watch my crew sleep. The crew died. Satoru has been alone for the past forty years." Your lips fell open, but he quickly added, as if afraid you'd refuse again. "I watch you sleep, you won't die."

Seeing his face – filled with anxiety, pure fear, and misery – you could only smile softly and nod. As the mere thought of this man spending over forty years in space all alone tore your heart apart in the most inhumanely painful way.

"Yes, okay," barely pushed past your lips, before you cleared your throat. "Just let me bring my stuff."

You quickly changed into pyjamas, gathered a few blankets, a pillow and enough water for the night, before going back to the warm tunnel.

And then, as you drew closer to the glassy wall, you noticed a slight change in its shape. As during the five minutes you were gone, Satoru had prepared a special shelf for your body to lie right next to him. With his own feather-like blanket, he lay on his side, waiting for you to slip into the long space and hug him.

You giggled, filling the space with your own things. "That's quite intimate, Satoru."

His body was much taller than the width of the tunnel, and thus, he curled his legs a bit before trying to get even closer to you. "What does intimate mean, question?"

With head hitting the soft pillow and blanket covering your body, you turned his way. Nothing but a thick crystal wall kept you away from brushing noses with each other.

"It means that you're trying to be romantic with someone," but then you thought he might also not understand what romantic means. "Hm, it's when you do nice things for a certain person that you wouldn't do for anyone else. For example, make a special bed to be closer to someone."

A soft crease wrinkled his forehead, and the peacefulness of his eyes told you that he was deeply thinking. "I wouldn't do it for anyone other than you."

The sincerity beaming from his eyes was enough to assure you of the innocent truthfulness of his words. So you sighed, nuzzling deep into the pillow, hoping he didn't notice the warmth on your cheeks.

"That's very romantic, you know? Something you would say to your special someone."

"To your mate, question?"

You hummed, softly closing eyes. His presence somehow made your body tingle with a pleasant warmth, allowing the sleep to haunt your mind in a much softer, calmer way. In a way, you didn't feel for a long, long time, spending days in loneliness and a maddening need to feel someone else's warmth again.

You couldn't feel Satoru's heat, yet your heart fluttered fondly as his gaze truly watched you sleep.

"Yes, although humans don't mate."

"Why, question?"

When you giggled – sweetly, kindly – droplets coating Satoru's cheeks lighted up. Solely for a second, but it was enough to make him slip closer, and closer, and closer, till the glass wall was digging painfully into his body, and his heart still rushed your way.

You bubbled something under your nose. An answer he could not hear. With your lips falling open and a crystal string of saliva dripping down the soft pillow.

His finger pressed against the glass, as if wishing to brush it away.

And when another five minutes passed, a soft snoring filled your side of the tunnel. Breath calmed down, and body drew closer to his. Trying to curl into his – big, burning hot, utterly dangerous for yours.

"I watch you sleep," he whispered, brushing the glass with your pressed cheek. "You never die."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

Satoru was much more intelligent than you expected.

It's not that you treated him as beneath you, but the true power of his mind exceeded your expectations.

And as it turned out, he was in the same situation as you – researching the alien microbes that were also eating his sun. Except that his species discovered the problem forty years before yours, and thus a wave of panic washed over your mind. Because if a creature like Satoru couldn't find the solution to the problem that apparently touched not just Earth but the whole universe, you wouldn't do it either.

One difference between you and Satoru was that, as an engineer, he could actually do things himself. Simply produce them, with all the glassed walls and tiny models of planets made from a strange, gluey substance that rolled off his fingers. He wasn't a scientist like you, so when he heard that you were the "brain" of the crew, his eyes flickered. 

"We can work together," he proposed, already considering the path to the only planet not consumed by alien microbes. Since it wasn't infected, it suggested there was something in its atmosphere that enabled it to withstand the lethal bacteria. "You will be the mastermind of the entire operation, I will develop the sources. Also, I have spent forty years here, so I know how to navigate."

His eyes were fixed on creating another little planet, rolling the gluey strings between his pads, moulding them into a ball and waiting until the substance dried into a crystal orb. After a few days, your glassy wall had advanced enough to have a small opening for a shelf where you could exchange little presents.

Although you forgot that Satoru's atmosphere was close to boiling lava in temperature, when your hands accidentally brushed, a nasty, red bump was left on the skin of your thumb.

He put the ball on the shelf and moved his hand away so you could grab it.

"Which planet is it?" you wondered, brushing the crystal surface.

He tsked – something he learnt from you mere hour ago – and mumbled. "The earth, of course."

A scoff escaped your lips, and warmth spilt over the heart. "We're not that small."

"I believe you are."

"And we have more greenery."

He wondered, this time building a small spaceship. Your spaceship. "I would like to see it."

Some things have become clearer after spending the past few days in Satoru's presence. His planet was one of the closest to the sun, wrapped in a dense atmosphere that protected its inhabitants from being burned alive. As Satoru said, the days merged with the nights, and it was always rather dark – hence the pale, almost spectral eyes he and other inhabitants had. There was little to no greenery, and the water system had long been sustained by technologies developed by engineers like him.

"A lot of sand", he once said, and you wondered whether it would look like anything close to the climate of Arab countries.

His head tilted then, and eyes flickered with curiosity. "How do Arab countries look, question?"

You tried to describe the endless desert plains, the crimson sun, the curling droplets of sweat on your neck, and the nights filled with beaming joy as best you could. The feel of warm sand under your feet, sea brushing the skin sweetly and fresh dates melting on your tongue in sugary pleasure.

He listened, with eyes following the curve of your lips and fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

"I would love to see it," he muttered, poking the glass wall with his finger. "It sounds beautiful."

You giggled, following the pale blue of his skin. Soft and shiny, it reminded you more of a region bitten by cold than of the merciless atmospheric temperature of over two hundred degrees Celsius.

"You're rather pale for someone living right next to the sun."

He scoffed, with fingers still creating the small spaceship. In the meantime, you leaned against the crooked tunnel's wall, with a laptop on your thighs, trying to plan the route towards the only "safe" planet.

"I'm not pale. I'm blue."

"That was a joke," you shoot him a glance, seeing the irritated squint of his eyes. "It means that the thing I say is supposed to be funny. You should laugh."

A low, awkward chuckle rolled off his lips, and you couldn't help but burst out laughing. Satoru knew how to express his joy, but it seemed he didn't quite possess the humour you did.

The moment has passed, and a comfortable silence stretched between the two of you. He was mapping the galaxy, while you tried to work out whether your ship still had enough fuel to travel that far. It would take you months to reach that planet, but there seemed to be no other choice. After that mission, the fuel will run out, and you, just as planned, will die here – somewhere in the embrace of endless space.

A low sigh slipped past your lips, catching Satoru's attention. "Are you tired, question?"

Your head shook, and a few strands of hair fell loosely from a pinup. "I would love to invite you to my ship. There's a room where we can watch movies and stuff. I'm sure I can find something about Egypt."

And so…

You've also learned over the past few days that Satoru took everything seriously.

In the most genuine and firm understanding of this word.

Two weeks have passed since your meeting. One morning, as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed in nothing but panties and a loose shirt while brushing your teeth, a deep, gravelly rumble shook the entire spaceship.

Your heart leapt into your throat, eyes bulged, and you dashed out of the room with wet hair and bare feet. With all the prayers you've learnt as a child repeating in your mind over and over again, as you run towards the entrance of the ship.

Did you somehow get unsealed from the tunnel?

Did something hit the ship and cause the irreparable damage that would cost you your life?

Fuck, did–

But when you finally got into the room connected with an entrance, with toothpaste smeared all over your cheek and glasses falling crookedly off your nose, a low gasp slipped past your lips.

"Satoru?!"

Because the pale-bluish creature himself stood in the middle of your spaceship, locked in a…

"And you're in a ball?" Like a hamster, wanted to join, but he probably wouldn't know what a hamster is.

Standing right in front of you, fully upright, with long legs wrapped in a white suit and a muscular back bulging under the stretched material – he appeared even more monstrous than usual. A creature over two metres tall, looking all over your place with amusement shining in his eyes, his gaze following all your dirty panties spread across the floor.

"Yep, so I won't die in your atmosphere," long fingers knocked the crystal ball, before lips curved in a cheeky smile. "Can I smell it, question? I want to know how your body smells. Put it to the shel–"

A sudden warmth had hit your cheeks, and throat tightened around the remnants of the toothpaste. "Absolutely not! It's very not polite of you to ask such things."

He started walking around in a large ball that barely fit the corridors of your spaceship, its hard walls brushing against each and every machine, piece of furniture, and console on its way. He strolled freely, dropping different comments here and there, while you followed him and picked up all your clothes.

"So dirty," he snapped, pushing a loud scoff from your throat.

"I didn't expect the guests!"

But he ignored you, as your bedroom appeared somewhere within the line of his sight. Blue cheeks shone with crystal droplets, and white, fluffy hair almost stood on end with excitement. Before you could stop him, long legs swiftly moved towards your bedroom, taking in every little, dirty, detail – more panties, a small mattress, a few books lying scattered all over the floor.

"Is that our nest, question?" He looked around before parking his ball next to your mattress. He sat down, leaning against the floor, and finally shot you a look. "I like it."

With a deep, weariness-filled sigh, you returned to the bathroom, cleaned yourself, and re-entered the bedroom. Soft light reflected off the glistening droplets on his cheeks as he probed the fabric of your panties with his finger. Only then did you realise that the ball, despite being firm, was quite flexible, enabling him to slide his fingers through its surface, which was covered in a sticky, shimmering coating that shielded his skin from the oxygen.

You took the material away from his curious gaze and pushed it back into your bag.

"Satoru, what are you doing here?" slipped rather harshly as you sat down on your bed.

He seemed to be confused by your tone, tilting the fluffy head with a furrow. "Are you mad, question?"

You knew that getting angry with him, while he was still learning to recognise human emotions, was silly. Stupid, even, and you felt as if you were shouting at the poor puppy. Except that this puppy was much taller than you and probably weighed twice your weight.

With a sigh, you fell back on the mattress and covered your face with an arm. "Sorry, I'm not mad. Just… surprised. I didn't expect you would come up my ship."

He tried to roll closer, but the space was too small to allow him any other movements than going back and forth from the entrance to your mattress. So he stayed in place, trying to observe the expression on your face.

"I can't see you like that," he noted.

Another thing you've learnt about his species was how important contact and intimacy are. Not even sexual ones, but rather a simple need to always be with someone. To communicate while looking right into their eyes, to feel their skin on theirs, and to follow the movements of their lips. To feel the presence of another creature next to them, even if the only thing you did was sleep next to each other.

So another sorry slipped past your lips, and you sat again, showing Satoru your face. He slightly lightened up before pressing a hand to the crystal ball.

"You said, and I quote, I would love to invite you to my ship," he noted with utmost seriousness, and you rolled your eyes. "So I came."

Well, he was right. You did say that, and you did wish there were a way to bring him into your ship. Travelling together would be much easier if both of you were on one ship, so amidst the pure chaos and shock he caused, you quite enjoyed the fact that he could live here.

With you.

"Okay," your hand pressed to the ball, filling half of his palm. "But we need to set up some rules first. First, we don't sleep in the same bedroom–"

"But I must watch–"

"Satoru," you interrupted him, seeing the pale eyes slip into the sorrowfulness. "You have excellent hearing and even more excellent sight. I'm sure you can watch me sleep while staying next door." A grim twisted his face, and a low mumble filled his little bubble. Too quiet for the translator to catch, so you chuckled sweetly, seeing his brattiness surface. "Okay. The second rule – you can't sniff my panties. It's something… reserved only for mates."

And, well, if that didn't fire him up – with eyes suddenly beaming in excitement and droplets twinkling one by one, like a tiny mingling stars. You felt as if you had challenged him, and thus quickly added. "And because we are not mates, you cannot do it. It's too intimate."

"I want to be intimate."

A sudden flush hit your cheeks, and warmth spread beneath your chest. "No, Satoru, you don't understand. It's about sexual intimacy. Something you share while…" saying it out loud felt like giving a biology lesson to elementary school kids. "Mating… with your special someone. When you, well, have sex and stuff. Do you know–"

He chuckled low, a sly smile lifting his lips. "I know what mating is."

Something in your lower belly bubbled, seeing him like that. Tall and strong, spreading a slightly possessive and dominating aura. With eyes full of bratty cheekiness and something, something, slightly sensual dripping from his voice.

"Well, so you know that we can't do it," You moved back, taking your palm away from the crystal ball. "Let's work on our plan and try to find a way to save the world."

And with a slight dissatisfaction, Satoru finally agreed.

But the next months spent in his presence were… interesting. To say at least.

Every day brought new surprises, which sometimes ended with your body blushing from head to toes, sometimes him getting shy and flustered, while still trying to keep up the cocky demeanour.

He was nothing less than excellent when it came to engineering and helping with the travel itself, also being an amazing companion for the long, daring journey.

Soon he resigned from constant stay in a ball and filled the interior of your spaceship with long corridors of crystal, making himself at home. Whenever you were – he was right next. Be it a bedroom, control room, kitchen or…

"Satoru!" You quickly covered your breasts with your hands, seeing him walking into the bathroom with the most casual demeanour.

A plate of some weird substance, he was always eating for supper, and a white suit half unzipped, showing off his muscular, blue chest. He leaned against the door, spectral eyes slowly following your naked body. From legs up to hips, staying longer on the gentle swell of your ass and the mould of your pussy, before going up, and up, to the breasts covered by your trembling fingers. "Sweetheart is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

"Sweetheart" because he really wished to call you something human pairs use for each other. Even though at least three times a week, you needed to remind him that you, in fact, were not a pair.

A muffled, surprised scoff escaped your lips. You pointed to the exit with one hand, forgetting it was clutching one of your breasts. When the silky swell smoothly slipped from your grasp, bouncing gently before his eyes, he moved closer, already pushing a finger through the stretching wall.

"Can I–"

You smacked it, once again showing the exit. "Satoru! You can't walk on me while I'm naked."

"Why, question?" he asked, relentlessly trying to get closer to your body. With a finger poking the wall, that unfortunately couldn't stretch enough to even brush your skin. "Come a bit closer."

Something in your belly bubbled, warmth spread across your chest, and a single, dirty thought of letting him touch you bloomed in your mind. After all, sexual needs and anatomy were among the things all researchers wished to know about foreign species. And because Satoru was of the same, curious kind as you…

"It's too early, out!"

His head tilted, and lips curved into a foxy smile. "It's eight in the evening."

"No, I mean, we're not close enough to do such stuff."

He knocked on the crystal wall. "Sweetheart, but I can't get closer."

Oh god.

You sighed, finally letting the other tit bounce softly too. Leaning against the small shelf, you glanced at him with a frown. He, however, looked anywhere but into your eyes. Rude.

"Our relationship is not on that level…" yet. "What you want to do is too intimate. Sexual." And then, a sudden curiosity spiked your mind. "Satoru, how does the… mate thing look like among your species?"

His eyes finally slipped up to yours. "We choose one mate for a whole life."

Well, that was rather clear.

"What about the, you know…" You gestured awkwardly, partially at your still naked body.

"The mating," he finished. But as if feeling the spike in your curiosity, with round eyes ogling his naked chest and slipping shyly towards his hips, he bubbled a low chuckle. "Come closer, and I will show you."

What a brat!

With the last tsk and a dirty look shot his way, you turned back towards the mirror and finished your quick, morning "shower". Even while using rinseless soap and water pouches to clean your body, you still felt Satoru's presence behind you.

Deep blue eyes following the curve of your body, back muscles working beneath the soft skin, and when you bent over to rinse your face, a sudden, sharp breath escaped his throat.

You didn't have to look back to know that he was looking straight at your pussy.

"It's wet," he mumbled, coming closer. And closer, until his finger once again tried to evade the stretching wall, too short to even brush the swell of your ass.

You hummed, trying to hide an embarrassed warmth kissing your neck. "It's a natural lubrication. It usually happens when a woman is…" oh fuck it. "Excited."

He seemed charmed, completely bewitched, and some part of you wished the difference in temperature between your bodies wasn't over two hundred degrees Celsius. As the moment Satoru's hands touched your skin, you weren't sure whether calling it the third-degree burn would be enough.

"Why is sweetheart excited, question?"

With your body leaning forward and hands resting on the shelf, you looked back, eyes slightly hazy, wetness dripping down your thigh. A silken droplet swirled down your leg, and Satoru's always oh-so-attentive eyes, of course didn't miss it.

"I want the taste," he mumbled, and only then did you notice a bulge, trying to rip free from beneath the white spacesuit covering his hips.

You took a deep breath, bending yourself lower and lower, till he could clearly see your cunt shining with silky wetness.

"I'm excited," you started, voice dripping with sensuality. "Because of you."

As if awaiting this exact answer, his eyes, for just a second, ripped themselves away from your soft pussy and looked up. To cross with yours – slightly teary, a bit too warm.

"I want to–"

You turned around, once again leaning against the shelf. A low groan escaped his throat, as he no longer could see your pussy in its fullness. The little pout twisting his lips made you giggle, but a tricky, dirty thought has slipped into your mind.

"How about this?" You took a step, then another, until you stood right in front of him. Much closer than before, but not close enough to let him brush your skin. "I will let you touch me. Watch me…" You coughed, feeling this wind of bravery leave your body as quickly as it had come. "Masturbate. And you'll let me do it too."

Satoru's lips fell open, eyes sparkled in excitement. "I thought the intimacy was only for mates. Are we mates then, question?"

"Let's call it friend with benefits."

His eyes narrowed. "We don't do such things with friends."

You scoffed, pushing your hip to the side and biting the inside of your cheek. "Well, we do, so you can either accept it or not."

And seeing that this time his bratty stubbornness wouldn't work, Satoru nodded.

A few minutes later, you found yourself in the most embarrassed, going-straight-to-the-grave position you could imagine. With elbows supporting your body on the bedroom's mattress, legs spread open, and pussy pressed against the crystal wall. The slippery juices coated the surface, making Satoru breathe much, much harder than before. With fingers wrapped around the biggest, most monstrous cock you've ever seen.

You needed a moment to take in the sight that sprang up in front of your eyes after he took off the rest of the suit. Massive, veiny shaft, with a swelled protrusion at his base, probably used while mating. The blue skin was peppered with similar droplets sprinkled on his cheeks, and shimmered faintly whenever he looked down at your cunt.

Small and fluttering, with your hole squeezing around nothing and clit swelled from excitement.

The penetrative gaze of his made you warm up even more. "Satoru, touch me," slipped like an order.

His long finger brushed the crystal wall and pushed – gently, carefully, till he felt a soft button under his pad and heard a low moan escape your lips.

He dreamed of feeling the gummy structure of your pussy. To roll the clit between his fingers, without any surface protecting his body. To lower himself down and smell, lick, taste the dripping cum that in his mind was sweeter than anything he had ever tried.

And it should be noted that he had quite refined taste buds.

His other hand pumped his massive cock in slow strokes, enjoying the sight spreading in front of him much more than the feeling of his fingers wrapped around the dripping shaft.

"Does it feel good, question?" He asked, hearing another moan fill the small bedroom.

"Y-yeah, ahh, try to make gentle circles," slipped faintly, as you started to roll nipples between your fingers.

His thumb pressed against your clit harder, making your feet curl and legs spread even wider. As if trying to invite his massive cock, that would surely rip you in half.

Maybe the fact that you couldn't touch each other wasn't that bad. Because if he somehow found a way to fuck you with this size, you sure would feel it up in your throat.

And thus you enjoyed the sight spreading in front of your eyes – his beefy thighs bulging whenever you jolted under his thumb, pearly cum dripping down the blue skin, long fingers squeezing the veiny meat as he still oh-so-carefully rubbed your clit.

"It's getting wetter," he noticed, biting the inside of his cheek. "I want to taste you."

His low voice made your body melt under his fingers, forcing your thighs to spread wider and wider, while chasing the pleasure bubbling in your belly. Your hole fluttered around nothing, and a sheer sight of his cock spun your mind in crazy wish to get yourself stretched around it. To feel every vein scratch your tight walls, till the drenched head would kiss your swelling womb.

"Fuck, wait, I have an idea," you backed out, crawling towards your bag.

Crazy, stupid, nasty plan slipped into your head, as you took out a mid-size, creamy dildo. With a sucking pad at the end, and a slightly curved head. It wasn't yours, as you somehow found it among the things… oh well, does it really matter? It was clean and had been bathed in antiseptic spray multiple times; thus, using it was not disgusting at all.

But when Satoru saw it, his breath hitched. Eyes slipped down to his cock, and forehead furrowed. "Why is it so small, question?"

You chuckled, sticking it to the crystal wall. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that's the average size of a human's dick."

He followed your body as you once again spread your legs open and brushed the silicone cock through your folds a few times. Drenching it all in your juices, and Satoru, since learning the meaning of jealousy, felt something unpleasant bubble in his heart. Because he wished to be the one making your pussy flutter around his head and push it inside, till your sugary walls would clamp around his fat cock.

Your forehead furrowed, eyes glistened from prickling tears as his thumb once again landed on your clit. But this time, the pleasure was twice as intense. With a silicone dick stretching your tight pussy and his finger rubbing you in slow, maddening circles.

"I could make you feel better," he groaned, hearing another pitched moan slip past your lips. "This pathetic thing is not worthy to be inside my sweetheart."

With rising irritation, he pressed your clit harsher. Till a tremble washed over your body and back hit the mattress, as you rolled your cunt to feel the dildo go deeper. But Satoru was right – his cock would indeed make you feel better.

Your hands slipped up to your breasts, pinching the hard buds and chasing the maddening pleasure bubbling in your lower belly.

A deep frown creased Satoru's forehead, and he gently squeezed your clit. "I can't see your face."

"R-right, sorry–ahhh," A cry rolled off your tongue as you once again leaned on your elbows. "Satoru, it feels so good, mhmm."

His cock was more flushed than before, with a cherry tip spilling the heavy, thick droplets all over his hand. He pumped it madly, never once taking his eyes off your lovely face. With pleasure twisting your brows and teary eyes fixed upon his.

"S-Satoru, I, fuck, I'm going to cum," the silicone cock kissed your cervix, smooching it wetly with hefty, gluey cum sipping from your hole.

You tried to imagine getting split open on his cock. Being filled by his cum, with creamy saps stuffing your swelling womb and pumping your belly full. Getting manhandled by his muscular arms and wide back, as he would fold you into a mating press and push into the mattress. Till each and every spring would painfully dig into your spine.

So with a final cry, you came.

With a loud cry, spine arching into the sweetest curve, and a sprinkling of sweetness gushing all over his thumb, although it was a true pity that he couldn't feel it. Your body trembled and lips fell open, seeing a furrow cloud his forehead and fingers tightening around his cock.

And then, an idea slipped quietly into your mind.

"Wait a minute, don't cum yet," you muttered, taking a pair of panties lying on your bed. With a single, dirty move, you rubbed them against your drenched folds, gathering all the creamy cum and honeyed sweetness.

Satoru… dear heavens.

When a flimsy material landed inside the shelf, quite similar to the one he installed in a tunnel, Satoru's fingers snapped forward and snatched it. He brought it closer to his nose, lips, feeling your precious wetness and the rich flavour burst right onto his tongue, as a low, primal groan escaped his throat.

"Mhmm, s-so, ahh, tastes so sweet," a muffled cry was almost incomprehensible with your panties filling his mouth.

The head of his cock pulsed, massive balls constricted whenever his tongue took another lick of your fresh cum and eyes… oh, eyes stayed on you.

On your breasts coated in sheer sweat, thighs still spread open and a little, minx smile twisting your lips. Satoru was sure he could cum only at the sheer sight of your angelic face, and thus, after a few more harsh pumps and muffled cries, he came. Loud and heavy, with creamy ropes shooting all over his glimmering skin and fully emptying everything he has been keeping far too long.

What a waste, you both thought, wishing it landed somewhere far, far sweeter and warmer. Deep inside your womb, preferably.

A moment has passed, with a small bedroom filled with your heavy breaths and shy glances, looking everywhere but at your cum-coated bodies. With a faint cough, you finally closed your thighs and covered yourself with a blanket.

Blooming loveliness crept up your cheeks, and suddenly looking at Satoru required far more courage and calm than it had merely thirty minutes ago.

Before you could ask whether he needed a towel, his low voice spoke first. "Are we mates now, question?"

He said sheepishly, lifting your panties with a finger.

You groaned and fell on a mattress with his chuckle tickling your burning ears.

You didn't want to destroy this moment, even though you knew your mission would end with you dying in space. That he would go back to his planet safely, while you would float and float and float, while eventually dying of hunger.

And so, sharing this sweet moment of intimacy, with warmth spreading beneath your chest, you nodded. "Yes, Satoru. Let's become mates."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

The next few months were filled with nothing but joy.

With movies playing on repeat in the small, cinematic room, Satoru watches each of them with his lips agape. Enjoying the landscapes of Earth, you could project them into a closed space, with a blue sky spreading across the ceiling and tall Scottish plains stretching beneath your feet.

With the golden sand of Thai beaches shimmering in the sun and coconuts falling from the palms, the chirping of birds perched high in the lush trees of the Amazon Forest, and the endless plains of the Sahara Desert.

When you joked that the three pyramids in Giza you were just looking at were believed to have been built by aliens, he only hummed and nodded as if in agreement. A scoff rolled off your tongue, and his head snapped towards you.

"Why are you nodding? Of course they weren't!"

Plush, bluish lips curved in a sly smile. "Is sweetheart sure, question? It looks like something we have on our planet."

An unbelievable shock crossed your face as you stared at him, speechless. "No, you don't!"

"Yes, we do."

"You're fucking with me."

His head tilted. "I thought we can't fuck."

You rolled your eyes, resting your head against his shoulder. Or at least against the crystal surface he was pressed against. "Forget it."

"I can't, my memory is excellent."

And that was indeed true, as Satoru seemed to remember every single thing you said or did over the past few months. The plan you devised to obtain a sample of the planet's atmospheric gas to discover why it was immune to deadly microbes was etched into his mind with meticulous precision.

Truly mesmerising creature he was, especially as he also remembered which buttons to push, to make you cum faster.

What you had also discovered was that Satoru loved to talk about your future.

Particularly during the late nights, when you were curled up under the warm blanket, lying on a mattress in a dimly lit room, with him cuddled up against your side.

He couldn't brush your soft cheek pressed against the wall, but it was fine.

For the look of your lovely face, he watched with warmth blooming in his chest, was enough.

On such nights, when both of you longed for each other's warmth, he enjoyed dreaming. Of you returning with him to his planet, building you a small, private island with oxygen, and fulfilling all your wishes. You teaching the children of his species physics – as you did on Earth – and him continuing to serve as the most valued engineer on his planet.

Of you and him living together in a small seaside cottage, spending days loving each other and lying on the soft beach till darkness would spill over the ocean's horizon – the only his planet had, the one he was ready to fully give into your hands. Having sex all day and night, to which you responded with a sweet, faint giggle, as sleep slowly slipped onto your eyes.

"And how would we do it, hm?" you mumbled, pressing against the crystal wall.

A soft furrow haunted your forehead, and he imagined calming it with a gentle roll of his thumb. "The atmosphere of my planet allows us to use a special technique," through the glass wall, he traced the curve of your lips. "It wraps my body in a thin barrier, but I would be able to touch you," soft lips touched to the point where your nose pressed. "And kiss you. And hug you, make love with you, although we wouldn't have children."

You understood why and giggled softly, slowly opening your sleepy eyes to meet the endless, pale blue. "You really want to get even closer, huh?"

It was a joke, and yet a warmth bloomed behind his spectral eyes, forcing your heart to skip a beat. His hand pressed to the part where your chest met the wall, before he leaned his forehead against "yours". "If I could, I would make you live inside me. So nothing in this universe would ever rip us apart."

A faint oh rolled past your lips as you bit on the soft inside of your cheek. "Satoru, I don't know how long your species live, but… I don't have as much time as you think."

A sudden panic swelled behind his eyes, and thumb slipped out of the crystal wall to brush your lower lip. "My best friends have been mates for the past hundred and sixty years. How many can you give me, question?"

Something ripped through your heart. Cut it with painful slashes, till a crease on your forehead deepened. "Not a lot, Satoru. Maybe seventy years?"

His thumb paused, an ache spreading across the vast, pale blue plains. "I've lived three hundred years without you," he said, warm lips pressing into the wrinkle between your "brows". "I won't survive another seventy."

But the endless honeymoon couldn't last long.

For there was a reason why both of you found yourselves in space. Why the mission was tagged as suicidal, and why there wasn't enough fuel to get you back to Earth. And while Satoru's dreams indeed sounded tempting, you knew that it simply wouldn't work out.

For you breathed oxygen, and he needed ammonia gas.

Your body stayed cool at thirty-six degrees Celsius, while his was burning up to over two hundred.

He was three hundred years old – you twenty-seven.

But he didn't have to know all of that. Over the past twenty-seven years, no one had made you laugh, enjoy, and love life as much as he did. Even if those brief moments of happiness were only meant to last a few months, they were enough.

After the mission, he could go back safely to his home, and you… well.

And you would need to watch him die.

It was truly unpredictable, and none of you could foresee how the situation would turn out. You finally arrived on the planet, prepared to collect the necessary samples of the antidote. You didn't know, however, how dense its atmosphere would be.

How the wind would violently hit your ship, tossing it sharply left and right as you stepped outside in your spacesuit and carried Satoru's sampling device back onto the ship.

He told you to leave it. When you almost fell off the ship, he begged you to come inside. Hit the wall with hands, screamed right into the speaker inside your helmet, pleaded to leave the sample and just come back.

But you simply couldn't do it. Because leaving it here, after Satoru spent decades in space trying to seek the solution, would be simply foolish. Egoistic, and thus, after a few harsh currents, you grabbed the box filled with antidote cells and went back to the ship.

But then, it started spinning. And spinning and spinning, wish wind smacking it in violent currents, and you found it almost impossible to get back onto the normal route. Every single light inside the control room shimmered red. Satoru tried to calm you down, but there was nothing he could truly do from behind the glass wall.

You pushed and flickered every button, every controller, but after one sudden, brutal tug of the ship, your face hit the console.

Eyes filled with red, a nasty crack came from the nose, and the gaze became a bit hazy. You tried to push one last button that would help the ship get away from the planet's strong current, but you were simply too weak. With blood slowly covering your whole face and belts still pinning you to the chair.

Satoru shouted something, but you couldn't hear him clearly. Was it because of the red lamps and an alarm filling the control room? Or maybe because of the sudden sleepiness that blanketed your eyelids?

His fists hit the glass wall, spreading the dull echo around the control room. A soft sweetheart sweetheart sweetheart rolled past his lips, but you simply had no energy to look up. As if you did, the sigh of his trembling, panicked face would rip your heart apart.

His large fists wanted to break through the wall, eyes looked at the blood dripping down your face, body filled with helplessness and desperation, trying everything in his power to get close to you.

With a single finger, you still strained to push that last red button. To get the ship back on track, at least allow Satoru to be safe, and finish the mission that would help save his planet. But your body couldn't handle the gravitational force caused by the spin, which pressed you into the console. The slow crushing of your lungs, mind filling with fogginess, throat crushed beneath the flickering buttons.

So with a soft, almost inaudible I'm sorry, your eyes closed.

A second has passed, a minute, with mind registering the crying alarm and… and a shatter of glass.

A sudden pain washed over your body – burning and stinging every nerve. Someone lifted you up, carefully, slowly, trying to wrap you in blankets and clothes, anything to keep you from the lethal touch.

Quiet, you'll live, sweetheart will live, sweetheart, sweetheart, keep your eyes open, amid violent waves of coughing and painful moans, filled the corridors of your spaceship. When your eyes opened a little, you saw nothing but thick steam evaporating from something. 

Someone.

"Satoru?" slipped out in a whisper as, from beneath the curling steam, a blue, familiar face looked down at you, wet-cheeked. "Satoru, no, y-you'll die–"

"Shhh, sweetheart, it's okay, it's okay, sweetheart will live," he repeated like a mantra, hugging your wrapped body closer to his.

Fiery skin burned through the thick layers of blankets, leaving burns all over your bloodstained skin. Your body hit something, and before you noticed, an automated medical care robot soon filled your vision. The mechanical arms pressed the oxygen mask to your face before an IV needle slipped beneath the skin of your arm.

"Satoru," you mumbled weakly, trying to find those familiar, pale eyes.

And he was right there, offering you the most painful, heart-tearing sight. Tears ran down his cheeks, white steam curled tortuously from his body, and gaze slowly grew weaker. He could barely breathe, yet still stood right there.

Over your barely warm body, making sure that you would live.

"I watch you–"

"No, S-Satoru," barely pushed through your squeezed throat. With crystal tears swirling in your eyes and fingers trying to push him away from the table. "Go back, p-please, or–"

"No, I watch you sleep." his fingers grabbed the hem of your shirt. "You won't die".

You were too weak to fight him. In too much pain, with your head pounding, skin burning from his touch and anaesthesia slowly kicking in.

And so, with a last look into the eyes your heart laughed for, you fell asleep.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed. How long you stayed under the mechanical clutches of the medical robot.

How long Satoru needed to suffer, to make sure you would be alive.

But when you finally woke up and ripped yourself away from the needles, he wasn't there.

He wasn't in your sight, but something else, something burned, marked the floor. Dark traces of blue dust led further inside the spaceship. Still weak, with the last traces of blood dried on your cheek, you followed them, your heart pounding. And a little grain of foolish hope bloomed inside your heart, fresh tears already swirling in the corners of eyes.

The ship was back on a normal route, carrying you through the galaxy at a slow, peaceful pace. Thanks to Satoru.

The blue dust led you through the control room, down into the basement, kitchen, bathroom, and finally to the bedroom, as if he tried to, for the last time, see every part of the ship. Just to make sure everything was working. That after waking up, you wouldn't have to bother yourself with anything.

And so another wave of crushing sob bubbled in your throat. A pain ripping you open as you entered your shared bedroom and saw him there – curled on the mattress, the upper part of his body already slipped inside his crystal corridor. As if he didn't have the strength to crawl in fully. Too busy watching you sleep.

"Oh, Satoru," a cry finally escaped your throat, as your knees bent beside his body. "You fool, so stupid, you're–oh!" A hysterical lament filled the small bedroom as you touched his cold body. "Satoru, how c-could you leave me alone?"

Face, always beaming with so much warmth and joy, lay in dead silence. With your loving, blue eyes closed behind the curtain of white lashes and lips more pale than usual.

Gathering every last ounce of strength still boiling in your body, you brought his ball back. In such a tight, ammonia-filled space, the chance of his recovery was much higher.

Opening it was almost impossible, so you cut a hole big enough to, with pain ripping through your muscles and sweat dripping down your spine, somehow push him inside. And then you glued the walls tight, with a prayer dripping off your lips, and your body cuddled into his crystal ball.

"I'll watch you sleep," you whispered, brushing the surface with his pressed cheek. "You won't die."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

The sun spilling through the curtain tickled your cheeks. The chirping of birds made you sigh deeply, and the gentle sea breeze coated your skin with soft kisses. The shoulder, the soft line of the spine, the slightly sweating neck, with a salty fragrance slipping sweetly into your nostrils.

You tried to stretch, waking up your stiff body from a deep slumber, but something locked you in place.

Something heavy and long, curling around your waist and pulling you closer to another stony wall.

Or, maybe you should say, stony chest.

Looking over your shoulder, you've met with a cheeky smile curling your husband's lips and still-sleepy, pale eyes. He pulled you closer, until your head found itself under his chin and your legs entangled with his.

"Good morning," you giggled, turning in his arms. "Did you sleep well?"

Satoru hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The thin barrier wrapping his body glimmered under the spilling sunlight. After years on his planet, you no longer needed a translator to understand his language. And so you kissed his blue neck, tracing the kisses up, and up, along his jaw and chin, until finally locking your lips with his.

"Apologies, I didn't watch you sleep."

You chuckled, biting gently on his lower lip. "Were you that tired after last night?"

"Mmm," a soft, satisfied hum escaped his throat when you felt something hard poking your belly. "Forgive your husband, he didn't realise he had a tigress and no wife at home."

You chuckled sweetly, forcing his lips to curl in a sly smile.

"Does my wife need anything? Do you want Suguru to lower the temperature?"

Tracing the sharpness of his jaw, up to the curve of his lips, your head shook. "No, it's warm enough. Maybe you can ask him to lower the birds' chirping a bit. I think they're a bit louder than yesterday."

He nodded, pulling you even closer. Till your bodies tangled in one, and a slow, peaceful pounding of his heart beat against your breasts. "Mhm, sure. But let's sleep a bit longer, and then you can jump on me as much as you want, hm?"

So with the last, soft kiss between your brows and heart swelling from feeling the heaviness of your body on his, Satoru allowed you to cuddle into his muscular chest and watch him slowly slip into a deep slumber.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

“grace, urgent matter. full attention, please. important!” rocky insists. ryland lets out another sigh.

“yeah, rock, i’m listening,” he says. there’s a note of tiredness to his voice, the result of nights (or days, maybe? who knows in space) spent tinkering with astrophage.

“she needs help. serious!” rocky seems genuinely distressed, and it gets ryland’s attention immediately. help? are you sick? injured?

“okay, buddy, why does she need help? talk to me.” he tries logic, staying calm, but rocky is too worked up to explain more— actually, it’s more like he physically can’t. ryland’s translations become more patchy, the alien’s usual clicks and whirs becoming faster and more unfamiliar. he catches a few things, and his heart falls to his stomach.

“died!” “not asleep.” “wrong.”

ryland stands immediately. “show me. c’mon, rocky, if something’s wrong we can’t waste any time,” he says urgently, ushering rocky’s ball in your vague direction.

rocky follows his instructions, rolling clumsily through the ship until he reaches the sleeping quarters. your bed is pulled out, and you’re sprawled across it. one arm is slung under your head, the other by your side, and your legs are starfishing with one knee bent and pulled up. ryland rushes over to you, almost tripping over rocky in the process, and checks your pulse. it’s fine.

maybe rocky can sense illness? something ryland can’t see?

he shakes you awake. “hey. c’mon, wake up for me.”

you stir with a groan. rocky is still rolling around, distressed. you raise your head, blinking blearily at ryland. your hair is a mess, and your brows are furrowed.

“what?” you grumble. ryland’s body does a full reset at the sound of your voice and he has to blink a couple times before he realises: you’re absolutely fine.

“rocky said something was wrong…” he mumbles, almost sheepishly. your gaze turns to the alien, who has stopped his panicking and is now silently facing you.

“rocky, what the hell?” you mutter. there’s a click - a new word - that you don’t know, but ryland laughs.

“he swore.”

“she was in wrong position. not sleeping,” rocky says.

“wrong position?” you grunt, sitting up. “honey, what do you mean?”

“not sleeping position. grace not sleep like that.”

“yeah, bud, most humans change positions throughout the night,” ryland attempts to explain.

“not grace,” rocky rebuts.

“yeah, ‘cause he basically goes comatose and doesn’t move,” you tease. ryland rolls his eyes, but you can see the smile he’s trying to keep hidden from you.

“eridians don’t move when sleeping. she… is okay, question?” rocky asks, his head (entire body? you don’t know, and you’re not sure how to ask) cocks to one side.

“yeah, i’m okay,” you assure him. your voice grows softer, knowing how much even a whisper of thought of you or ryland dying distresses him. he doesn’t seem to dwell on it much, rolling away and continuing to talk, not realising you and ryland haven’t followed him.

ryland looks back at you, his eyes gentler. “you’re really okay?” he asks, taking your hand in his. his hands are warm and bigger than yours, and you’ve come to love the feeling of your own being dwarfed.

“yeah, m’okay. still tired, though,” you reply, your voice quiet and tender. you watch as the relief floods ryland at your reassurance.

“you can go back to sleep,” ryland says, quieter now, as if to soothe you back to sleep. he sits on the edge of your bed as you curl back up and gently runs a hand across your forehead, smoothing away any stray hairs.

“he means well,” he murmurs warmly. “he just…”

“worries,” you finish, already growing sleepy again, “i know. it’s alright.”

“you know, he’s gonna be keeping a real close eye on you for the foreseeable future,” he practically whispers.

you let out a drowsy hum. “as long as i don’t wake up to him looking down at me again, i’m all good.”

ryland laughs quietly and presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “i’ll pass on the word. goodnight. again.”

You try to reply but all that came out were coughs.

“Incorrect.”

“Nflur” You try speaking, only to come out with a poor attempt of an answer. “Incorrect,what is two plus two?” You let out a frustrated groan. You just said the answer! You thought How was it incorrect?! “Incorrect, You have been in an induced coma. You may experience memory loss, difficulty speaking.” Finally once your vision had fully cleared you could see who was talking to you.With a brow raised you look to your right to see some machine with different arms and tools, pointing toward you. You’re eyes widen, still in your dazed state from being in a induced coma for a while which you still didn't know how long you had been asleep for yet, you let out a scream, rolling off the stretcher you were just on, trying to use you arms or legs but with no use, you roll away as far as you could to get away from this robot thing in front of you.

“Noooo..Noope.” “Body movement detected. For your own safety, please return to the medical platform.” Finally getting movement in your arms and legs you wriggle your arms out of the clear suit. Only to realise you were completely naked underneath. You zip the suit back up quickly as before standing on your feet and leaning against the padded wall beside you before stumbling toward the ladder that led you out of the medical bay area. “Please remember, muscle function has not yet been restored.”“Where- Where am i?!” You yell out as you continue to ignore the robots pleas. You struggle but finally make your way out of the medical bay, lights turning on with each step you took in front of you, the place is eerily quiet….way too quiet. Even outside. No voices, no nothing. Where the bloody hell were you? And why does the place look like some underground base? Everything was almost made with metal? “Hello? People? Anyone?!” Terrified of the thought of being alone in a place like this, dark and quiet, you yell out, tripping on your own two feet, landing with a thud onto your face. “Oh shi- Ow.” Maybe that stupid robot was right…stupid muscle function. You thought to yourself as you gathered yourself and stood back up, holding onto whatever was beside you to support you from not falling flat on your face a second time. As you make your way around, exploring the place trying to find something to cover yourself with than a see through suit. you stumble across different bags with different names written on them. ‘Yao’ , ‘Olesya’ , ‘Grace’ and ‘engineer’ which sounded strange to you, all these names and one is just labelled as ‘engineer’ in a sharpie,nothing else. No actual name or anything. It was written down almost like in a rush for a last minute choice. You didn't even remember your own name… Grace maybe? You were not sure but opened the package anyways as you were in need of a shirt to cover yourself. Grabbing whatever piece of clothing that was on top. You put the black shirt on which was a little too big for you, with the words in big white letters ‘I had potential’ written on the front of the shirt. Yeah…this definitely wasn't your shirt but it’ll have to do. You wanted answers to where you were and why. Finally you make your way to a room with multiple controls and buttons. You assumed it was some sort of control room, but for what?. Your eyes immediately go to the window in front of you. Pitch black Completely pitch black. “What the actual fuck-” There’s no way….no fucking way.You make your way up closer to the window, your heart drops. Almost feeling like you couldn't breathe either.You were in space….Alone on a fucking space ship.—--------------------------------The sun was dying, and word started to spread quickly. Eva Stratt had called upon you to help with a new project. One sworn to secrecy.

‘Project Hail Mary’ You didn't exactly know why she had asked you, she could have called any other engineer with much more experience to help but in her own words, you were her greatest engineer. As you had worked with NASA previously with other projects.Staring blankly at your computer bored but stressed, trying to work on the project. You had very limited time to get everything organised for the Hail Mary, you were lacking in sleep because of it. The amount of empty cups of coffee residing on your desk are a dead give away of how exhausted you were, as well as the grey bags under your eyes. With a frustrated sigh you lean back in your chair,your hands covering your face for a moment till your phone starts ringing in your pocket. Pulling it out and across the screen read ‘STRATT’ You immediately answer, as Stratt always hated when her phone calls were not answered right away. “Hello.” You answer the call, waiting for a response from Stratt’s side of the call. “Come to my office please, it's urgent.”Whatever the urgency was you stood up from your desk after Stratt had hung up not giving you even a second to respond. Stratt never really called you, usually she would have someone come and collect you instead. But you didn't want to waste any time and rushed out toward her office building. Once you reached Stratt’s office, security let you through as they all knew you worked along side Stratt. With a small knock on the open door to her office with a slight nervous smile on your face. “You wanted to see me?”Stratt looked up from her desk, motioning you to come inside and close the door. “Yes…i want you to take a look at this, tell me what you think of it.” Stratt passes a sheet of paper toward you as you take a seat in front of her, you look back at her with a questionable look as you take the paper looking at it. Its a thesis…A thesis paper titled, ‘The Goldilocks Zone Is For Idiots: Why Everyone Is Wrong About Life.’ You look back up at Stratt, confused as to why she was even showing you this. Was this what was urgent? ‘’Isn't this written by that guy who called that scholar a “staggering waste of carbon” at the UNESCO conference in Denmark?” Stratt nodded. “Yes it is him, Dr Ryland Grace.” You place the paper back on the desk, still unsure of what Stratt was trying to get at. “I see…but what does this have to do with me…or the whole project?” Stratt takes a sip of her coffee beside her before responding. “Dr Grace has a doctorate in molecular biology.” “Right ... .but why me? I’m just the engineer for this project…i have some knowledge in other roles and things but...I- I can't even pilot…a ship- thats why i stuck to engineering-.” Stratt calls out your name to stop you from talking. “He can help.’’ Those three words caught your attention. ______________________ That’s it!! You remember now, you’re an engineer and you were working on the project Hail Mary! But that still did not explain why you were aboard the ship. Was there a plan Stratt had that she forgot to mention to you? And that Grace guy? Is he aboard the ship too? You didn't even think to look at the other stretchers to see if anyone else was there or awake yet. And why was he even on the ship? “Please record video diary”

The ship calls out, scaring you. “AH, Jesus Christ! No!!” “Is there anyone I can speak to? Aboard or…not aboard…someone from earth, someone in charge?!” “Captain Yáo Li-Jie, deceased.”“Materialist Specialist & Engineer, Olesya IIyukhina, deceased.”Two aboard…dead…“Wh- wh..- what- and where are the living people?” A tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, you don't even remember these two people but it still broke you, two lives that had a life…families… sacrificing their own lives to save earth… “Doctor Ryland Grace, still in an induced coma in Medical Bay…status….ALIVE”You let out a sigh of relief. You were not alone. You take a seat, forgetting it was the pilot’s seat. The moment you sat down Mary, the voice system spoke. “Pilot detected.”Immediately hearing those worlds you shot up, out of the seat panicking. “NO NO I- I’M AN ENGINEER NOT A PILOT!!” —---------------------------------- A few hours had passed, or minutes.. You didn't know or really try to track it since you didn't have a watch or a clock with you. Did space even have a time? Like earth? Or? You found yourself in the projector room, looking at the screen of trees, the whistling sounds of birds and the wind flowing through the trees, with a sad look on your face. You really missed earth…being home. But here you were, on a ship, in the middle of space, unsure why you were on it, with one other crew mate who was yet to wake up and probably won't remember anything the moment he wakes, just like you did. What was Grace even like? You thought. Was he nice? An asshole? The last thing you wanted was to deal with a douchebag while both stuck in space. Just as you were deep in thought you hear a commotion coming from the corridor of the ship. “People! Hello?!” A male voice yells out. Quickly you rush out of the projector room, toward the noise. 

“Where am I?!” The voice rings out again, more slurred than what he had said before. You stop to a halt, there stood Grace, you assumed. Standing in the middle of the room, near the observation dome near the lab area of the ship. You could see it all over his face the moment it hits him where he is. Grace’s head turns toward you, the both of you just stare at each other for a few seconds. Some relief on Grace’s face as he sees you and is glad he is not alone. That face though….why does he look so familiar…? Like someone you once got close to back home?

—------------------------------- Not long after your ‘urgent talk’ with Stratt, here you were standing at a classroom door with Stratt at Grover Cleveland Middle, to talk to Ryland Grace. The school’s 8th grade science teacher. “Knock, knock.” Stratt calls out. “ Who’s there?” Grace jokingly says, looking up from correcting students papers. “Not good at jokes.” Stratt doesn't even laugh as she speaks, reaching for the paper both you and her had discussed earlier. “Not good at jokes who?” Grace responds, trying to lighten the mood, and laughing at his own joke.

You let out a little laugh, Grace’s gaze looks over to you, lingering for a little while. “Dr Grace? I’m Eva Stratt, this” Stratt mentions your name, as you give a small nod toward Grace as a hello. “I’m with the Petrova taskforce. I need your help.” Grace looked at you both, confused as to why someone would be asking for help from him. “Me?” Stratt hands you the paper, to show Ryland. “Yes…uh did you write this?” You hold up the paper for him to see. Embarrassment written all over his face as he tries to avoid both yours and Stratts eyes. ‘’Oh- uhm.” Ryland sits up, starting to pack away his belongings for the day to try and head home. “This section here” You point to the section that was written by him. “page 31, The Goldilocks Zone Is For Idiots: Why Everyone Is Wrong About Life.” You look at him, waiting for an answer only for him to walk out the classroom. Both you and Stratt follow. “Do you stand by what you wrote?” Stratt questions, taking over from you asking. “I was fired for standing by what I wrote-” Placing the thesis paper under your arm and crossing them you respond to his comment, “You were fired for calling the leading scholar in your field a “staggering waste of carbon” at the UNESCO conference in Denmark… there's a difference.” Grace stops and looks at you. “Oh…you you heard about that, huh?” “Everyone did.” You cut in quick. Following Grace outside to where he placed his bike.Stratt staying behind a little to give you the opportunity to try and gain Grace’s trust. That was one of the reasons why she brought you along. You’d probably have a better chance of persuading. “No one in your field wants anything to do with you because you refuse to back down from a very unpopular view. Stratt can give you a chance to prove them all wrong.”  At this point you had cornered Grace so there was no way of him trying to get out with his bike,not that you wanted to but you and Stratt needed help.. In his flustered ‘I want to get away and not answer anymore’ state he thought yelling out to a child who was walking to ‘stop running.’ “You do care…you’re  just running away because you’re scared.” “No- No im not-” Grace manages to get past you,but you stop him in his tracks with your next question. “Do you still believe water is unnecessary for life to evolve?” You turn to face him, looking at him waiting for his answer. Grace lets out a sigh as he adjusts his helmet on his head.Not aware of the black vehicles that surround the area. He was not leaving the school on his bike that was for sure. “Look, there is, uh, nothing magical about hydrogen and oxygen. Water is required for life on Earth, sure, but a completely different planet might have completely different conditions. I don’t know why that makes me such a nut.” You go to respond but Stratt cuts in, Carl beside her. “ I need you to come with us.” You don't even wait to hear what excuse Grace has next, you walk back to the vehicle you and Stratt both arrived in. This whole thing was frustrating, stressful and annoying. And the one guy who has a doctorate in molecular biology who could help massively with the project doesn't want to help because he was scared. —---------------------------------------------------------------------

Human beings should not weigh so little. Not people who had once been upright and talking and moving through the world under their own power. Not people who had, at some point, eaten meals and laughed at jokes and boarded a ship of their own free will. 

This trip had taken nearly everything from them; their muscles had wasted away into almost nothing. Under the material of the bags, there had been hardly more than bone and parchment-thin skin, their forms narrow and diminished; he found it hard to focus without his throat seizing up. 

Get it together. 

He apologised to them for the way he was handling this. It seemed important they know he understood this was not good enough.

The bags themselves were a thick material zipped neatly to the throat, each with a small, clear plastic window over the face. He had hated that part at first. Then hated the idea of covering them entirely even more. There was something unbearable about both options. Hide them, and it felt callous. See them, and it felt unbearable. 

Two bad choices, neither of them deserved. 

He had insisted on doing it alone. Well, not alone, exactly. You had followed him the first time anyway, and he didn’t stop you; your steps still slightly uneven but much steadier than when you’d first woken up. You were filled with fatigue, your body still catching up, but there was a stubbornness to the way you followed that he was beginning to understand was not temporary. It seemed pretty foundational, actually.

You had folded your arms and looked at the first body bag, then at him.

“I can help.”

Ryland had been halfway crouched already, one hand braced beneath as he looked up at you over his shoulder, shaking his head. 

Absolutely not. 

Call it old-fashioned chivalry, call it the deeply unscientific belief that if there was a woman and a pile of corpses on a metal ship in space, the woman should be exempt from corpse duty. Whatever the label, he was not letting you carry dead astronauts on your first day awake.

Your expression had not changed. “Grace.”

“I’ve got it.”

“I want to help.”

You said it matter-of-factly. It was very considerate of you, but he would stand firm on the matter this time. 

He gave you a strained smile and adjusted his grip. “I am currently more in control of my limbs than you are.”

Your gaze sharpened slightly, all that frightening perceptiveness of yours turning on him. You looked at him like you were lining up the truth beneath the words, before you let him continue. 

Frankly, he needed the task. He needed to put his hands to something useful before his brain had a chance to sit still long enough to fully understand what those cots had contained, what those zipped bags meant, what it said about all of you, that he and you were the only ones left standing.

You must have seen some version of that, because you only nodded once and stepped aside. He was grateful. 

He carried them through the ship one by one, down the metal corridors and into the narrow airlock chamber, the bag cradled carefully. He held each body with one arm beneath the shoulders and the other beneath the knees, the way people carried sleeping children in films or brides over thresholds. A terrible list of comparisons his mind had offered, and he had hated all of them.

Now both bodies lay side by side in the small metal corridor of the airlock, parallel to one another, the white bags bright against the steel floor.

Ryland stood just outside the threshold and tried very hard not to think the word laid out.

He swallowed and shifted the bundles in his hands.

Papers and a  few printed documents, some photos. Whatever he had been able to gather that seemed like it belonged to them, or to the life they had before. A photo with bent corners. A page of notes in handwriting that was foreign to him. He did not know if any of it was appropriate. He didn’t know if there was an appropriate.

He only knew it felt wrong to send them out with nothing. 

He noticed you before he looked at you, mostly because his body seemed newly and annoyingly tuned to your presence. The small shift in the air as you stepped up beside him. The brush of your sleeve near his arm, the heat of you there. He had become aware of these things in the last few hours with a sensitivity he did not have an explanation for, which was inconvenient, because explanations were kind of his favourite thing.

When he did glance at you, you were staring at the bodies.

Your expression was unreadable. Your face had gone very still, your mouth set softly but firmly, your arms loose. The harsh ship-light caught on the planes of your face and made your exhaustion more obvious: the slight darkness under your eyes, the pallor that had not entirely left your skin. You looked steadier on your feet than before, but not untouched. 

No one could be untouched by this. Not unless they had been made in a factory, probably by the robot arm.

God, he still hated that thing. 

He forced his attention back, allowing the moment to wash over him. It could so easily have been the two of you zipped into bags with your names reduced to labels and some future stranger trying to decide whether or not to say a few words before ejecting you into deep space.

It wasn’t just the image of his own death, but yours beside it. He didn’t know why it landed there so sharply. He barely knew you. Technically, he knew almost nobody right now. And yet his mind kept catching on you as though it recognised something his memory refused to hand over. 

He was grateful, though.

Grateful that there was one other person here who had survived. Grateful that when he’d heard the coughing from below and rushed down that ladder, it had led to you and not to another room full of silence. Grateful that the ship was not entirely empty of responsive eyes, someone else to witness all of this with him. Grateful, too, in a way that it was you standing beside him now. 

He couldn’t explain that part, so he didn’t try.

He cleared his throat, but his voice caught.

Excellent start.

He decided to focus on the photographs.  

Commander Yao Li-Jie stared back at him from a glossy square of paper, alive and mid-laugh, eyes narrowed with amusement while pulling an objectively ridiculous face at the camera. In another, he stood in uniform with the posture of someone used to responsibility. In another, he was holding up some sort of fish with triumph.

He placed the first photograph carefully over the body bag, then hesitated before unzipping the front slowly, adjusting it so it rested in his folded hands instead.

There. That’s better.

“Commander Yao,” he began, then immediately grimaced. Too formal? Not formal enough? Was there a correct amount of formal for being eleven-point-something light-years from Earth while addressing a dead astronaut in a corridor?

No time to workshop it now.

“I—uh.” He cleared his throat again. “We must have known you. I mean—”

His voice wavered and he hated it.

“I just... I don’t remember.”

He looked down at another photo, at the scrunched face and the unmistakable sense of humour captured in it.

“You make a funny face in… literally every picture,” he said softly. 

A wet laugh escaped him as he rubbed quickly at his nose with the back of his wrist. 

“You must’ve been very smart. And strong. And brave.” His eyes burned. 

Way braver than he’s being right now.

He placed another photo beside the first and sat back on his heels, blinking hard at the floor until the sting eased enough to continue. Across from him, you had not moved.

When he risked a glance upward, you were watching him with that same composure you seemed to wear like armour. Your face was calm, but not cold. Your shoulders straight, chin slightly lowered toward the bodies. Respectful.

How were you doing that?

Compartmentalising, it was the only explanation. You were better at it than him. Whatever your job had been, whatever parts of it he was beginning to remember in flashes, it had clearly required the ability to function while terrible things stood directly in front of you. He did not possess this ability. 

Different skill sets.

He turned to the second body. Ilyukhina’s photos were a mess. Several people crowded into frame with her in nearly every one, arms slung around shoulders, someone laughing hard enough to blur, another person half cut off at the edge. In one, she stood in front of a massive red wall with a grin that looked guilty.

Is that the Kremlin?

He looked closer.

Oh my god.

He held the picture up toward the body as if she might clarify. He laughed through the thickness in his throat and carefully set the photo into her hands.

“Ilyukhina,” he said, voice softer now. “You seem to have had a lot of friends.”

He glanced through the remaining stack, more proof of somebody whose orbit had touched a lot of people.

“This picture—of what looks like you sneaking into the Kremlin—is legendary, by the way.”

His smile faltered almost immediately.

“I wish you were still here.”

He pressed his lips together. His fingers were trembling now, slight but visible. He tucked them against his palm.

“I wish I were doing a better job,” he admitted.

That one was harder to say. Because it wasn’t just about this moment. It was about the ship, the dead, the memory gaps, the impossible distance from home. The idea that he should have more answers, not just for himself, but for the woman who stood a few feet behind him. 

He drew in a shaky breath.

“You were both very loved,” he said, looking between them. “That’s obvious. You deserve much more than... this.”

His voice thinned on the last word. He looked at the bodies, at the cheap little photos resting in still hands, at the walls standing in for sky and church and earth and every proper place the dead should be mourned.

“We’ll do our best,” he said.

The we made him turn instinctively toward you, and you met his eyes at once. Still steady, but there was something gentler there beneath the control. Your mouth lifted at one corner in the smallest smile, and then you gave him a single nod.

He looked away too quickly, embarrassed by how much that tiny gesture helped.

“To make sure that you don’t—” He faltered. “You know.”

Die for nothing. 

He sniffed as he tried again.

“That you didn’t—” He nodded to himself. 

He couldn’t say it. 

“We’ll—we’ll do our best.”

Silence returned when he finished. He pushed himself upright, wiping both palms down the front of his suit. The movement did nothing to steady him, his breathing had gone shallow, his thoughts racing too fast to catch. 

He was in space. He had no memory. He was light-years from home, standing in an airlock trying to honour two dead crewmates with words that felt painfully inadequate. He couldn’t—

“Hey, hey—” 

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, warm through the fabric.

“You’re alright.”

Yeah, right. He was a complete mess.

He shook his head, overwhelmed enough that speech arrived in pieces.

“Do you—uh...” He swallowed hard. “Do you want to I mean, if you wanted to say something, you can. Obviously. You don’t have to.”

You stepped a little closer and shook your head.

“You said it all,” you told him softly. “That was really nice, Grace.”

He wiped quickly at his eyes as your voice reached him. Thank God you were here. At least one of you seemed steadier than the other.

Before he could think what to do next, you drew him into a hug. He returned it instantly, almost desperately, arms folding around you with relieved certainty. Your body was solid and warm against his; the panic loosened its grip on his neck. There was someone else here, someone alive. Someone was kind enough to hold him together when he was coming apart.

“I’m not—I didn’t know what to say—”

You shushed him softly. 

“You said plenty.”

He looked back up. You gave another small nod, firmer this time.

“You said everything right.”

What even was “right” at this point? 

His throat tightened all over again for entirely new reasons. 

“Alright,” he said, because anything more articulate was beyond him.

You angled your head toward the opposite side of the chamber, the control panel waiting there with its levers and seals and consequences. Wordlessly, you seemed to read his hesitation. You did not falter as you led him away.

The lights glowed amber against the steel wall. He reached for the release lever, forcing his breathing to steady. This was mechanical. A sequence. He could do sequences. He wrapped his hand around the handle, and it shook immediately.

Oh, come on.

He tightened his grip, which only made the tremor more obvious. His body had chosen an excellent moment to betray him. Before he could try and fail to hide it, your hand lifted and you placed it gently over his.

The contact was light enough that he could have moved away if he wanted to. Warm palm over cold knuckles. Your fingers settle carefully against the back of his hand, only asking.

“Let me.”

He swallowed. You gave the smallest incline of your head and, with your hand still over his, eased his fingers loose from the handle. He stepped back. Part of him was relieved instantly, the other almost wished he hadn’t surrendered it, because now he had to watch you do it instead.

You did not hesitate.

You stood facing the mechanism, profile lit by lights. Calm had settled over you again. If there was grief in you, it had been placed somewhere internal and orderly, boxed for later examination.

He remembered little, small fragments that were of little use. He noticed the way you observed before you spoke, the way your composure was not emptiness but discipline, your profession attached to those instincts hovered just out of reach, close enough to feel, not yet close enough to name aloud. He hadn’t mentioned any of it. There had been no room between survival, panic, and funerals.

But memory was moving now.

Your hand tightened on the lever. His gaze drifted from your face to your wrist to the line of concentration between your brows. And beneath all of that, another word rolled through his mind again. 

Astrophage.

It struck something loose. A lab full of light. Glass. Whiteboards. Heat trapped in the air by too many machines. His own voice talking too fast. 

Your voice cutting through it for the very first time.

The lever dropped, and the memory began to open. 

This was, quite literally, one of the worst afternoons in his life. 

He sat on the floor with his back against the curved steel wall, knees bent, elbows hanging over them, staring at absolutely nothing. He’d been in the facility for nearly twenty hours, perhaps more. Time had dissolved somewhere around hour twelve.

One minute he’d been a middle-school science teacher with a sensible shirt and a lunchbox in his passenger seat, and the next he’d been intercepted by a severe European woman who had all but bundled him into the back of an SUV and informed him that an article he’d written years ago—an article most of academia had mocked with enthusiasm—might contain a grain of truth.

Life that could survive on the surface of the sun. Life that therefore might not require water.

A chance to prove everyone wrong. 

He’d imagined the look on old colleagues’ faces when they realised the weird molecular biology guy they’d laughed out of faculty lounges had been right all along. He’d mentally drafted interviews and several deeply elegant “I told you so” speeches. 

Then he’d dissected the little monsters and discovered they were, in fact, almost entirely made of water.

No victory speeches for him after all. Just a highly classified reminder that nature did not care about his ego.

He rubbed both hands down his face and sighed into his palms. He let his head thunk gently against the wall behind him.

It shouldn’t have mattered this much. Science was being wrong until you were less wrong than before. That was the whole game, discovery over personal feelings.

Unfortunately, he was also a person. Which meant it stung.

He had let himself hope. Worse, he had let himself get smug in advance. That was always how the universe got you.  He was still busy hosting this deeply productive pity party when footsteps echoed through the tunnel.

There were two sets, one brisk, the other lighter, lacking the clipped authority of the first. He lowered his hands and turned his head.

The first figure entering the curved corridor was instantly recognisable. Stratt, her dark jumper hung from her shoulders, clean lines matching the severity of everything else about her. She looked remarkably composed after the last twenty hours of scientific discovery and no sleep. 

The second figure beside her was less familiar. He had seen you briefly before, through the observation room glass opposite the containment chamber. A silhouette leaning near Stratt. At the time, however, his attention had been split between dissecting extraterrestrial microbes and not suffocating in argon gas. So, frankly, details had suffered.

You stood beside Stratt, close enough to suggest trust rather than hierarchy. Not hovering behind her like everyone else seemed to. You were beside her. 

Interesting. 

You were dressed in clothes that looked expensive but understated. Your coat was well-tailored to your body, and shoes practical for movement. You held yourself with confidence, and there was intelligence in your face, but not hidden behind steel. And as your eyes landed on him, slumped against the tunnel wall, the faintest smile touched your mouth; something close to reassurance.

It was, under the circumstances, alarmingly effective.

Stratt stopped in front of him.

“Alright?” Stratt asked.

Not exactly. 

He pushed himself upright a little, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He became abruptly aware that he probably looked deranged. Rumpled cardigan, bloodshot eyes, twenty-hour stubble.

“Sorry if I, uh...” He gestured vaguely toward the lab behind him. “Sorry if I… overreacted in there.”

He sighed. Maybe throwing the bin was a step too far. 

“Just realised I was wrong about the only… original idea I’ve ever had.”

Stratt did not comfort him, she stepped over his emotional state routinely.

“What else did you learn?” 

Right. Straight to work then.

He cleared his throat and straightened properly. However bruised his ego was, science still worked.

“They give off infrared light when they move,” he said, glancing between the two of you. “Like, a lot. I don’t know where they’re storing that kind of energy.”

Stratt nodded once. “Continue.”

“But the wavelength is exact,” he said, now warming to the explanation despite himself. “It matches the Petrova frequency exactly.”

“The light is how they move?”

“Yeah.” He pointed back toward the chamber. “They absorb energy from the sun, then expel it for propulsion.”

You were both looking at him, one of you with measured focus, the other with open concentration that made him suddenly aware of every word coming out of his mouth.

He panicked.

“They—uh—they toot to scoot, basically.”

God. Why had he said that?

He closed his eyes, preparing to fold himself into the floor. But then laughter echoed around him. 

His eyes snapped open. You had turned slightly away, one hand lifting toward your mouth as if to catch the sound too late. Your shoulders moved with the tail-end of it, and when you looked back at him, there was apology in your expression, but the smile remained.

It was bright; he couldn’t help but smile back.

Stratt, immune to humour, continued.

“Why did it go to Venus?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I wish I did, but I don’t know.”

He hated not having more for the pair. 

“We can tell you.”

Your voice was different from what he expected. It was warmer than your partners. He looked at you immediately. 

“We can?” he repeated.

How could you know why it had gone to Venus?

Stratt answered before you did.

“We have three hundred and forty-seven other biologists in twenty-one countries mobilising as we speak.”

Three hundred and forty—

He looked to you for clarification; you seemed like the more reasonable one of the pair. You only gave a small shrug, one side of your mouth lifting.

“Thank you for all your help,” Stratt said. Which, from her, sounded almost emotional. Then she was walking back down the tunnel, one hand lifting a radio to her mouth as she spoke in clipped instructions before she had fully left earshot. 

And then there were two.

The sudden absence of Stratt’s presence changed the atmosphere of the space immediately. He was still sitting on the floor where you had found him, one knee bent up and the other stretched out slightly in front of him. It occurred to him that he should probably stand. 

Socially, that seemed like the thing to do. But after the last twenty hours, his body had unionised. The adrenaline of discovery and disappointment was wearing off. So he stayed where he was.

“Thank you, Dr Grace. Again.” Your voice carried easily in the tunnel.“You really have been a big help.”

He let out a short scoff before he could stop himself.

“Really?”

It came out more bitter than he intended, but you only nodded, entirely unoffended.

“Oh, absolutely.” You stepped a little closer, folding your arms loosely as you spoke. “You helped us understand the biological makeup of Astrophage. That has pushed us forward massively.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him as if you already knew exactly which parts of him were bruised and where to apply pressure.

“You were the first one to do that, you know.”

“Yeah,” he said, picking at an invisible mark on his jeans. “But that’s only because I’m expendable.”

“That’s not quite true—”

“It kind of is.” He looked up at you, unable to stop the defensive humour creeping back in. “You just didn’t want to put some world-renowned scientist in a room full of argon and expose them to an extraterrestrial anomaly.”

He gave a small shrug.

“Much easier to gas the disgraced middle-school teacher.”

Better to say it first, before anyone else could.

You looked at him before lowering yourself, crouching down so your eyes were at the same level. The expensive coat folded neatly around you, clearly not designed for industrial flooring. It was such a human gesture that it caught him off guard. Most people spoke down to someone on the ground; you simply came down to meet him there.

“But you still did it,” you tell him honestly,  “When we told you what the lab was filled with, you carried on.”

Your eyes held his steadily. Intelligent eyes. 

“You showed remarkable resilience, Dr Grace.”

Heat rose up the back of his neck so fast he had to glance away.

“Yeah… I guess.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and sighed. “But that still doesn’t negate the fact that I’m the laughing stock of scientific academia.”

The words were meant more for the floor than for you, but you heard them anyway. Your brow furrowed.

“I don’t think so.” You continued before he could deflect it. “I think it is rather brave to put yourself out there like that.”

He gave a disbelieving chuckle.

“No, seriously. I do.”

There was no smile this time, no teasing edge to soften the words; you meant them. He nodded once, looking off to the side as if the wall had suddenly become fascinating.

You were not having it.

“Hey.”

The word pulled his attention back immediately, you waited until he met your eyes.

“I have been called crazy many times throughout my career,” you said. “Massively. There have been multiple occasions where my opinion has been brushed aside as some insane deduction.”

Ryland scoffed.

“Yeah, but you didn’t call the leading scholar in your field a staggering waste of carbon at the UNESCO conference in Denmark, did you?”

God. Denmark.

Not his proudest moment, he can admit that. 

“No, I did not.” You paused just long enough to let him suffer, mouth curving into a playful grin. “But I did call the Secretary of State a spineless opportunist during a private UN Security Council meeting.”

He barked out a laugh so genuine it echoed down the tunnel.

“No way.”

You gave one elegant shoulder a shrug.

“He was being one,” you giggled, “I am paid to tell the truth, you know.”

Okay, he definitely liked you now. 

Whatever vague category he had initially placed you in—government operative, expensive person with access badges—had to be revised immediately.

You had nerve. And apparently beneath that calm smile was the sort of person who could insult heads of state to their face and sleep perfectly well afterwards. Dangerous yet deeply interesting. You were probably one of the most senior individuals he had ever met. He realised he was grinning at you and made no move to stop.

“And what do you do for work?”

You sat back slightly on your heels, looking absurdly composed.

“I’m a Senior Consultant in Criminal Behaviour and Cognitive Analysis.”

You said it simply, but with a flicker of pride that brightened your whole face.

Good lord.

“That’s...” He blinked. “That’s a lot of words.”

You laughed again.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” you admitted. “But I’m really just a profiler.”

He nodded as if that clarified everything, though in truth it raised several more questions.

A profiler certainly explained the eyes. 

“So what are you doing here?” he asked, trying for casual.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” you smiled apologetically. “Sorry.”

He lifted both hands in surrender. “No, no, I should’ve guessed.”

Right. Classified mystery woman with government clearance probably didn’t spend her days discussing sensitive operations with sleep-deprived biology teachers in tunnels. 

He was about to say something else, something witty, hopefully, to keep the conversation going. But your head turned sharply to the left. A voice echoed faintly from further down the corridor. A name.

“Coming!”

Your name. 

It suited you. 

You rose to your feet. He, determined not to appear less graceful, pushed himself up as well and nearly lost his balance in the process. You pretended not to notice as you held out your hand. 

“A pleasure to properly meet you, Dr Grace.”

He took it with perhaps more enthusiasm than the situation required.

Your grip was warm and firm.

“Likewise,” he said quickly. “Very much likewise.”

“I wish you all the best in the future. I hope our paths may cross again.” You smiled.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”

Wait.

He looked at you.

If?

His mind scrambled to keep up. “Does this mean I’m off the hook?”

Something mischievous flashed across your face. The first real warning sign, in hindsight. You glanced toward the tunnel exit where Stratt had disappeared, then leaned in just slightly.

“Take it up with Stratt,” you murmured as you stepped back, already turning away. “But I’d make it fast if I were you.”

You walked down the corridor after her, coat swaying, footsteps fading. He stood there, hand still half-raised from the handshake, staring at the space you had left behind.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

He should not go after you.

This was insane. He had papers to mark. A classroom plant that was not going to be watered by a bunch of teenagers. A whiteboard still covered in badly drawn cell diagrams. He had children who expected him tomorrow morning.

Mia still needed to pass the grade. She had potential, but if she spent one more lesson trying to light pencils on fire with the Bunsen burner, that potential might be mostly theoretical. Theo needed him, too. He pretended not to care about anything while quietly scoring highest on every test and looking horrified whenever he was praised for it.

There were others. Kids who looked to him for answers, even when he only had approximate ones. He had a life already, one that was useful and important. 

But the corridor felt too still as you disappeared. 

If this had anything to do with the dimming of the sun, with those strange little dots, with the thing called astrophage rolling around his mind, then maybe there would not be a normal classroom in the future. Maybe there would not be graduations and term reports and smug little children pretending they hadn’t revised. Maybe all the ordinary things he loved were balanced on something much larger than one man’s timetable.

And if there was even a sliver of a chance that his brain could help with that?

Maybe this was where he was needed.

His legs made the decision before the rest of him did. He lurched forward, shoes catching on the floor as he broke into a jog, then a run.

“Hey!” he shouted, nearly clipping his shoulder on the entrance. “Wait!”

The voices ahead kept moving. Sharp commands in accented tones as he ran faster.

“Hey!”

He burst out into the larger loading bay where the convoy waited, black vehicles idled in neat formation. Men and women in practical dark clothing moved, carrying cases, speaking into earpieces.

Stratt did not turn around. You, however, looked over your shoulder. A quick brightness in your face when you saw him coming, your eyes sharpened with satisfaction, as though a prediction had just paid off.

Oh no.

Had this been a trap?

A very flattering trap?

“Are—” he panted, “are you just taking all this stuff?”

Stratt stopped walking at last.

“At the school,” she said, still facing away from him, “you said there were thousands of people more qualified than you.”

You had stopped beside her now, turning fully to face him. 

“I was being modest,” he said, glancing between the two of you.

“I do not need modest,” she said, stepping toward him. “I need people who think they are right when everyone else thinks they are wrong. I need people who piss other people off.”

“That’s me!” 

It was not even a lie. He had annoyed school boards, district admins, parents, internet strangers, and entire rooms of professional academics. If history were any indicator, irritating people in pursuit of the truth might actually be his most developed skill.

Something in your mouth twitched, seemingly happy with his insistence. Stratt stopped directly in front of him now.

“Do you want to be on the project?”

The humour vanished from the air. The loading bay seemed to narrow around the question. 

This was real.

“If you... if you think I can help—”

“Just answer the question,” you said from somewhere to the side, giving him that last piece of confidence he needed as he looked at you. 

You were watching him steadily, no manipulation that he could see.  It did something dangerous to his chest as he drew in a breath. 

“I want to help.”

Stratt only nodded once.

“Then I will leave you three dots.”

“Just three?”

“Plus the one you killed.”

He considered this.

“I would take the three,” you urged with a small chuckle behind your words. 

“Okay,” he said quickly, dragging his eyes elsewhere with great professionalism. “Yes. I’ll take the dots.”

“Good.”

Stratt stepped back.

“Get to work, Doctor Grace. The world is counting on you.”

She turned, already issuing orders to someone else. Within seconds, she was halfway gone, which left you and him once again. 

He stood there with his heartbeat still elevated, deeply satisfied, deeply terrified, and increasingly aware that he had just committed himself to solving a planetary crisis. You glanced toward Stratt’s retreating figure, then back at him.

Apparently deciding you had a few seconds to spare, you crossed the distance between you with quick steps. There was energy in the way you moved now, some triumph barely contained beneath your composure. 

“Welcome aboard, Dr Grace,” you said. “I look forward to seeing what you find.”

You were so different to your colleague. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, me too.”

You seemed to notice the hesitancy in his answer. You stepped a fraction closer, enough that the noise of the bay dropped away around the edges. When you spoke again, your voice was quieter. Meant only for him.

“Do us proud,” you said. “You’ve got this.”

Something in his face must have changed, because you held his eyes, as if making sure the message landed where you intended it to.

It did, and no one had looked at him like this for a long time. It was the first time he didn’t feel like the backup option, the man who’d taken a strange turn somewhere and ended up teaching children because bigger things hadn’t worked out. He felt like he was not just capable, he was chosen by two of the most intimidating women he had met in his lifetime. He felt like he was an important part in this. 

You stepped back before he could think of anything worth saying.

You gave him a small wave as you turned, hurrying toward the waiting convoy where Stratt stood by an open car door. He raised a hand back a second too late and with considerably less grace.

Smooth.

You slid into the vehicle, the door sliding shut as the car began to pull away. He stood alone in the widening quiet.

He had a job to do now.

It was urgent, yes, but there was something more to it. A part of him that was tucked somewhere more private. It had been a while since someone looked at him like that. And, with a suddenness that embarrassed him on principle, he hoped he would be seeing you again.

“Grace?”

The sound reached him as though from a distance.

“Grace?”

He blinked hard. The loading bay, the convoy, all of it dissolved at once, replaced by the cold hush of the airlock.

You stood in front of him now, not in memory but here, your brows drawn together with concern. One hand still hovered half-raised near his arm as though you had been debating whether to touch him again. He stared for a second too long.

“Huh?” he said intelligently.

He cleared his throat. The room swam back into proper focus. The bodies were gone and the hatch was sealed. His chest still felt too tight.

“Did—uh—did you say something?”

Your gaze moved over him quickly, clinical and gentle, checking his face, his breathing, the way he was holding himself. It was unnervingly efficient.

“I asked if you were alright.”

Right. Reasonable question, difficult answer.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again.

“Yeah. No. I’m fine, it’s just—”

The memory. 

He nodded to himself rapidly, as if agreement from his own head might help.

“I’m gonna—yeah. I’m gonna go.”

Before you could stop him, or worse, ask another kind question, he stepped past you and out into the corridor. His pace was brisk at first, then faster. Not quite fleeing, but deeply adjacent to fleeing.

The ship’s metal passageways stretched ahead in clean, indifferent lines. He needed to think.

Needed to figure out how to talk to you about any of this. How to explain that pieces of you were returning to him in flashes while whole sections of mission-critical memory remained missing.

It would have to happen later, when he was not on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Another nervous breakdown.  He would wait. See if more surfaced. See if the picture sharpened before he handed you half-formed fragments and hopeful nonsense.

This was ridiculous.

Ryland groaned once more as he reached awkwardly behind his own head. The scissors in his hand felt unnatural. They were standard enough kitchen shears repurposed for personal grooming. Every time he opened and closed the blades, the metal sounded threatening. He squinted at the mirror bolted into the wall in front of him.

There were only a handful of mirrors on the ship, as he recently discovered, and every single one of them was firmly fixed in place against the walls. There was no lifting one down, or angling it behind him, and he couldn’t do that clever barbershop trick with a second reflection. Just one flat rectangle mounted at eye level, showing him the front of his own increasingly suspicious face.

It still looked terrible. 

The front, he could manage, more or less. He had hacked the overgrown fringe back from his eyes with moderate success. The sides were shorter now, if a little uneven. But the back—god, the back was its own hellscape. 

Long strands still brushed the nape of his neck, curling out in all directions. Combined with the shorter front, the effect was a sort of failed 80s rock singer with the worst mullet of the decade.

He angled his head left, then right, pushed his glasses further up his nose, twisted again until something in his neck clicked in protest.

“Oh, come on,” he muttered to his own reflection.

The reflection offered no solutions.

He did technically have another option: the robot arm. He glanced toward the door as if it might hear him thinking about it. 

He still doesn’t trust the thing. 

The arm had precision. It would probably give him an immaculate fade in under six minutes. It would also involve allowing his greatest enemy to approach his throat with sharpened steel.

No. No way. 

He preferred his barbers less metallic. 

He reached back again, grabbed a chunk of hair between two fingers, and pulled it taut away from his head. The scissors rose in his other hand, blades parting slowly as he lined them up with the hostage strands.

One decisive cut, maybe two. If he were careful, he might come away merely ugly instead of injured.

He drew the blades closer until he heard movement from the far side of the room. 

He jolted so violently that he nearly stabbed himself in the ear. He spun in the chair, hand flying down into his lap, scissors hidden there like he’d been caught in the act.

You stood in the doorway, one shoulder leaned lightly against the frame, expression so amused that it suggested you had already taken in the entire scene before he’d even turned around.

You had changed. Gone was the clinical ship-issued suit. In its place were a pair of navy tracksuit bottoms and a plain white top, soft and fitted the way expensive basics tended to be. Simple at first glance, but not cheap. The fabric sat properly, the seams clean. He knew that now, apparently. Tiny details had started returning to him in strange categories.

Very useful, brain.

You looked brighter than earlier, less drawn around the eyes, some colour restored to your face. Human again, rather than newly-awakened victim.

That was good. He had worried.

He realised this only when the sight of you looking rested made something in him unclench. You glanced meaningfully at the hand hidden in his lap.

“Do you want some help?”

He exhaled through his nose and dropped the pretence, lifting the scissors into view with all the dignity of a man surrendering evidence.

“How long were you standing there?”

A small smile touched your mouth. “Long enough to see you struggling.”

“I don’t know if I’d exactly call it struggling—”

“I was going to intervene if those scissors got any closer.”

You pushed off the doorway and crossed toward him. You stopped beside the chair.

“I can do it,” you said. “I mean—if you want. I can.”

The offer was easy to refuse if he needed to preserve what little pride remained. Even if you were the worst hairdresser in the universe—which felt statistically unlikely given how unfairly competent you seemed at everything else—you would still be better than him attempting blind surgery on his own skull.

It was a no-brainer. Also, if the result was terrible, you would be the one looking at it most often.

“Alright,” he lamented. “Yes. Please. Thank you.”

He held the scissors up toward you, and your fingers brushed his as you took them. It was a brief contact, but his pulse behaved as though something much more significant had occurred.

Embarrassing.

You moved behind him, and he turned back toward the mirror. Now he could see you there in the reflection.

You stood close enough that part of your frame filled the glass behind his shoulders, your concentration focused on his head as you tested the scissors once, then gathered a section of hair. There was a small furrow between your brows when you concentrated. 

You looked far better up close. 

You had taken a nap after the burial—funeral? Airlock memorial?  You had told him you were going to rest, that he needn’t worry. He had nodded and said of course, absolutely, no worrying here. Then spent the next twenty minutes wondering if you were actually sleeping or having a breakdown in one of the cabins.

He had believed you in the end, mostly because he wanted to.

He’d managed a few hours himself, collapsing into one of the narrow bunks with every intention of lying down for a minute, then waking much later with hair in his face, neck damp with sleep.

He needed to sort that out immediately. 

The nap had brought more than rest; more memories had surfaced in broken reels. Astrophage. Carl hovering at his side through endless days in the lab. The three dots, then losing them, the panic, then finding them. Then the wild turn of discovering how to breed the damn things after all.

He could feel the shape of triumph there, before the memory cut cleanly away into static. Everything beyond it remained fogged.

But you were sharp. Not quite complete, but clear in ways the others were not. He didn’t understand why the fragments of you held their edges while entire scientific breakthroughs dissolved around them. He suspected the answer was emotional and therefore deeply inconvenient. Behind him, you lifted another section of hair.

“Try not to move,” you said.

He met your gaze in the mirror.

“No promises.”

That earned him the smallest trace of amusement.

He held his breath as you made the first cut. The scissors moved with a metallic snip near his ear, then again at the nape of his neck. Long strands loosened and drifted down over his shoulders, sliding against the fabric of his t-shirt before collecting in his lap and on the floor around the chair. You worked more gently than he expected, one hand steadying his head while the other trimmed away the worst of the overgrowth.

When you needed a better angle, your fingers touched lightly beneath his jaw and tipped his chin downward.

There.

It had been a long time since anyone had touched him, quite literally longer than he could remember, and even before that, nothing stood out. You hand on his jaw and your fingers in his hair, your body behind him, while you were filled with concentration. 

It felt nice. 

Weirdly enough, it was also familiar. He chalked it down to the feeling he had back home. The strange forced intimacy of sitting in a chair while someone stood behind you, deciding the fate of your appearance. The pressure to make polite conversation with a person currently holding sharp objects near your skull. It was almost comforting.

Like being back on Earth.

He found himself chasing that feeling.

“So, uh...” he began. “How’s it looking?”

You snipped once more before answering.

“Well, I’m not Sassoon-trained,” you said dryly, “but I don’t think I can make it worse.”

“That’s promising.”

He huffed a laugh. More hair fell. You stepped back slightly, assessing your work in the mirror with narrowed eyes, then tilted your head.

“Do you have clippers?”

Clippers?

“Uh... surprisingly not on hand, no. But why—”

“It would be easier if we had some,” you said with a small sigh, already turning away from the back of the chair. He frowned, searching through the chaos of the last day. 

“I think the, uh... the robot arm had one when I woke up.”

You paused, slowly turning to look at him.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.”

He stared.

“You’ve met it too?”

“No,” You shook your head. “I saw you wrote about it in your notes.”

Ah. Yes, of course.

Wait.

“You went through my notes?”

A laugh escaped you, entirely too pleased with yourself.

“Yeah. Pretty impressive drawings you’ve got in there.”

Heat crawled instantly up his neck.

“Listen, I had only been awake a few hours and I didn’t—”

“My favourite was the angry eyebrows.”

He groaned aloud.

“Nope. We’re moving past this.”

“The caption was very honest.”

“Please stop talking.”

You were openly smiling now, and he realised with some alarm that making you laugh might become something he actively sought out. 

Dangerous development.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, I get it,” he lamented, gesturing dramatically from the chair. “If you want the clippers, you’re going to have to deal with it.”

You folded your arms.

“How?”

He glanced toward the corridor.

“I don’t know. Usually she just talks when she feels like it.”

You looked mildly offended on behalf of competent communication everywhere. You stepped away and raised your voice toward the ceiling.

“Uh… ship? Where might I find hair clippers?”

The mechanical female voice answered immediately from somewhere in the walls.

“Hair clippers are located in storage bay two, hygiene drawer C.”

You turned your head toward him slowly, the smugness on your face was unbearable.  You walked off toward the corridor without another word.

He huffed at the empty doorway.

Of course you got along with the darn thing.

This was how it began. First the robot sided with you. Next the ship would start laughing when he tripped over things. Before long he’d be outnumbered. It kind of reminded him of the classroom, in an odd way. 

He sat in the silence, brushing loose hair from his shoulders and pretending not to miss your presence. A few minutes later, your footsteps returned. You reappeared in the doorway holding a set of clippers triumphantly in one hand.

“Okay,” you said. “Can I?”

He nodded.

You crossed back to him and set a hand on his shoulder and swivelled the chair slightly so the light hit better. You clicked the clippers on, they buzzed to life in your hand. There was something deeply comforting about competence.

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” he said as you guided his head forward again.

Your fingers spread lightly at the back of his neck, causing goosebumps to rise across his shoulders. 

“Yeah,” you said, a small grin pulling at your mouth as you began working the clippers through the back of his hair. “It’s all coming back to me.”

“What, hairdressing?” 

“No,” you laughed under your breath. The clippers hummed along his scalp in neat passes. “I used to cut my friends’ hair back when I was a student.”

You what now?!

He swivelled so fast he wasn’t sure if you’d shaved a chunk out of his hair. 

“You remember stuff?”

“Only bits and pieces.” You pulled the clippers back. “I remember university.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You swivelled him round without permission as you resumed trimming. “Seems like a long time ago. But at least it’s familiar.”

He watched you in the mirror as you worked. Not all memory returned as pain, apparently. 

Good. He liked that for you.

“Do you remember what you studied?” 

You hummed once, considering.

“I had an MA in Law,” you said. “Then I got my PhD in forensic psychology. With an offer from Cambridge.”

Jesus.

You said it casually, as though people collected postgraduate degrees and elite offers every day before breakfast. You were bright, frighteningly so. Which, in fairness, tracked with everything else about you.

“My PhD was in molecular biology,” he offered.

You smiled as you flicked away another line of hair.

“Yeah,” you said casually. “I know.”

He turned so fast the chair squeaked again.

“How do you know?”

Your hand caught his shoulder, guiding him back into place before he ruined the blend.

“Face forward.”

He grumbled but complied, eager to question you further. 

“You… remember me?”

“A little,” you told him. “I remember Stratt telling me we needed to find you.”

Huh.

He had been sought out; his pride latched on to the idea of being specifically requested. He would have been happier if this whole ordeal hadn’t ended in amnesia and space travel. 

“I remember you too.”

“Really?” You looked at him in the mirror, sudden interest brightening your face. You resumed your work.

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “I remember us in the tunnel. After I, uh... after I threw my tantrum in the lab.”

Your brows drew together as you searched your own mind.

“The tunnel?”

“Yeah. In the tunnel.”

Recognition moved across your features as you nodded slowly.

“Oh—oh, yeah!”

Whatever lived between you both before this place had not been imagined.

“It’s good to know I’m not with a total stranger up here,” he softened the sentiment with a dry chuckle. 

“Yeah,” you replied. “Me too.”

The clippers went silent.

“And at least we know what we have to do at least.”

Something in your tone made him look up. Your face had changed as you gave him a soft look in the mirror, then frowned slightly as if surprised he hadn’t followed the thought. He turned more carefully this time.

“You know why we’re here?”

You blinked.

“Uh... yeah. Don’t you?”

“It hasn’t come back to me.”

It hadn’t.

That was where the memory ended, cleanly and without permission. One moment he was back there in that loading bay with engines running, your hand in the air. The next, nothing. 

He pushed at it anyway, because apparently, he never learned when to stop bothering impossible things. He reached for more details, more context, some missing bridge between then and now. 

What happened after Stratt drove away? What did he discover first? How did astrophage become this ship, this mission, this distance from home? How did you fit into it all?

Nothing.

He had hoped the nap earlier might loosen something. People always said sleep helped memory, helped emotional regulation. So far it had delivered fragmented science breakthroughs, unresolved feelings, and a haircut emergency. 

Mixed results.

But now there was an opening.

You stood in front of him with answers in your head and that alone felt almost intoxicating. After waking into blankness, the possibility of explanation felt dangerously close to hope.

He needed some line drawn from the man he had been to the man sitting in this chair now. And beyond that, he wanted to do something. Learn something or fix something.

Two people had died on this ship. Others had clearly worked and sacrificed and crossed impossible distances to get here. Whatever this mission was, it had cost too much already.

It was time to do his deceased crewmates proud.

He realised he was staring at you.

“Okay,” you said slowly, seemly bracing yourself. “This is going to be a long story.”

You reached out automatically, fingertips brushing through the front of his newly cut hair, adjusting one stubborn strand back into place.

“Let’s go to the lab. Maybe that’ll make it easier to explain, okay?”

You stepped away and headed for the door. Ryland stayed seated for one stunned second longer before turning back to the mirror.

The difference was immediate, his reflection more familiar. He looked less like a man who had been dragged screaming out of a cryogenic hedge and more like himself. Or at least a version of himself he recognised.

He stood quickly and followed after you. At last, he was going to figure out why he was here.

The melancholy in your face lingered in his mind, but you had not shut down under it. You were carrying something difficult and still moving. Maybe he could help with that. He was the science guy, after all. Maybe between the two of you, you could untangle whatever this mission had done to your memories, to your lives, to the future waiting somewhere beyond this ship.

Maybe one day, somehow, you could even make it home.

a/n: and here we get a little bit more back story !! hope you enjoyed rylands POV, i find it surprisingly easier to write for him than the reader. this still feels like a filler chapter, but trust me something is hidden underneath the backstory (let me know your thoughts)

would love to hear from you and get your takes on what could be happening, and hopefully should have another part out by the end of next week if i get some time away from work !!

as always hope you enjoyed and please dont hesitate to ask to be added to the taglist <3

At that, you had told Grace to go sleep while you work for another few hours. You did follow the scheduled times. Although you hated being away from your important work, literally life or slow death in your case, you knew that you would make more progress if your brain was not tired.

You heard faint musical notes, the friendly voice of the language program, and Grace speaking from your spot in the lab. It was hard to focus with sound in the background, especially when doing math, so you threw on some headphones, listening to some music to motivate you to finish your work before you yourself went to bed.

The Hail Mary could be peaceful at times like this. Faint light from the windows would slowly brighten the room and then shadows would overtake the areas where the artificial lights didn't reach as well. You scribbled notes on your paper, using your laptop to look up equations and nutritional information that you needed.

For about two hours, you worked in peace.

Then, you heard the tumbling and banging of Rocky's hamster ball coming up towards you. Grace must have woken up to get something before heading back to bed and Rocky took the opportunity to grab some supplies so he could continue working while Grace went back to sleep. This often happened, for both of you. Rocky didn't need to sleep as much, so he would spend the many hours that either Grace or you needed to sleep watching over you while working on something else.

The Eridians really were something else. Rocky could get so much done in the time he was awake.

You felt a knock on your chair, then another, and another, Rocky banging into you with panic evident.

You took off your headphones, grabbing Rocky's ball.

"Woah, woah! What's going on Rock?"

"Grace! Grace! Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad. Need help!"

"Why?" You questioned, frantically getting out of your chair and running towards Grace's bed. "What's going on? Use your words! I need to know what is happening to help!"

"Grace make noise in sleep. Grace temperature rise. Grace move in sleep, more, more! Rocky can't touch Grace. Grace sick? Grace dying!" Rocky zoomed ahead of you, terrified. He nearly made himself roll over in the ball, he was moving so fast.

You couldn't blame him. He had to watch twenty-three other Eridians die while he was supposed to be protecting him. Your breath quickened at the thought, desperate to soothe the alien, unfamiliar with human biology.

"Rocky! Slow down, I think Grace is alright."

Rocky slowed, allowing you to catch up, right at the moment you turned the corner to find Grace in his bed, twisting and turning in his sleep.

"Grace not die?"

"No Rocky, I think Grace is just having a nightmare."

"No understand word."

"I can't explain it to you right now, buddy, I need to see if Grace is alright."

"Understand. Help Grace then help Rocky."

You slowed your approach, not wanting to scare Grace awake. You could see his t-shirt, another science pun about the equation for finding force combined with Star Wars, soaked in the back with sweat. His hair was all over the place and his hands were gripping the blanket he had, as though it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the spacecraft, despite the gravity being turned on.

"Grace."

You saw his neck tense, as though he was going to shout out. Or perhaps like he was going to be tased.

"Grace!"

He was not responding to any of your vocal attempts to wake him, so you moved closer. You knew that it was possible for him to accidentally hurt you when he woke, even if that was the last thing he would ever want. Even though you knew he wouldn't mean it. So, you tried to think quickly. Wake up Grace without him hurting himself or you in his sleep or awakening.

You hovered your hand over his, still grasping the blanket. You smoothed the back of his hand over with your fingers, repeating the soothing motion. He still thrashed a bit, but his hands began to loosen its grip. You took the opportunity to thread your fingers with his, holding his hand. You brought your other hand to the back of his, again, soothing strokes up and down his arm back down to his hands.

Slowly, so slowly, he began to settle. His body relaxing and his breathing slowing. Shortly after, he awoke with a gasp, eyes darting around above him.

"Rocky!"

"Rocky is here. Rocky scared for Grace."

Grace closed his eyes, breathing out a sigh of relief. You felt his hand grip yours harder. You imagined that, after so long waking up to a friend watching over you, it was unnerving to no longer have them above you when you woke up.

"Hey, Grace."

Grace's eyes snapped open, looking into yours. He glanced down at your hands, still holding his, then back to you.

"What happened?"

"You were having a nightmare. You are in the Hail Mary. You slept for about three hours before Rocky came to get me. You are safe."

Grace blinked, nodded, and then looked up at Rocky's balconey above his head again.

"Ok."

You held his hand a moment longer, before letting go. You sat on the floor next to the bed, watching the floor.

It was quiet. Rocky seemed to naturally understand that something had happened that had shaken Grace and that time could be…not healing, but give room to something else. Connection.

"It was a memory."

You stayed quiet, but lifted your head to look at Grace, acknowledging him.

"My last time on Earth."

Grace was quiet again. His fingers instinctively tightening on the blanket again.

"Do you want to talk about it more?" You softly asked, taking in his behavior.

Grace took a deep breath and let it out. A tear slipped out, trailing down the side of his face. Your heart ached for this hurt, this pain that you couldn't understand, but were trying to. If there was anything you could do, it was to listen.

"I… I'm a coward." Grace sniffled, pausing. He looked at you. "I'm a coward and I was so scared. So scared. Heck, I'm still scared."

You looked down at your hands, clasped in between your knees. "Me too. Scared, I mean. And as for being a coward, I don't remember much from before waking up, but I know that you have done some very brave things since then."

Grace looked away at that. Squeezing his eyes shut.

"Yeah…Well…I don't know about that."

He threw an arm over his eyes.

"I told her no. I told Stratt that I couldn't do it. The other two science members were gone, there was no one else more qualified, and I couldn't do it."

He gathered himself before continuing.

"She told me… 'that this was her believing in me. Not betraying me." A shudder passed through Grace, his voice breaking on "betraying".

"They chased me out of the room. Her.. her goons. Chased me down. I almost made it to the chain link fence. I don't know what I would have done. It's not like I could have really gotten away, but I was in fight or flight and I had chosen flight, cause that's all I really ever choose, isn't it?" Grace's voice quickened as he spoke, the horror rising up in you simultaneously. "They tackled me to the ground, and injected me with a sedative. I remember smelling the dead grass, my glasses got knocked askew a bit, I could barely see. My last moment on Earth and all I could see was dead grass, the blue sky being covered, then shoes. Carl walked up. I was yelling that they were murdering me, can you believe it? They were killing me, and I wanted to live! I just wanted…Oh God."

Grace sobbed, and you quickly stood up as Grace scrambled out of the bed, knocking you back down on the ground, his arms around you. You just barely got an arm behind you, as you scooted back towards the wall, giving you the support to fully embrace Grace as he poured his fear out into the open.

Tears were beginning to form in your eyes, too. You really couldn't believe it. Grace had awoken before you and thus was gathering more memories before you. But this? This was a… nightmare. You had some feelings, choice words, and a certain gesture to give Stratt on the video monitor later, but right now, Grace needed you. You stroked his back with one hand, and squeezed him into you with the other. You wanted to pour all of your horror at his words and the care you felt for him into the hug.

Rocky rolled a bit closer, clacking his three fingers, shaking slightly side to side. You felt for Rocky too. His best friend was obviously upset and he couldn't touch him. He couldn't give him that comfort. Rocky rolled closer and then backed up, rolling out of the room.

You heard his ball clack around in the Hail Mary, but knew you couldn't get up from your position, nor did you want to. You moved your hand from his back to his head, practically petting his hair.

You stayed there for a while, letting Grace get all of it out. As his sobs subsided, his breathing evening out, he pulled a bit off of you.

"Sor-sorry, I know I probably got you all gross with my tears and-and stuff." He wiped at his face, opting to sit next to you, one leg straight out and the other with his knee bent.

"No sorry's needed. I… whatever you need."

He looked over at you, face red and splotchy, eyes tired.

"Thank you."

You lean your head down, looking up into his eyes, before clearly saying,"Of course. Anything you want. Anything you need, Grace."

A sad smile forms on his face. He reaches out slowly, giving you time to pull away, as if you hadn't actively reached for his hand earlier, before intertwining your fingers. He squeezes your hand, once, twice, and a final third time. You look up at him, scrunching your eyebrows, confused, but squeeze his hand back once. You swear you see grief flash in his eyes, a glimmer of tears welling up, but it quickly fades away.

Thump, thump, thump.

You both look to where Rocky has now entered the room. He stops in front of you both, holding something in two of his claws.

"I'm not still in a nightmare, am I?" Grace asks, a perplexed look towards Rocky.

"Nope."

Rocky lifts up one arm, grasping a small green and blue felt ball through his hamster ball. "Grace call this stress ball. Grace is stressed. Rocky give Grace stress ball."

Grace leans over, taking the small Earth ball in his hand not holding yours, and tosses it a few times in the air. "Thanks, Rocky. That's thoughtful of you."

"Rocky not done."

"I can see that, Rocky."

Rocky holds up a xenonite mass in one of his other arms. It looks like a weapon in his hands, like his "screen gun", but more blunt and larger.

"Rocky need word for protect Grace from bad Stratt with tool."

Grace and you look at each other sideways, before bursting out in small laughs. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, still holding the Earth ball. "Rocky, you… there's no need for that Rocky."

"Rocky no understand. Rocky protect."

"Rocky that is very… something of you, but really, all I need are you two. Here. With me now."

"Rocky understand," Rocky shifts side to side, dropping his weapon, almost nervous,"Rocky scared for Grace. For human friends. This happen during sleep many times, question?"

This time, you take over. "No, Rocky. This is called a nightmare. Nightmares are during sleep, you are correct. When we sleep, our brain is still active and we see events in our brain. They often aren't real, but sometimes…" You pause, looking at Grace. He nods at you, so you continue,"they are memories that are bad. Bad. Bad. It is a way for our brain to protect us, but it can also be very scary."

Rocky slumps a little, processing this human thing that he could never understand for himself. "Rocky still scared for human friends," Rocky stands taller as he says,"Rocky still watch. Good, good, good! Rocky watch for nightmares, Rocky get other human friend. Rocky wait for human friend to wake up to help."

You reach a hand out to Rocky, patting his ball a few times before keeping your hand there. Grace gives you a sideways look, before reaching out too, holding the other side of Rocky's ball. He rolls a bit closer, so you can all hug each other. Grace releases your hand, shifting to actually pull you in closer.

"Rocky like all hug."

"It's called a group hug, Rock."

"Rocky like group hug."

You all rest there for a minute, before settling back. You grab at Grace's hand again as you begin to separate, and he happily allows you.

"Grace, you still need to sleep. Would you…would you like me to stay?" You quietly offer.

You feel a tug on your hand, before Grace gets to his feet, pulling you up with him.

"I'd like that very much."

Rocky begins to move toward his sleeping perch, getting into watching position.

You let Grace get into his pod, before climbing in next to him. You both face each other, on your sides, with your joined hands in between you. Normally, you would be very nervous, as you can imagine Grace would be, to sleep in the same bed as another human that you had known for a fairly short amount of time. Yet, Rocky's watching you sleep seemed to lessen that feeling, and after Grace's nightmare, you both knew that comfort was more of a priority than social rules.

"Good night."

"Good night, Grace."

Grace glances up, "Good night Rocky."

"Sleep humans. Rocky watch both sleep. Rocky protect."

his hands are shaking when he cups your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks like you’re made of glass.

is this okay?

tell me if it’s too much, please

we dont have to if you dont want

he kisses you so soft it makes your chest ache, slow rolls of his hips. you can feel every tremble in his arms where they’re braced beside your head, the way his breath stutters hot against your ear.

you feel… god, you feel incredible.

all sweet, pressing these tiny little kisses along your jaw while he pushes in slowly, letting you adjust, forehead dropped to yours as he tells you how well you are doing.

but the second you moan and roll your hips up to meet him?

ask him for more?

tell him that you want to feel him tomorrow?

it's game over.

he blames it on biology taking over, his eyes squeezing shut as he processes what youre asking, that sweet boyish expression twisting into something desperate. he lets out this broken, wrecked sound and suddenly he’s driving into you hard, hips snapping forward with zero warning

he’s fucking you like he’s starving for it now, deep and rough, the slap of skin on skin loud and filthy in the room. he feels bad for how little control he has, it's been far too long since he has touched someone like this.

touched someone, and loved them like this.

sweetheart—god, l'm sorry, you just—

it makes his movements sloppy as he can't get enough, he needs to take you over and over and over til neither of you can forget this feeling

shaky hands gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise as he folds you practically in half. he’s panting into your neck, sweat dripping from his messy hair onto your skin, every thrust punching the air out of you as he apologises against your skin, but he needs this, he needs you.

eyes wet and wild, his cock is so deep and he’s hitting that spot over and over like he was made for it. the gentle boy from five minutes ago is gone; now it’s just him completely lost in you, muttering filthy broken praises between gritted teeth:

baby—i'm sorry, god—just feel so good—

And you didn’t speak to him after this time, except when absolutely necessary. And that resulted in Erwin sighing heavily at both of your stubbornness to not get along. Even Hange could not dodge the subject with something else.

And you also didn’t know that Levi didn’t really sleep that night. Nor many nights when you were on missions without him. Having nightmares that you would be next. The person from his past whom he respects the most, the one who makes him break his walls, hammering into them each time you challenged him or dismantled his arguments that, at times, his punishments and his brutal discipline shouldn’t be the only option for others to learn.

And the worst part—you proved to him how profoundly he had been mistaken when it was his fault that something happened to you. At least, that is what he told himself.

When Eren surprised all of you and called you to provide backup in Marley, Levi’s plan functioned flawlessly until, in the distance, he saw your body collapsing, thrown against a wall that was stained with your blood.

It was the only moment when Levi ceased to be Levi. His heart pounded relentlessly, and luck—if it could even be called luck, as Levi did not believe in such things nor did he experience it in this life—was that he trusted the soldiers whom both of you had helped train. Differently, yet somehow complementarily.

He took you into his arms immediately, your head resting against his chest while two fingers checked your pulse. Faint, but it was there. Barely.

“It is my fault. You were right. I am the one who failed. I was supposed to prevent this from happening. It is all my fault. Live. Please, live.”

And for Levi, the many nights that followed, with you confined to a bed, were without rest.

“I am certain she would not want you to not even eat, Levi.”

Hange attempted to speak after checking your vital functions once again—at Levi’s insistence, multiple times that day.

Levi did not say anything; his mind was completely shattered into fragments as his eyes were reddened. From the lack of sleep? Perhaps. But that was not the only reason.

His training sessions became harsher than before. And he was a man who could handle it all? What a fucking joke. He heard your voice in his mind every time he lashed out at others. Even Erwin was surprised by his depressive demeanor.

When you awoke, seeing him as the first presence after being in a coma, Levi almost left the room. He did not feel he deserved it to be here.

“Do not you dare leave the room or I will never forgive you.”

Your eyes tingled with the violent feelings you felt flooding your veins as you wait for any hint of an answer. Levi’s shoulder dropped, eyes hidden between his bands as his head leaned toward the floor in a shameful greediness he shouldn’t be allowed to feel as he finally comes back next to your bed. He gave you a quick glance as he sit down on the chair. Only one because he avoid looking directly at you, afraid to don’t see your sad soul, broken by his careless actions. He couldn’t fathom the fact you were on a completely different spectrum: He waited for me here. He was always here. I misjudged his poorly attempts of showing he is still here.

You rested your hand at the edge of the bed, the movement made his eyes trace it until he saw how you impatiently ask for his one.

“Levi.” Hesitantly like it will burn his skin, only one of his finger touched yours until you grab it firmly. “Can you look at me? Please?” Levi gulped slowly before he did so. He is not a cowards. He should face his own mistakes. But, when he locked his eyes on yours, they widened. Filled with only softness, the little smile only accentuated your real thoughts of all of that happened. “Thank you.”

He scoffed, turning his head to look in a random spot in the hospital room, too little to give enough oxygen for him to don’t feel suffocating.

“For what? For the failure I was the one to—“

“No. No, Levi.” Making him to bit his tongue by your sudden words, he looked back at you as you add. “For not being a coward and turn your heart to stone.”

He didn’t say anything. Shouldn’t he? What’s the point in not doing so? The silence in the room was filled a couple of minutes later by you again.

“I knew you care about me, asshole. I didn’t knew I should almost die for you to show me that.”

The sight of a flustered Levi was something you never believed you’ll ever see, making your heart tremble.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t b—“

You felt his hand squeezed yours while he forced the subtle confession to escape between his lips.

“And I do. I really do.”

His gaze was so intense that it took you seconds to react, giving him a sight he also didn’t think he will ever see, provoked by him. A happy, wide smile, the redness in your cheeks making you more beautiful than he already saw you.

“Grace friend! Grace friend!” The small, computerised voice rung out throughout the room; seemingly bouncing off the ships metal walls as he came bounding down the length of the ship. The little alien halted to a stop just in front of your feet, his posture straightening as he tilted up towards your height.

“Hey rock, what’s up?” He knew your name, but insisted on referring to you as ‘Grace friend’, not so much to your dismay; Grace was your friend, and Rocky did sound very cute when he said it — who could complain really.

You crouched down in response, beginning to sit cross-legged on the cold, harsh material of the floor.

“Rocky want do experiment. Need word for.” Rocky paused for a moment, his frame shaking ever so slightly as he was deep in thought. His intelligent mind working a million miles per hour searching for every similar word in his capacity, his claws tapping rhythmically against his complexly engineered ball.

In that moment, Ryland turned the corner of the ship — dressed in his signature yellow jumpsuit, his blue name badge just below his shoulder, simultaneously sporting a badge of the american flag on his forearm. His glasses sat gently just under his chin; making contact with the overgrown stubble he was sporting that day.

Grace had seemingly heard Rocky’s incessant rambling of broken english, crouching down to the laptop as his hands hovered over the keyboard in order to grant him the word he was desperately searching for. He stole a glance at you from over the computer, a soft glint in his eyes as he awaited your response.

“Human relationship. Human like eachother. Drawn to like ions. Positive and negative.” Rocky affirmed

“Attraction?”

The room fell silent after that, Ryland’s posture freezing as he realised that’s exactly what Rocky wanted. He furrowed his eyebrows, shooting a curious glance over in the alien’s direction with a big sigh; head shaking in dissapointment as he reluctantly tapped away at the keys of the device.

“And that is my queue to leave!” Ryland announced urgently, his hands steadying themselves on his knees as he rose from the floor, switching to his hips as he straightened out.

Once again, he let out a big sigh, expressing clear discomfort for the topic. Especially since it was brought about by Rocky, known to be the ‘knower of no boundaries’ and perhaps a part of the most intrusive species now, thanks to you two, known to man.

Ryland had almost retreated around the corner before Rocky piped up again.

“No worry. Will ask Grace later too” He swivelled around in his ball, turning to Ryland, who had his back toward him; seemingly frozen in place, like a deer caught in headlights.

He threw his head back, the bottom of his head meeting between his shoulder blades — hands still sassily placed on the sides of his hips. While you couldn’t physically see Ryland’s expression, you pictured his face screwed up, the skin around his eyes wrinkled as he shut them tight, praying for an escape. Possibly wrestling with his own brain, that was urging him to throw himself off the ship in usual Ryland avoidance.

His hand came up to the side of his head, displaying a thumbs up with his fingers before continuing around the corner as you stifled a laugh, Ryland’s childish manner clearly amusing you.

“So. Grace friend. What attraction for you?”

Rocky managed to corner Ryland while he was working at something on his desk, eyebrows furrowed in concentration at whatever he was engrossed in. Ryland span around in his chair, hearing Rocky scuffling near the entry point of the room. Rocky stood firm, ready for Ryland to bolt out of the room — but, Ryland stayed put as he reluctantly ushered Rocky to come closer.

“Okay, let’s do this.” There was a hint of pain in his voice.

“Put me on table.” Rocky demanded in response, rolling himself to a stop just before Ryland’s feet.

Ryland obliged, his arms coming to either side of the ball Rocky lived within; gently lifting it upwards, his biceps flexing as the weight shifted from his arms to the sturdily engineered table. The two just looked at each-other for a moment as Rocky began setting himself up for a theatre-level performance.

“Grace friend say attraction is subjective. Different for everyone.” Rocky was gesturing with his claws while pacing up and down the length of the desk; excited to present his findings to his intelligent human friend, while also gaining Ryland’s own insight into the mystery of subjective human attraction.

“Yep. That’s true, buddy!” Ryland nodded gently, his foot tapping against the floor in a nervous manner.

In his head, Ryland began to prep himself for what his answer would be.

Ryland enjoyed emotional intimacy, the feeling of closeness that arises from sharing sworded-secrets with eachother; not caring for particular physical aspects of a person, more so the emotional bond shared between two people. He often found himself thinking about you, the connection that the both of you shared, feeling as if you had known each-other in multiple past lifetimes — his relationship with you was the epitome of what made him attracted to someone.

The way you’d laugh at his ironic, cringey science pun shirts, a chuckle would bubble up in his throat instantaneously; laughter like some sort of airborne pathogen, contagious. The difficult nights you shared, wondering if you were ever going to be back on solid ground, talking up an existential storm until one of you bored the other into a deep, undisturbed sleep.

“Grace friend like big, strong arms, wrap around. Is funny.” Rocky continued gesturing with his claws, as if he was beginning to have some sort of alien malfunction. His words were getting progressively louder as he finished his sentence, awaiting a reaction from the human.

A cocky smirk danced across Ryland’s lips, his brows raising as he pushed his chest out, subconsciously straightening his posture in the chair. He looked down at his arms, folded across his front; biceps filling out the sleeves of the jumpsuit in a way that wasn’t too tight, but definitely hugging his muscle enough for it to be noticeable.

Confirmation.

“Well, Rocky-“

“Not Grace” Rocky shot him down immediately.

Ryland returned to slouching, a small pout playing on his lips in defeat.

Later that day, it was Ryland’s turn to corner you, similar to how Rocky had cornered him. Positioned in the doorway, leaning slightly against its frame; the paralells were rather disturbing. Ryland had changed out of his jumpsuit, instead sporting one of his science-y joke shirts; one he knew you loved, that made you smile without fail.

“Rocky says you like big strong men.” He announced, as your eyes lifted up from the book you were reading.

“Excuse me?” A laugh escaped your lips at his ridiculousness. Ryland didn’t really know how to approach any social situation in a normal, conforming way. Always opting for some sort of theatrical delivery instead, it was part of his charm.

“Anyway, just thought I’d come to tell you that— oh, hold on, I need to yawn” Ryland cut himself off, goofily stretching his arms out to the side; his lips parting in a fake yawn as he brung his arms up to the back of his head, purposefully flexing his muscles with all his might as a small, amused smile overcame him. “Ah, sorry about that!”

His aim was clearly to amuse you.

Your lips pressed into a fine line, cocking your head to the side; shooting an unamused glare at the male, masking the butterflies dancing around your stomach. Not even objectively at the sight of his muscles, just at his sheer stupidity you found so endearing.

Ryland resumed his position, leaning against the doorframe, his elbow propped up just above his head as he awaited more of your reaction while a goofy expression washed over his face.

“Ouch!” He yelped, the book clattering to his feet after making direct contact with his chest.

“Ah, sorry about that!” You mocked.

The two of you shared a look, blank for a moment.