Ryland is disoriented, which is understandable after waking up from an eleven-year medically induced coma. He remembers absolutely nothing - not even his own name - until the robotic voice, Mary, states it aloud. Sluggishly, he drags himself around the tight spaces of the ship, trying to map out his surroundings. The crushing truth hits him all at once: he is eleven light-years away from Earth, orbiting an entirely different solar system.
When he checks the crew pods, his stomach drops. The pilot, Commander Yao, has turned a deep shade of purple, he did not survive the coma. However, the engineer - your unconscious form - looks alive. Still under a coma, but definitely breathing. Mary confirms the grim reality, stating that Yao is deceased while you remain stable. A sudden wave of relief washes over Ryland. Knowing another living human is on this spaceship makes the terrifying unknown a little easier to swallow. He takes one last look at your sleeping face, his eyes tracing the healthy color of your skin to overwrite the pang of dread he felt looking at Yao’s features.
Moving away from your pod and the one holding Yao, he heads to the terminal to calculate the remaining fuel and distance from home. The math is brutal, there is absolutely no going back.
He finds pouches of vodka. He needs a drink, badly. He spends hours drinking in the ship, trying to piece together his life on Earth. Slowly, fragments surface. He remembers he is a middle school science teacher. He can see the faces of his students. He remembers Eva Stratt approaching him from the Petrova Line Taskforce, and he remembers studying astrophage. Another face, a bodyguard named Carl, flashes briefly but remains hazy.
Oddly, the most vivid memories are of you. He sees flashes of you smiling at him, your side profile as you peer at an astrophage sample through a microscope, the ocean breeze messing up your hair, and the way your gaze darted down to his lips right before the distance between you vanished. He isn’t sure what you were to each other before the coma, but he feels certain it was something precious. At least, he desperately hopes it was, and not just an alcohol-fueled hallucination. Stumbling over to a whiteboard, he writes down everything he can recall. He writes the word “Single?” then hesitates. His heart skips a heavy beat at the thought of you, prompting him to scribble “In love with the engineer?” in tiny letters right next to it. Thumping his forehead against the board, he lets out a deep breath and decides to let the alcohol drown out the rest of the day. Or night. In the endless darkness outside, he doesn't know or care which it is.
“Good morning, Dr Grace” Mary’s voice echoes through the cabin the next day.
“I’m up” Ryland mutters, raising a pouch of vodka.
He decides to sort through the crew’s personal belongings to trigger more memories. He starts with Yao’s bag, finding clothes and a collection of photos showing a man who seemed genuinely fun and warm. Next is your bag. His fingers trace your stitched name on the fabric, but he hesitates. Going through the personal things of someone who is still alive feels wrong, like an invasion of privacy. He puts it back, assuring himself that you can access your own things when you wake up.
Finally, he opens his own bag. Inside are various clothes, including a red T-shirt that reads, “Ah, the element of surprise” He clearly had a peculiar taste in style. Searching deeper for photos like Yao’s, he finds two. The first is a solo shot of him on Stratt’s ship. The second, however, makes his breath hitch. It’s a picture of the two of you sitting at a bar counter. He is looking at you with a crinkled, adoring smile instead of facing the camera, and his hand is tightly intertwined with yours. Two beers sit untouched on the bar counter. A wave of realisation hits his stomach, not the nauseating kind he felt on the jet to Stratt’s ship, but an overwhelming certainty of just how much he adored you. The grip on your hand in the photo looks far too tight to be considered casual. He carefully places the photos back, ensuring the one with you is perfectly protected.
Ryland walks back to the medical bay and pulls down the zipper of your pod to reveal your face. Immediately, another memory floods his mind.
“Interesting way to speak in front of the Russian authorities, Dr Grace” your voice echoes, lips curling into a crooked smile. In the memory, he crosses the empty conference room toward you. “Please don’t remind me” he exhales, “I’m pretty sure Stratt is calling a jet to send me straight back to my classroom” You laugh, your fingers gently catching the sleeve of his sweatshirt, “Stratt needs your brain too much to get rid of you just yet. Besides, you make these agonizing meetings bearable” “Oh yeah?” he breathes, closing the distance. His hands reach up, fingers framing your face. “Yeah” you whisper, leaning into the warmth of his palm, “even if you address a room of global leaders like they’re middle schoolers” His nose bumps against yours with a playful, “Hey!” His breath smells faintly of the coffee he drank during the meeting, “you see, when I get into explaini-” before he can continue, you cut him off, sealing your lips against his. His words dissolve into the kiss, his thumb softly caressing your cheek.
A sudden warmth pulls him back to reality. Ryland blinks, realising his hand has unconsciously reached out and is resting on your face in the exact same way. A single tear slips down from the corner of his eye.
“Please wake up” he whispers, his thumb tracing your skin. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t remember how I ended up here. I know I worked on the astrophage, but everything else is a blank. It’s terrifying being alone. I don’t even fully remember who I am yet, let alone who we were” He sniffles, trying to steady his voice. “But I know you’re important. Not just to this mission, but to me” He sighs, his fingers lingering for a fraction of a second before he pulls his hand away, “Gosh, I’m a mess. I’ll try to get it together”
The following day, Ryland finally allows the automated mechanical arms, Armando, to groom him. He pulls on a yellow jumpsuit with his name stitched across the chest. His eyes fall on Yao, and a heavy lump forms in his throat. Casting a brief glance toward your pod, he approaches the pilot’s body. He lifts Yao with ease, carrying him toward the ship’s airlock. Holding Yao’sa photos and a bucket hat, Ryland stands before the deceased commander.
“Commander Yao, I must have known you, but I just don’t remember” he says softly. He shuffles through the photos, turning them toward Yao’s still face, “You make a funny face in literally every single picture” Taking a deep breath, he swallows past the tightness in his throat, “You must have been incredibly smart, strong, and brave. I wish you were still here. I wish I didn’t have to do this. You were loved, and you deserved so much more than this” His voice breaks, tears blurring his vision, “I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t, you know, that you didn’t…I'll do my best”
With a heavy heart, he opens the airlock and releases Yao into the dark, silent void of space. After sealing the hatch, he walks quietly back to your pod and unzips the cover.
“I, uh...I attempted a funeral for Yao” he whispers to your unconscious form, his hands fisting tightly in his lap, “I gave a eulogy. Well, a poor attempt for one, since I don’t remember him. I promised him I’d try my best” Fresh tears stream down his face, and his throat tightens until his voice is strained. “I don’t know how to do this alone. I need you to wake up. Saying goodbye to a crewmate is too hard...I can’t do it again. Especially not with you” He sniffles, letting his tears flow without restraint. “When you wake up” he says, placing a heavy emphasis on when, refusing to even entertain the word if. He continues, his voice thick with emotion, “you won’t remember anything. You’ll be incredibly confused about every single thing around you. But I’ll be here”
His breathing shudders, an exhale cutting through the quiet lab. “I’ll help you figure everything out. We’ll figure it out together. Just…” He reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as his fingers gently brush a stray strand of hair away from the side of your face, “Just please don’t leave me alone”
A tear slips from his eye and lands softly on your cheek. He brushes it away with the pad of his thumb, his touch light and shaking. “I haven’t touched your things. Uh, I figured you’d appreciate having your privacy respected. I didn’t snoop around, but...I’m sure there is a picture of you in there that matches mine. I have one with you, you know. The only photo I have with another person is with you. That has to mean something. If I kept that photo close, it means you meant a lot to me. We meant a lot to each other. So, uh...I guess it’ll be pretty cool to get to know you all over again” He lets out a low, broken chuckle that quickly fades.
Huffing a deep breath, he tries to steady himself. “I’ll get to work on the mission. You rest, but not for too long, alright? I’ll talk to you later” he whispers. With a soft click, he zips the pod cover back up.
Two days pass in a blur of isolation. Ryland spends hours trying to decipher the complex controls scattered across the ship, focusing on the pilot consoles. He doesn’t understand a single layout or protocol. Progress on uncovering his own past is just as stagnant, he still can’t piece together the sequence of events that landed him on this ship. Yet, he constantly remembers the exact feeling of your hand in his, and the way he felt when he used to make you laugh.
He is in the middle of setting a whiteboard aside when Mary’s synthetic voice echoes through the cabin: “Eye movement detected”
Everything in Ryland’s world comes to a sudden halt. You’re up.
A surge of happiness and relief floods his chest all at once. He doesn’t even have time to process the emotion before Mary’s automated system begins its standard assessment, her voice blaring: “What is two plus two?” It is the exact same clinical protocol he endured upon his own awakening. Remembering his promise to be there the second you opened your eyes, his feet are already moving. He sprints across the deck so frantically that his shoes catches on the stray dry-erase marker he had just been using, causing him to stumble forward.
Recovering his footing, he lunges toward your pod. You are already struggling to pull yourself upward, your limbs flailing blindly. “Muscle function has not yet been restored” Mary states.
Ryland darts across the tight space, throwing his arms out to catch you the exact second you lose your balance and begin falling toward the floor. “Woah, hey!” he gasps, bracing your weight between his arms.
Armando’s mechanical arms begin clicking and whirring, dropping down to clamp onto you, while Mary relentlessly repeats her basic math queries. “Mary, please stop! I’ve got it!” Ryland commands, his voice sharp but soft. His eyes remain locked on yours.
Your eyes widen, filled with terror. “Wh-who?” you manage to stammer. Your tongue feels heavy and uncooperative, utterly useless after more than a decade of chemically induced paralysis.
Recognising the panic from you, Ryland acts quickly. He carefully eases your weak frame back against the safety of the nearby counter, ensuring you are stable, and immediately takes a step backward to give you space.
“Hey, hey...uh, please don’t panic” he says, his words rushing out in a breathless tumble, “I’m Ryland Grace. I’m...uh, I’m a middle school science teacher. And we’re, um...we’re in space”
You stare at him, paralysed by sensory overload. Your brain and muscles feel like mush. Your mind tries to latch onto the most absurd word in his sentence. You attempt to mirror his statement, trying to form the word space, but your uncooperative vocal cords betray you. What actually leaves your lips is a slurred, confused question: “Swace?”
Instantly, the rigid tension drains straight out of Ryland’s shoulders. The panic vanishes from his posture, and his eyes soften into a look of gentle reassurance. “Yeah” he whispers, a comforting warmth returning to his voice, “we’re in space. For a mission. Everything is going to feel incredibly confusing right now, and you won’t be able to remember anything for a while. So just take it easy” You try to nod, but even that small movement makes the room spin. Your legs feel like jello, threatening to give out the moment you shifted your weight. Sensing your struggle, Ryland doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward again, moving with slowness so he won’t startle you, and slid an arm around your waist to keep you steady.
“I’ve got you” he murmurs, “let’s get you somewhere more comfortable than a metal counter, okay?”
He guides you over to a nearby bench, practically carrying most of your weight. As you sink into the seat, you look down at your hands. They are trembling, and feel weird. You flex your fingers, watching them move with a delayed response.
“N-name…” you croaked out, your throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. You looked up at him, your eyes pleading for confirmation as a word finally sparked in your hazy mind, and mutter your name.
A soft warm expression breaks across Ryland’s face, his eyes lighting up with relief. He knees in front of you so he was at eye level, intentionally keeping a respectful distance but remaining close enough that you could reach out if you panicked.
“Yes” he says softly, a genuine smile finally breaking through his exhausted features. “Yes, it is. I’m so glad to hear you say it yourself. I’m Ryland. Ryland Grace”
You repeat his name silently in your head, the syllables tasting familiar on your tongue. The fog in your brain is starting to thin just a fraction. “Ryland” you whisper, leaning your head back against the wall, exhausting what little energy you had left, “you were there”
Ryland’s shoulders go rigid, “What do you mean? Do you remember something?”
“Don’t know” you breathe, “Your voice. I don’t know what you said, but I heard you talking to me while I was asleep”
Ryland stares at you, his eyes wide and bright with a sudden wave of emotion. He doesn’t tell you about the whiteboard, or the photo tucked in his bag, or how he had wept over your unconscious body just hours before. He just lets out a long exhale, a tear finally escaping and running down his cheek.
“Yeah” Ryland whispers, his voice thick with a mixture of relief and heartache, “Yeah, I was here. I told you I won’t leave you”
He reaches around you and pulls out a small, sealed pouch of water with a straw attached, “Here. Drink this. Slowly. Your throat is going to feel like a desert for a bit”
You take the pouch, your clumsy fingers barely able to hold it. Ryland reaches out, placing his hands over yours to steady the pouch and guide the straw to your lips. The moment his skin touches yours, a sudden, wave shoots straight through your haze. A wave of familiarity, love and safety. Your eyes lock onto his, and for a split second, the terrifying emptiness of the universe doesn’t matter.
Ryland seems to feel it too. His breath hitches, his thumb subtly brushing against the back of your hand before he pulls back, clearing his throat.
“Better?” he asks as you swallow the water.
You nod, the liquid soothing the burn in your throat. You look around the small room, taking in the blinking lights, the strange monitors, and the two empty pods behind him. “Who…else?”
The lightheartedness in Ryland’s eyes disappears. He looks back at the pods, then down at his lap, “One is mine and…there was a third crewmate. Commander Yao. He was the pilot. He…he didn’t make it through the coma. I had to let him go into space” He looks back up at you, his eyes sincere, “But you made it. You’re alive. You’re here”
You let out a shaky breath, processing the gravity of being trapped in a ship in the middle of nowhere with a science teacher. And yet, looking at the worry etched into his features, you knew he wasn’t a stranger. Not really.
The days that follow pass in exhausting teamwork. As your physical strength slowly returns under Ryland’s care, the two of you throw yourselves into understanding the ship’s complex systems, it’s easier for you because you helped design it, but you have to guide Ryland in understanding. Together, you manage to figure out the ship is moving towards Tau Ceti.
Throughout the long days of tracking fuel consumption and reading data logs, neither of you addresses the unspoken connection, nor do you question the familiarity that you feel in your daily interactions. It shows up in the way you seamlessly understand what the other wants to say without having to say it. It is there when Ryland automatically hands you a tool exactly when you need it, or how your laughter instantly eases the tension in his shoulders. You both simply treat it as a silent, comforting boundary to keep from losing your minds while carrying the weight of a dying planet on your shoulders.
But boundaries eventually wear thin.
One evening, after hours of trying to figure out pilot controls, Ryland is sitting on the floor of the lab, his back resting against a console, staring blankly at the far wall. You walk over quietly and slide down next to him, your shoulder lightly brushing against his.
Ryland clears his throat, breaking the quiet. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” he whispers, his voice sounding small. He turns his head to look at you, his eyes searching yours, “Working like this. Pretending like we’re just two random people Stratt threw into a blender and sent into the void. I...I remember pieces of you. From before. I have this photo in my bag, and every time I look at it, my chest aches because I know I adored you. But I’ve been too terrified to ask if you felt it too, or if I’m just losing my mind”
You let out a soft, shaky breath, a bittersweet smile touching your lips. Reaching into the pocket of your yellow jumpsuit, you pull out a small, slightly creased piece of glossy paper and hold it out to him.
“You aren’t losing your mind, Ry” you say softly, “I went through my bag. And I found this”
Ryland’s hear skips a beat at the nickname you just let out. He takes the paper, his fingers brushing against yours, and looks down. It is a completely different photo from the one in his own bag. In this one, the setting is a chaotic laboratory filled with glass beakers and microscope equipment. The two of you are sitting cross-legged on the lab floor. You are asleep, with your head resting on Ryland’s shoulder. Ryland is wide awake, looking directly at the camera with a finger pressed to his lips in a sign to be quiet, a soft smile across his face as his arm holds you against his side.
Ryland’s thumb traces the edge of the photo, his breath catching in his throat as the visual evidence of your shared past stares back at him.
A soft, watery smile breaks across Ryland’s face as he looks up from the photo, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The heavy wall of hesitation between you crumbles, replaced by the comforting certainty that neither of you is truly alone in the dark. His hand reaches up, his fingers trembling slightly as they frame your jawline, the exact same gesture from his memories, but this time, it is real. He leans in, and you meet him halfway, closing the final inch between you.
The kiss is tentative at first, a soft collision of relief and recognition. But as his lips press firmly against yours, the familiarity of it hits like a tidal wave. His thumb caresses your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that has slipped down your face, while your hands instinctively find the fabric of his jumpsuit, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens.
