There's nothing in the world to prepare you for losing the love of your life. No words of comfort, no amount of denial, no therapist can help you even begin to process the way your life has turned out. The one thing you thought you had with Ryland was more time. Not as long as you'd both hoped but a few more decades together was better than nothing. To have that stolen away from you as well?

No one is particularly surprised that you have something of a breakdown less than a month after the launch. You and your husband have been inseparable since grad school, it's like losing a limb. Your friends try to help you but there's nothing they can do to fix this.

The time passes regardless of whether you want it to or not. No news is expected back from the Hail Mary for twenty years, they won't even be in the right star system for thirteen. It's like a prison sentence. It takes years to stop counting down the days, you're not even sure what you're counting down to. Your husband was as good as dead the moment the ship launched. It's not like you're counting down to his death, Stratt had a funeral held for him within a year of him going.

There's just a horrible part of you that can't wait to hear off him one last time.

You'd been at work when the news had broken of the ship's return, mid-way through a lecture about environmental geoscience, a class that had become more popular as the world started to cool. One of your students had shouted it out mid-lecture and you hadn't believed them, hadn't wanted to believe them. But then another verified it and you checked for yourself. You'd assumed maybe they'd got it wrong; that what they actually meant was that the information from the mission had finally arrived but no.

Your husband had returned to Earth from a mission he was meant to die for.

You have to dismiss your class. They won't stop looking at you like you're something made of glass that's about to shatter. You cry as soon as the last one leaves the hall.

The next week is a blur, reporters try to get in your face every time you arrive on campus so the dean is kind enough to give you an extended leave of absence. You have no idea when the governments of the world are going to release him, if they ever do, but the news breaks that he's found a solution to the astrophage problem and all their combined efforts are now going to focus on saving the sun. He was the sole survivor of his mission. The idea of him saving humanity completely alone leaves part of you dead inside.

It's about two weeks later that he finally gets to come home to you. They're good enough to drop him outside your front door. No warning, but you've not been leaving the house recently anyway. Too many people stare at you, too many reporters try and follow you; barking questions at you and begging for a statement. Your husband's a hero they keep saying to you. There's a statue of him in nearly every capitol city on the planet, you must be so proud of him. He is a hero but it doesn't help you feel better. Over twenty years is a long time to grieve someone only for them to find their way back to you.

He doesn't ring the doorbell. Just stands at the end of the driveway, flanked by three huge SUVs. They don't leave until you finally find enough courage in yourself to open the door.

He's changed. He's not lived through as many years as you and the rest of the world have but he's aged in other ways. There's lines on his face that weren't there the last time you saw him and a faraway look in his eyes you don't recognise. He looks haunted. He walks towards you slowly as the cars finally drive away. When he finally reaches the threshold he stands in the doorway like he's waiting for an illusion to break; like he can't believe he's actually here. You can't either.

You pull him into your arms before your brain tries to convince you that he's not real.

You're not sure which one of you starts crying first but you both are, heaving deep breaths and barely supporting each other. You collapse to your knees together, a tangle of limbs and sobs.

"I'm so sorry." His voice is wracked with guilt and that only makes you feel worse. You were left here alone but he was forced to leave and live with the guilt. You're not sure which one is worse.

There's no magical fix for what has been done to your relationship.

It's like living with a stranger. He looks like your Ryland (if a little bit older), talks like him with the same intonations and turn of phrases, but sometimes you catch him staring off into the sky when he thinks you're not looking like it calls to him. He hums around the house, the same few melodies that sounds like the start of a song. Sometimes he goes further with them but then cuts himself off, like it's too painful to continue.

He doesn't suggest sleeping in the same bed as you and you don't ask him to. He insists on sleeping on the couch, saying it's comfier than sleeping on the floor with just a thin mattress which is what he's used to now anyway. You don't press the issue and you don't ask why he spent so much time sleeping on the floor when the Hail Mary had three beds. You hearing him crying in the shower one day. You start crying on the other side of the door.

Things fall apart slowly and the two of you become very good at ignoring that until you have to.

He'd just tried to surprise you by making dinner. You'd finally returned to work so you'd be out of the house for a while. The perfect opportunity to do something nice. One of the only things he's confident he can make is the same dinner he made for you the first time he cooked for you. You break down before you've even crossed the threshold of the front door. It's too much, all of it is far too much for you to try and cope with.

It's not fair of you to blame him but who else is there for you to blame? Stratt isn't here, as easy a target as she would be. She's somewhere on the planet, faced with a never ending number of tribunals as she faces what she did to Ryland all those years ago. He stands in front of you as a living representation of everything you had and lost and you just can't cope with it anymore. It's not fair, but none of this has been fair.

"I don't know how to get you to stop looking at me like that." He looks at you and he's not angry with you, but there's no playbook for how to reconcile with you after so much time apart.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm the living dead, like I'm something that's crawled straight out of the ground and you're disgusted with me!"

"That's not fair." Your voice is soft. This isn't an argument, neither of you are raising your voices. It's two broken people trying to make sense of the shattered remains of something that used to be good.

"None of this has been fair."

"I buried you, Ry. We had a funeral for you." The words hang in the air like a dead weight. He stares at you with a broken look.

"What?" He chokes out.

"All your kids came. Stratt came. There's a grave out there with your name on it and some of your belongings in a coffin because we didn't have a body to put in it."

"They didn't tell me." His face crumples, you're sure yours does the same. The rest of the world will never see this side of him; it's only the two fo you that bear witness to the self-implosion of the saviour of the universe.

It feels like he loves the idea of you more than you. You can't blame him for that, he's lived with the idea of you for almost as long as he lived with the real version of you. It still hurts though. He mentions things you haven't liked for years like they're recent memories because for him they are. You can't live up to the idealised version he has of you, it's another painful discussion but you're getting used to to having those.

"You don't know me. I'm not the same person anymore, Ryland." This conversation is gentler at least. There's no anger in you for this one. Just exhaustion.

"That's okay. I'll get to know you again." The look on his face is so full of hope and it crushes you. He's been gone for years, not just out of your life but in a completely different galaxy, but he's still the man you fell in love with all those years ago. You think back to all those nights you spent crying after you found out what Stratt did to him. He was the love of your life, your other half, your best friend.

How could you move on?

It took years to build yourself back up, to not spend every morning in a state of numbness. Your home become a memorial to him, all his things gathering dust because you couldn't bear to get rid of any of them on the slimmest chance that he'd one day come home to you. Stratt made sure you were taken care of financially but that wasn't enough to help you move through the grief of having your husband stolen away from you without even a goodbye.

You didn't even know if they'd let him keep his wedding ring.

He means it though. Ryland is, at his core, a good man. Maybe the best man you've ever met. When he promises to learn everything about you all over again, you can't help but believe him.

You have to let him try, you decide.

You also have to try.

It takes time but things start to get better. Time passes and some wounds heal that you didn't think would ever heal. Within a year the governments of the world have worked together and the astrophage problem has been solved. The sun is finally back at the brightness it was before Ryland went to space, the world has started to go back to how it was. It will never be exactly the same but people have hope again and that has to count for something.

Things finally settle between you and your husband. He stops looking so haunted, you stop looking at him like he's a ghost. He's not the same man you lost but you remember how to love him like he is. You're not the same person he fell in love with but he learns the new you and loves you like you are. He stops sleeping on the couch, instead lying on the very edge of the bed and not daring to touch you. One day you wake up curled up in his arms just like you always used to.

Neither of you say anything but a balance is restoring in your relationship. You never forget how to love the very bones of him, things just became a bit clouded. Eventually it returns to you as naturally as breathing.

The quiet nights are the source of most of your healing. There's safety in the darkness, comfort in having a space to lay your soul bare for each other to see without having to look each other in the eyes. You tell him about your struggles in the time he was gone; the nasty details that you've never told anyone else. He tells you about the amnesia, how he thought he was chosen because he didn't have a life to come back for but there was always one thing that kept him going.

"I dreamt of you every night. She gave me something that made me forget but I saw your face in my dreams every single night." It might be the most romantic thing he's ever said to you. It hurts just as much as it makes your heart soar.

You kiss his tears away.

He does the same to you.

You've both waited so long for this. All you can do is make the most of the time you have left together.

2: The House Party

The second time he wants to kiss you feels like something straight from a movie. People keep insisting to him that the social side of college is just as important as the academic side but Ryland isn't convinced. He was roped into going to a frat party by his freshman roommate and he's still called 'Vominator' in some of the social circles he frequents.

He almost says no to the house party on the spot on reflex. It's another study group, this time in a coffee shop on campus when someone mentions a friend of a friend is hosting a house party and everyone is invited. They go through the group and he's barely paying attention to anyone's answers until it's your turn.

"Sounds fun." Your smile is soft but genuine and your friends all echo similar sentiments. Then all the attention falls on him.

"What about you Ryland?" Rejection is on the tip of his tongue when he makes the mistake of looking in your direction. He dares to think the expression on your face is one of hope.

"Sure, why not."

So now he's stood in a stranger's kitchen with a red solo cup filled with…something alcoholic. He's not sure what's actually in it and he doesn't think anyone else does but no one seems to care much. People certainly keep returning back to the kitchen for more of it. He spotted you early into the night, surrounded by friends and dancing to the beat like it's second nature.

He's toying with the idea of sneaking out and climbing over the back fence when he realises he hasn't seen you for a while. He stretches to try and spot you then drops back down when he realises you're walking straight towards him. You give a little wave, settling near him.

"Hey Ryland."

"Hey." He leans back trying to look casual but then grimaces when his back makes contact with a cup of mystery punch and knocks it over. He bolts up with a yelp.

He hopes you can't see him blushing because of how dim it is.

"Are you having a good time?" He shrugs then realises that's rude. You came over to talk to him, he should at least try and make conversation.

"This isn't really my scene." You nod.

"Me neither."

"Really?" He wants to believe you but doesn't. You looked totally at ease in the centre of the room dancing with friends and strangers alike. He wishes you would dance with him.

"With the right people it's okay. The punch certainly helps." He takes a sip of his cup then winces as the burn hits his throat. You laugh at him, more teasing than malicious, then lean closer to him. "Do you want to dance?"

He can't dance.

"Sure." You take him by the hand, drinks forgotten on the counter top, and weave through the thrum of people until you're almost in the centre of the room. As if sensing his apprehension, you take it slow; keeping your hands entwined as you encourage him into a series of easy moves.

It bugs him that he starts having fun.

When the music changes to something softer his heart stops. You don't let go of his hand, moving closer to him as you lead him into swaying gently to the music. The way his heart is hammering in his chest he's surprised you can't hear it.

He could just lean forward and kiss you. It would be so easy. Just like in the movies.

He doesn't.

The moment is broken by a cacophony of people shouting your name. One of your friends pulls you away and you throw him an apology he can barely hear as the music changes to something much louder and you're pulled away from him.

He leaves not long after.

Coward.

3: His Apartment

The third time he wants to kiss you in when he knows he's in too deep. Study sessions at the flat become a semi-frequent diary filler for the two of you after the house party. You're now friends rather than just acquaintances and small talk turns into something more. The two of you are on similar wavelengths most of the time, conversation flows easier with every extra minute you spend together.

You'd come over under the guise of needing help with your earth systems paper but when you'd arrived you'd pulled a Star Wars box set out from behind your back, insisting the two of you had been working so hard lately you deserved a night off. That's how you end up on the couch, movie paused in the background as you discuss the skewed politics of the Republic. You go silent for a few moments.

"It's late, I should get going." You shift slightly, joints popping quietly from the movement. A glance at his watch shows that it's nearly 1am. When did it get so late?

"You can stay, if you want. Like you said it's late, I'd feel bad making you go home alone at this time." The words slip out before he even thinks about it. His mind fills instantly with domestic thoughts of you in his apartment and he knows they'll never leave his head again. You mull it over for a few moments.

"I don't know."

"No pressure! Just that you're already here." He wants to dig himself a hole in the ground and have someone bury him. He's coming on too strong.

"If it's not too much trouble." Or maybe he's not.

"You know it's not." You blink slowly at him, a sleepy smile blossoming on your face as you stretch your arms.

"Can I borrow some clothes?" His brain short circuits.

"Sure." He jumps up before he can think about it too much, dashing into his room and grabbing an assortment of clothes so you have a few options. He hands them over to you with a soft smile which you reciprocate as you get up to get changed.

You come out of the bathroom wearing one of his science pun shirts and he thinks he's going to die on the spot.

He insists you take his bed, he'd feel terrible having a guest sleep on his lumpy sofa whilst he got to enjoy sleeping on a real bed. You try to protest but you're clearly tired and you give in after a few more pushes, throwing another thank you and a good night over your shoulder before closing the door behind you.

He lies on the couch and tries to sleep. His brain doesn't go quiet until nearly 5am.

You emerge from his room in the morning, rubbing sleep out of your eyes, muttering a sleepy good morning in his direction. He says it back, stretching the sleep out of his muscles and shifting so there's room for you on the couch.

"Coffee?"

"I can make it." He's halfway up when you shake your head at him.

"Ryland, you already let me stay over, please let me make you a coffee." So he does. You know just how he likes it without even asking. It's a small thing but it matters.

You sit down next to him, coffees in hand, and it hits him all at once that this could be his life. He could just lean over, kiss you, and maybe you'd stay forever. He'd wake up to you like this every day for the rest of his life if he could.

He doesn't move. Just watches you as you take the first sips of your coffee.

4: The Cinema

The fourth time he wants to kiss you is when it starts to get annoying. He's such a coward, he could just lean over and do it. It almost feels like it would be easier to do it here, under the cover of darkness where it's basically impossible to have a conversation about it because people would complain that you're ruining the movie.

You bought him tickets to watch Star Trek (the original one!) at the local independent cinema as a surprise. He's a little bit ashamed to say that he cried. It's a film that means a lot to him. He mentioned it to you once right at the beginning of your friendship and it means so much that you remembered such a tiny detail. There isn't even an occasion, you just saw it was on and arranged it.

The theatre is full of fellow nerds, some are even dressed in costume, and the energy in the room is electric. It's inspiring seeing so many couples milling around as well. That could be you and him some day!

You picked good seats, right in the centre of the room, so he has a perfect view of the screen. It's too bad that he's spent an embarrassing percentage of the film watching you out of the corner of his eye instead.

Your hand is resting on the arm chair, occasionally dipping into the box of popcorn the two of you are sharing. Occasionally your elbow brushes against his and it hits him all at once how close the two of you are. There's so many opportunities for him to make a move, any move, that the situation allows for. He could leave his hand in the popcorn a little bit too long in the hopes that he can entwine it with yours, he could rest his arm next to yours in the hopes you'll shift against him, he could lean his head towards you to rest it closer to your headrest. Endless possibilities and he's not indulging any of them.

You lean over to him, waiting for him to turn and face you, then make a funny comment. He snorts with laughter, leaning back against his headrest a little bit too quickly. His glasses catch on one side of his head and the force knocks them forward slightly, leaving them askew on his face. You're both laughing quietly now, even if Ryland's is more embarrassed than anything. He moves to shift them back to their proper place but you beat him to it.

"Let me." You catch his hand with yours, waiting for him to return it to his lap.

You adjust his glasses, smiling as he scrunches his face to make sure they're sitting at the right point on his nose. You're so close to his face that he can hear you breathing. That makes him sound like a creep. You breath nicely.

That's probably an even creepier thought. He casts it aside.

"Excuse me, sorry!" A voice from over his shoulder pulls him away from you. It's just someone wanting to squeeze past to go to the bathroom but it unsettles him as he leans away from you, adjusting so the person can get past without accidentally kicking one of you. When he finally dares to look back at you, your attention is back on the movie. Even when the person comes back, Ryland can't settle. The moment doesn't feel right anymore.

He'll just have to keep waiting.

5: The Restaurant

The fifth time he wants to kiss you feels slightly less pathetic since it happens when he's on a date with you. It definitely feels like this is a socially acceptable situation to want to kiss you.

It at least means that maybe you want to kiss him back.

Hopefully.

It'd be pretty bad going on a date with someone you don't want to kiss. You're not like that.

Dinner is going well. It doesn't feel weird which he worried it would (because of him, not because of you) and it's been fun. You'd picked a nice, mid-range restaurant so neither of you have to pretend to be something that you're not or spend too much money on it. You share a starter, get an alcoholic drink, and talk.

It feels like it could be the beginning of everything.

He hasn't felt this way about anyone for a long time, and he was so much younger the first time that it doesn't feel right to compare. He thinks about you all the time; wondering what you're doing, who you're with, if you're ever thinking about him.

It's already gotten to the point that he's been writing love letters. That's how the two of you ended up here in the first place. It felt safer to word vomit all over some paper rather than to your face then he went and left them somewhere you could see them. A good thing came of it but next time he's definitely going to burn the pages once he's done with them.

Hypothesis: his brain stops functioning rationally (or maybe at all) when you're involved.

It's a theory he thinks is worth rigorous testing, no matter how mortifying it gets.

There's a gentle lull somewhere after your mains but before you've ordered your desserts. The drinks have warmed up both up and Ryland really wants to kiss you. Again. It feels like the whole night has been building up to it and he's ready. More than ready. He's wanted this for weeks, months at this point. He can't go more than three sentences without looking at your lips, it would be so easy to just lean forward and kiss you. There's no way you haven't noticed, he's never been very good at being subtle with regards to anything.

You place your hand down on the table and he dares himself to be brave for once as he reaches over to place his on top of yours. When you touch it's like electricity runs through him as all his nerve ending are alight.

This is it, this is the moment when you become more then friends.

Then, then, the waiter comes over, asking if you want another refill of your drinks or a dessert or something, Ryland can't even say what the poor man is there for. The moment is broken and the haze settling between you dissipates. He pulls his hand away and you retract yours slowly, take another sip of your drink. You finish up dinner and, whilst nothing has changed, the tension between the two of you has gone. The drive back to his apartment isn't tense, but there's no spark in the air like there was in the taxi on the way there. It's yet another opportunity that he's let pass him by.

Damn it.

+1: The Club

Ryland doesn't get jealous. He doesn't. If it looks like he does, it's just because a trick of the light, or maybe he's having a bad day. Of course, it's never a bad day before someone interacts with you in a way that sets his teeth on edge because he's been with you. It's always completely unrelated even it never happens when he's with other people.

So no, he doesn't get jealous.

You're still in the 'will they, won't they' phase much to his chagrin and he's once again forced against his will to partake in the social interaction college is supposedly all about. The house party was one thing. A club is a huge step up from that, in the worst way possible. He's pretty sure the music they're playing doesn't contain a single lyric, it's just a sequence of heavy bass and noises that make his head feel weird.

You can tell he's not comfortable and keep saying it's okay if he wants to leave but he wants to do this, wants to be here, for you. He can almost convincingly grin and bear it. It's something of a mercy when you both finish your drinks and he has an excuse to get off the dance floor. Your friends are all around you so he's sure you'll be fine for the five minutes he's gone to fetch another round.

The bar is impossibly busy, and he tries his best to keep an eye on where you are whilst he's waiting to be served. Everything seems like it's going fine until someone he doesn't recognise approaches you.

He can barely make out the stranger's face but he can make out yours. Your expression starts off polite but it falls away pretty quickly.

He's walking back over to you before he's even ordered the drinks.

Screw it.

You spot him walking towards you and smile at him but it doesn't slow his pace. He moves through the people like a man on a mission and doesn't even hesitate to capture your lips in a kiss as soon as he's close enough to you. To your credit, you don't even seem surprised; tangling your fingers in the hem of his t-shirt and pulling him closer. The stranger makes a comment, something neither of you hear clearly, before he skulks away, disappearing into the crowd.

Now that he's actually kissing you, Ryland doesn't want to stop. If he didn't need oxygen to survive he wouldn't stop. But he does, and so do you, so it comes to an end. You rest your forehead against him. He's quite proud of the fact you seem out of breath.

"Sorry." You pull back as you process his word. Confusion and hurt flash through your eyes. Your chest fills with panic.

"Why're you sorry?"

"Cause now I've messed things up between us."

"Ry, how have you messed things up?" You take his hand in yours, squeezing tightly to ground him.

"Cause I acted all impulsively and I had no right to do that and I didn't even ask you!" He's panicking and the word vomit is happening without him being able to stop it. He might actually vomit soon as well. He really doesn’t need to remind people of his nickname.

"Ry, you don't have to ask me if you want to kiss me."

"You're okay with it?!" You laugh in his face but your face is too full of joy for him to think you're mocking him.

"Ry, I've wanted you to do that for weeks. I thought I was misreading some signals after you didn't at the restaurant."

"Oh thank god." He pulls your close, laughter bubbling in his chest. “Can I do it again?”

“Ry, you can do it whenever you want to.” So he does.

You start in the kitchen. It's definitely the tidiest room in the apartment, mainly cause of how much he uses it so keeping it clean is always high on his priorities list. There's a few magnets scattered over the fridge; some from places he must have visited at different points in his life and a few with science puns on them which make you smile. On one side there's a picture of him and who you think must be his parents. He's much younger in it and the three of them look so happy that it makes your heart ache for him. There's a few cookbooks on a shelf, some more used than others, and the tea towel on the counter has the Star Trek insignia on it. You're once again reminded of how much of a nerd he is.

It's sweet.

You make your way back into the main room of his apartment, grabbing one of blankets thrown over a chair and wrapping it around your shoulders. Typical that you'd feel cold after insisting you were fine five minutes ago. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a book you recommended to him resting on the coffee table. It was nothing special, just some sci-fi novel you'd enjoyed and mentioned to him in passing. You'd offered to lend him your copy but clearly he'd beaten you to it. His bookmark is more than halfway through it already. The idea that he took you recommendation seriously enough to act on it makes part of you feel seen. It's nice. He's nice.

You move to look in his study before you let your mind fall down that rabbit hole too far. You're just friends, that's it. It's hard not to read into every interaction you have with him though, he's just so thoughtful and attentive in a way that no one has ever been before. He remembers things about you that you don't even remember mentioning to him. The fact he's insanely attractive and doesn't even seem to realise it doesn't hurt either. Some of your friends already act like you're dating which makes it hard; you've been putting off introducing Ryland to them for weeks.

His study is the room you've probably spent the most time in after his living room. Whilst you specialise in different areas, sometimes it's constructive to get a semi-informed outsider's opinions on your latest theory or paper. It doesn't always stay on topic though, those days are your favourites. He's just so easy to talk to about literally anything that comes into your head; he probably knows more about you than some of your friends that you've known for years.

His desk is covered in research papers, some his but mostly by other biologists. There's a few scientific journals piled on one side, clearly well read from the ridges down their spines. His diplomas sit proudly on the wall, alongside a picture of him at his high school graduation.

Most of the room is taken up with cabinets and shelves filled with books. Not all of them are academic, you can easily spot books you're familiar with. The illustrated copy of The Lord of the Rings you bought him for his birthday is on the top shelf of the cabinet closest to his desk. Leaning against it is a Polaroid of the two of you taken by the waitress who looked after you for his birthday meal. His smile is miles wide in it, it's one of your favourites.

Your hand lingers on the chair, running your fingers across the cardigan draped across the back of it. It's his fox one, the one that you've jokingly referred to as a 'crime against fashion' more than once. You get why he loves it though. He's let you borrow it a few times and the fabric is so soft that you always hate returning it to him. Sometimes it feels like he leaves it lying around on purpose in the hopes you'll ask to borrow it. You shake your head, willing that treacherously hopeful thought away before it can take root.

You left his bedroom until last intentionally. He's been more than ten minutes at this point but you could easily explain away being caught in his kitchen or the study in the time he's been gone. His bedroom though? That's much harder to swing. You know Ryland though, if he's bumped into someone who knows him, you've got ages until he'll be back. He's terrible at getting out of conversations he doesn't want to be in in the first place. You once watched him get stuck in a twenty minute conversation with someone who'd cut his hair once. That doesn't stop you from being hyper aware of each and every noise that you can't immediate identify. The floor creaks somewhere in the apartment as you take your first step into the room and you jump out like the floor is lava. It's not him though, not yet, so you take your first few steps inside.

The first thing you notice when you walk in is the smell. The aftershave Ryland always wears, the one that is so inexplicably him, seems to fill the air like he's just in front of you. You spy the bottle on one of his shelves, next to his earth shaped bean bag that he mainly uses as a stress ball. You've thrown it at his head more than once after a few drinks when he was being too endearing. The walls are pretty sparse, he has a periodic table pinned over his desk and a few pictures of various college friends dotted here and there but that's it.

The room is tidy, if a bit impersonal with it's assortment of flat-pack furniture. Comfortable though, and there's another two blankets in here. You're starting to wonder if he has circulation issues if he has this many blankets to hand in such a small area. Another quick scan and you're satisfied that you've seemed everything worth seeing in here and you should probably leave before Ryland gets back.

That's when something catches your eye on his bedside table. There's the usual things you'd expect: his glasses (maybe that's why he's taken so long?), an empty glass for water, and an alarm clock, but there's also a pile of paper and what looks like envelopes. Curiosity gets the better of you and your caution momentarily leaves you as you walk over to the bedside table, lift them and peer through them.

They're letters. People don't write a lot of letters nowadays and you can't help but think it's incredibly endearing that Ryland hand writes them still. You pick up a small stack of them, thumbing through them. The first few are for names you don't recognise but then there's one for you. Then another one. And another. That's when it starts to feel like you've found something you weren't meant to. You go very still as you catch a glimpse of some of the words scattered through them. The word love is in every single one of them, usually in the first few sentences. You look through the rest of the pile then, pulling out any that are addressed to you. There's twelve. Twelve love letters that Ryland has wrote to you but never sent.

You feel like your legs are going to give out underneath you so you turn and sit on the edge of the bed.

All other thoughts have left your mind as you pick one out at random and read it. Then you pick out another. They're messy, with half finished sentences and scribbled out words, like the words were spilling out of him faster than he could write them. He always writes about how he's felt like this for months, that he doesn't want to ruin your friendship because he doesn't want to lose you and your friendship is better than nothing at all. You think about him sitting in bed at the end of a day, writing about his feelings for you and it warms your heart so much you could burst. That softie.

Your friends are going to be absolutely insufferable about it when you tell them.

"Sorry! Sorry, I ran into someone I had classes with a few years back and he really likes the sound of his own voice." Ryland's voice, alongside sound of the front door knocking into the wall, makes you jump. There's no way to hide the fact you've just been in his bedroom and no time to stash the letters back where you found them that wouldn't make it incredibly obvious you've been through them. You jump up from the bed, dashing to the doorframe as quickly as you can manage, letters clutched in your hand still. He's still talking about the person he ran into at the shop but his words trail off as he realises you're no longer on his couch. His eyes find yours, gentle confusion on his face.

"What are these?" You lift your hand to bring his attention to where you want it. He goes pale as his eyes land on what's in your hand. They dart between your hand and your face and he seems to go a shade paler with every cycle. There's a moment when you worry he's going to throw up or pass out, or maybe do both. That's definitely the worst case scenario.

"I can explain!"

"Go on." Your smile is hopeful but patient, in that specific way that makes his knees weak. He's imagined having this conversation with you so many times, run so many simulations of it in his head trialling different turns of phrase and approaches, but it was never instigated by you. He's always plucked up the courage to bring it up to you in his imagination. He's not sure if it's easier or harder now you already know what he's about to say.

There's a quiet, hopeful voice in his head that if you've read any of them and you're still here then maybe that's a good sign. Or maybe you're just here to laugh at him then reject him. That voice is significantly less helpful.

"Yeah, okay." He takes a deep breath to steady himself. "We've been getting on great, more than great really or at least I think so, and I love being your friend! You're amazing! But sometimes it feels like it would be even greater if we were, y'know…" He goes quiet, trying to find the right words and falling short with every option his mind comes up with.

"More than friends?" You supply, if only to temporarily put him out of his misery. He nods emphatically. You can't help but notice that he's nervously fidgeting with the carton of milk that he's definitely forgotten he's holding.

"We don't have to! I just think it would be good to at least give us a chance, and I really like you and I hope you really like me. You're way out of my league, I do know that, and I-"

"Ryland." Your voice cuts off his nervous ramblings as he finally stops twisting his hands around the poor milk carton. If he puts any more pressure on it you're worried it's going to go all over him and the floor.

"Yeah?"

"I would love to. Why don't we talk about it over dinner?"

"Dinner." He parrots back to you, like he can't quite understand what you're saying.

"How does Thursday at 7 sound?"

"7, yeah I can do that." Well. That went better than it did in any of the hypotheticals he ran through in his head. He tries to discreetly pinch his arm to see if this is real or a dream. You definitely notice but don't comment. It's not a dream.

"Perfect. Can I get that coffee you promised me now?"

"What?" He blinks at you owlishly, "Oh! Coffee! Yeah I can do coffee." He hurries towards the kitchen, finally putting the milk down on the counter before he can do any more damage to it.

You watch from the doorframe, a soft smile on your face. You have a good feeling about this.

"Ryland Grace do you have a tattoo?" Your voice has an amused tone to it as you act scandalised by the revelation. He turns to face you in an instant, face burning with the beginnings of embarrassment; lowering his arms so his shirt drops back to fully covering him. Damn. He knew he should have sized up when he bought it. He'd only bought it in this size cause he though you'd like the more snug fit (and he'd been right). You move closer to him, turning him gently and lifting his t-shirt up again to get a proper look.

"No!...maybe? I can get it removed!" Your fingers trace the inked lines delicately and he tries not to preen under your touch. He fails miserably. Your hands are cold from being outside and they send a chill down his spine. He feels like he's burning up and he can't tell if it's from the warmth of the kitchen or embarrassment. Maybe it's both. It's definitely both.

"When?"

"It was a long time ago." You can tell. The lines of the tattoo have faded a little with age and have warped ever so slightly where he's grown since getting it.

"It's pretty." He blanches slightly. Waits for you to laugh in his face, telling him that you actually think it's stupid, any signs that one dumb decision from years ago is going to ruin his chances with you.

"You really think so?" His voice is meek as you finally let his shirt down to cover it, snaking your arms around him as he turns to face you.

"Yeah, I really do." He wants to kiss you. It still feels strange knowing he can whenever he wants to and, man, he really wants to now. You look like you want to as well as your eyes dart from his eyes down to his lips but you lean back instead of towards him, your nose crinkling.

"What's that smell?" He inhales deeply. That smells like…

"Shoot!" He pushes you back, turning around and pulling the pan off the stove. The food he's just spent the better part of two hours working on is looking…well, it's not the first impression of his cooking that he wanted to impart on you. "Well, that's dinner ruined." You laugh behind him; not in a mean way, in the way that he's starting to realise is your 'I'm incredibly fond of you' laugh. It's up there as one of his favourites.

"Take out?"

"Yeah, looks like it." You move to grab one of the many take out menus he has stashed in a drawer, bumping your hip against him playfully.

"Happy two month anniversary, Ry."

"Happy anniversary."

He's lucky that this semester you have a weekday with no classes for the first time in forever and, as a one off, you'd agreed to change your office hours to a different day. The principle had been thrilled at the suggestion of you coming in, the two of you had done something similar a few years back to see if this was a viable thing and the parents had loved it. Doesn't hurt to try and encourage the kids to take a semi-early interest in STEM subjects, right? Nice to have two people with PhD's in the building. Ryland was starting to feel like an over achiever.

He doesn't tell the kids that anything out of the ordinary is happening until he sees your car pull up on the school carpark and knows that this is definitely happening. There was no sense in getting their hopes us if something changed on your end and you were no longer able to come by. He'd biked in like he always did, had his morning coffees like always, said the appropriate good mornings to his colleagues and students. If anyone had noticed his energy being a bit weird they'd been kind enough to not comment to his face.

He waits for the class to settle down before speaking. He's not waiting long, these are good kids. "Alright guys, today's a very special day because we have a guest coming to speak to you all! So let's all be on our best behaviour and be ready to learn." The kids start asking questions thick and fast, practically bubbling with excitement even with no real idea what's going on. There's no use trying to get them to settle down, their energy is practically infectious.

The school secretary has met you enough times to recognise you on sight and it isn't long before she's at the classroom door telling Ryland that his special guest has arrived. She has a knowing smile on her face, sending a not so discreet wink in his direction before gently ushering you in front of her with some encouraging words. Ryland turns bashful for a moment, like he always does when you first appear in front of him, before moving past it and gesturing for you to come inside.

"Alright class, this is Doctor (Y/N)."

"Hi guys." You give them a quick wave, which most of them return. If you're nervous, you hide it well enough that he can't spot it.

"Now, as you all know, we're about to start our unit on earth science so Doctor (Y/N), who happens to be a certified expert on the subject, is here to give us some background about what the earth was like millions of years ago." The class perks up instantly as they process his words. Most of them seemed pretty excited about starting this module so hopefully this lives up to their expectations.

He knows he's looking at you too much, knows the kids will notice with those weirdly perceptive eyes of theirs, but he can't find the will power in himself to turn away from you. One perfect smile aimed in his direction and he's practically starstruck. It's only when someone in the room sneezes that he realises he needs to do something, anything to stop looking at you and move this interaction along before he embarrasses himself too much.

"Pen! We need a pen. Can't get very far without one." He turns on his heel, looking for the whiteboard pen he knows is resting somewhere on his desk. His eyes scan over the desk, and then they start again when he doesn't spot it. Then again. And once more for good measure. You clear your throat somewhere behind him.

"Here." Your voice is closer than he expected and he's ashamed to say he startles just a little bit as he turns and you're directly behind him, whiteboard marker in hand. When did you grab that? He takes it from your hand quickly, flushing when his hand briefly brushes yours.

"How is it you always know what I need, huh?"

"Helps that you think out loud sometimes." You smile at him and he almost forgets the full class of children watching every interaction the two of you share. Some of them start laughing at him and that's when he finally stops looking at you and turns his attention back to his children. Right. The lesson. He claps his hands to get their attention back on him, this time in a way he's comfortable with and can control.

"So, where do you guys want to start?" At least six hands shoot up and everything starts from there.

The lesson goes down like a house on fire. The kids are engaged, asking great questions about the material (plus some things that aren't technically on the syllabus but you happily answer anyway) and the hour practically flies by. Some of them even groan when the bell goes for lunch which never happens. For a lecturer used to teaching adults you adapt remarkably well to teaching middle schoolers. You have a knack for explaining technical concepts in a way that makes them easy to understand without seeming like you're talking down to them which is incredibly important when you're teaching kids. It's almost impossible to get the kids out of the classroom without promising that you'll try and stop by again in the future to answer all their questions. Ryland practically has to shoo the last few out of the door, telling them to go and get their lunch before all the good food is gone. He sighs with relief as the door finally clicks shut, turning to lean his back on it for a moment.

"So, how do you think that went?" You lean back on his desk, sitting down on the edge, bathed in the bright sunlight of the early afternoon. Ryland struggles to think of a time you've looked as incredible. Probably your wedding day. Maybe every day before and after that too for good measure. Heck, you'll probably look as amazing when he wake up next to you tomorrow morning, but right now he's appreciating you in this moment.

"I'd say we make a pretty good team." It warms something in him seeing his kids responding so well to you. He knew they would (how could they not?) but it playing out better than he'd hoped is amazing. Definitely grounds to try and make this something that happens more often if you can find time for it.

"Good thing I married you then."

"I still can't believe that." He really can't. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to waking up next to you, living alongside you. It's something he never wants to take for granted. You smile at him; that soft, knowing smile of yours that he fell in love with all those years ago, and the urge to kiss you wells up inside him. So, he does the only logical thing and he acts on it, striding across to close the gap between the two of you that seems to be way too far to be healthy. He stops just in front of you, pulling you close as his lips find yours. You respond immediately, hands moving to rest on his hips as you rise slightly from the desk to meet him halfway.

The kiss, like always, is incredible. You've always slotted together like puzzle pieces and he love it, loves you. You're distracting, incredibly so. He'll never get enough of the soft noises you make when he kisses you, the feeling of you pulling his body closer to yours, it's all so intoxicating it makes his head spin. He's so distracted, in fact, that he doesn't even register the door to the classroom opening.

"Sorry Mr Grace, I forgot my…" The voice bursts through the silence of the room as footsteps quickly move across the linoleum floor. They stop abruptly and Mateo's voice fades away as the two of you jump away from each other like you've been burned. His eyes dart between the two of you frantically and Ryland doesn't know how to play this. His brain settles for denial.

It's never worked well in times of crisis.

"Mateo! What did you forget buddy?" He tries to hide that he's more than a little bit breathless but the words come out with a little pant as he tries to lower his heart rate. It doesn't work. Mateo's eyes are still moving between the two of you, impossibly wide.

"Doesn't matter! Sorry!" Mateo's voice is an octave higher than usual. The kid's out the door without another word, closing it much louder than strictly necessary. Ryland winces. Rumours move fast through the student body of Grover Cleveland Middle School. There's no way all the kids won't know by the end of the day, if not even sooner. He sighs but there's no real emotion behind it.

"Guess the cat's out the bag then, huh?"

"Sorry for waking you." He lowers himself back onto the bed now you're awake and easier to move and you slot yourself into his side like you belong there. You do, if he's being honest. Or, let's be super honest here, he belongs by your side. He lucked out meeting you, he can barely imagine what life would be like without you.

"S'okay. Missed you." You wrap an arm around him, pressing your face into his chest. He briefly wonders how your body manages to breathe with you in that position. That doesn't stop him from tugging you impossibly closer.

"I've missed you too." It comes out rawer than he wanted it to. You can't know a lot about what's happening, Stratt threatened to have him court martialed if he mentioned anything classified to you and he doesn't trust her to not have bugged the house when you were out at work. It's strange going from telling someone all the tiny details of your day to keeping massive government (or bigger) secrets. You know some stuff, you've seen things on the news and know his academic history well enough to put some pieces together, but some things he won't be able to say to you for years, maybe even longer.

It makes moments like this all the more important.

"I'm sorry I've been away so much lately." There's a thousand more things he wants to apologise for that he isn't allowed to. He almost wants to say a big screw you to Stratt's rules and tell you everything but not now. Not in the safe haven of your bed in these twilight hours. For now he just wants to think about you.

"You're off saving the world. I can wait." 'The world can wait' he wants to say.

"You shouldn't have to." is what comes out instead. The two of you have never been apart like this before, not even since when the two of you first started dating. From grad school to now you've always been inseparable. It doesn't bear thinking about a world where he doesn't get to come home and see you every day. You must notice something shift in him as you pull away from him, peering at his face with a look he can't decipher in what little light there is in the room.

"If you don't kiss me right now, I might explode." Your sleep-riddled deadpan tone breaks Ryland from whatever depressed tangent his brain was about to run with as laughter bubbles up from his chest. He obliges, of course he does, he's never been able to say no to you. It's soft, and his hands rise to cradle your jaw delicately. It doesn't last long enough, it never does, but he has years to keep kissing you so he can survive with this one being short.

"I love you so much." He presses his forehead to yours, willing every good thought he's ever had about you through his head to yours.

"I love you too."

"Get some sleep. We can talk in the morning." He's not sure what he plans to say to you, not sure how close to the truth he can get to before you either put the pieces together by yourself or he caves and just tells you everything regardless of the threats hanging over his head. You don't respond, already letting sleep take you back to whatever dream he disturbed when he came in.

He waits until you're definitely asleep before fully relaxing. He finally settles after your breathing evens out, holding you so close that it feels like you're starting to blur into one.

He can't wait for all of this to be over.

Later; much, much later, a disoriented Ryland will wake up on a spaceship light years from home and, though he won't understand why at first, the gold band on his left ring finger will bring him both comfort and agony.

Bonus:

"Grace have mate, question?" The notes come out softer than usual, like Rocky is hesitant to ask. It's the first time that Ryland thinks his intonation has shown signs of caution.

"Yeah bud, I…" Ryland finds himself wanting to say the word did but can't bring himself to actually do it, "do, yeah I do." He finds himself spinning his wedding ring absentmindedly. Sometimes the weight of it brings him comfort. More often than not it leaves him feeling hollow. Your name is engraved inside it, sometimes he just sits and traces it; hoping you're okay, that you're still alive back home. He didn't even get to say goodbye to you. It's something that he'll never forgive Stratt for.

"What is mate's name?"

"(Y/N)." Rocky perks up.

"That beautiful name! Much nicer than yours."

"What does it sound like in your language?" Rocky thinks for a moment before letting out a series of notes. He's right, it does sound much nicer in Eridian than his name does. He leans over to the computer, making a note of the new word in his system. Not that he could forget it but it's habit to track new words now anyway.

"They science human too, question?" Ryland nods.

"They teach geology."

"Amaze! Amaze! Amaze! Better choice than biology." Ryland huffs out a laugh at that; trust the sentient rock to prefer someone who specialises in the study of minerals over the guy literally helping him save his home planet.

"It's not the first time I've heard that."

"If Grace and Rocky save stars, we can go home to mates!" Rocky's carapace is high and his jazz hands have more energy than Ryland thinks he's ever seen. They lose momentum though when Ryland doesn't respond. "Grace okay, question?" He sighs in response.

"Yeah bud, I just miss them." Rocky lowers himself and it almost looks like he nods in agreement.

"Understand." The two of them sit in silence for a few minutes, taking in the beach scenery the computer is projecting around them. "Grace send message to mate soon, question? Rocky want to say hi." Ryland blinks, surprised but oddly touched by Rocky's request. He hadn't even thought about sending you anything, too swept up in emotions with every new memory of you that surfaced in his mind. The way you hum when you work. How you looked on your wedding day. Watching you find out you'd successfully argued your thesis. It was like falling in love with you then losing you all over again.

"Yeah we can record a message for them. God they'd love to have met you."

Stratt would probably kill him if she could when she finds out that he's used precious recording space on one of the beetles to send a message to you. Not exactly earth saving stuff. He supposes this will be one more screw you to her then. She didn't let him say goodbye to you before drugging him and sending him on this suicide mission without his consent, the least she can do it make sure you get these recordings.

For good measure, he makes sure there's a copy of the video uploaded to all four of the beetles. He's not risking what could be his final words to you being lost to the stars.

Screw Stratt.

It doesn't take you long to realise that the labyrinth is guiding you through itself, presumably back to the Goblin City. The walls seem to shift around in front of you; turning you this way or that way as the Goblin City's silhouette starts to get progressively more imposing. That knowledge brings you some comfort and slows your pace back to your place of residence. You let a hand trail across the rough grain of the labyrinth's walls and find that you never have to take it away, that the labyrinth uses it as something as an anchor to guide you back home.

You briefly wonder when you started to consider the Goblin City as your home. You're quick to dismiss that thought, that's something to haunt you before you sleep for the next few nights rather than right now. The last thing you need right now is to have a complete breakdown.

It's almost peaceful being on your own for a while. Goblin's don't venture into the labyrinth if they know what's good for them, many of them have been lost here and ended up in the bog of eternal stench so they tend to avoid it like the plague. Being unwatched for maybe the first time since you arrived here is a luxury you don't plan to take for granted.

You lose yourself in a daydream quickly, following the path being set out in front of you. It takes longer than it should for you to realise you're not as alone as you initially assumed. In fairness to yourself, it's been a long time since you've seen an unfamiliar face. You hadn't even known Jareth had taken someone recently. No one had made it anywhere near the castle for so long you'd stopped looking out the windows of the castle for them.

Another human stands in front of you, a panicked look etched onto their face. They move towards you quickly, taking a firm hold of your arm.

"Oh thank god! I thought I was the only one! You have to help me!" Their grip on your arm is firm, bordering on painful. If they see you wince they don't react, only holding you tighter. "I need to get out of this place! Do you know the way?"

You shake your head. "No, sorry. I don't know where I'm going." It's a half truth, but they don't need to know that. The runner's face pinches with frustration before it softens into something you think might be pity.

"How long have you been here?" It's a question you're not sure how to answer.

"I'm not sure. What date is it when you're from?" They give you the date they remember it being and the pity blossoms into something more tangible as your face falls. Years. You've been here for years. When they speak again, their voice is much softer, like if they speak any louder you might shatter in front of them.

"My name's Taylor. What's yours?" You give yours in a similar fashion. Your voice comes out thin, defeated. They take your hand in theirs, giving it a light squeeze. "We can work out how to get out of here together, okay? I won't leave you behind." For the first time in years, you actually take them at their word. You don't believe them, only the Goblin King himself could truly free you of this place, but you believe their sincerity.

They're 7 hours into their run, they tell you. Over half way but they've made good progress from your reckoning. The shadow of the Goblin City lingers over the two of you in the mid-day sun as they lead you down this turn and that, talking more to themself than you but you don't mind much. You're not feeling particularly conversational at the moment.

You realise long before the runner that you're going in circles. Big circles, ones that aren't particularly obvious if you're not familiar with the labyrinth, but circles nonetheless. Whilst the labyrinth had felt like something of an ally when you were on your own, it feels like an enemy to the runner. Given how well they'd done in the first half of their run, you can't help but feel bad that you're hindering their chance at freedom so badly. You almost want to tell them to leave you behind but you fall short of actually doing so. Their grip on you is tight, like they're worried you'll disappear into thin air if they let go of you for even a moment. Time passes in a blur like usual but having another human around is oddly grounding. They keep checking on you, asking if you need a rest or some water, both of which you turn down. From your estimations, you'd been walking through the labyrinth for two hours when something seems to shift in the air. It sends a chill down your spine.

"Ah, there you are dearest." The voice of the Goblin King cuts through the silence of the labyrinth, leaving you and your fellow human frozen to the spot. He's dressed in his ceremonial robes, a flurry of fabrics in a breeze that wasn't there before he appeared. A look of irritation passes over his face as his eyes land on your entwined hands. You tug your arm away like the runner's hand has burned you. The fae are possessive things, you don't want to think about his reactions to everything that's transpired in the last few hours.

"Your highness." You bow, more out of habit than any real respect you have for him, then immediately realise your mistake. The runner looks at you with an unreadable expression, eyes darting between you and the Goblin King suspiciously. Strike one, you think. No runner would ever bow to the person trapping them like a rat in a cage.

"How do you like my labyrinth? Quite a tricky thing isn't it?" Whatever was going through the runner's mind is dropped when they process the Goblin King's words. They stick their chin out at him, standing a little bit taller.

"It's not that tricky. We're making good progress." They almost sound like they believe what they're saying which is the most impressive thing about the runner.

"Oh, is that so? From my estimations you've been walking in circles for almost two hours." The runner's expression drops for a moment before recovering. It's enough though, you see the first signs of doubt take root in them. You're painfully reminded just how much the Goblin King likes to trick and manipulate people.

"I still have four hours left then. We can still escape." They take your hand again, making a point of you being a united front. If they notice the tremor in your hands, they don't comment.

"We?" For the first time since he appeared before the two of you, the Goblin King seems to actually start taking the runner seriously. The way his gaze lands on you makes you shrink slightly. Strike two, maze runners aren't meant to be afraid of the Goblin King. They're angry at him.

"I'm not leaving them behind. We're going to leave together." The Goblin King lets out a soft noise of acknowledgment at the runner's words, a smug looks settling on his face. He turns to you and, for the first time in a long time, you think he might actually be angry with you.

"I must say you've done a wonderful job, my dear. Wasting their time like that pretending you don't know where you're going. Very commendable." His lies have an instantaneous effect on the runner as they rip their hand away from yours. Strike three, you're out.

"What's he talking about?"

"You didn't really believe you'd just happened upon another human who got lost here did you? I thought you were supposed to be a bright one." The Goblin King speaks before you even dare to utter a syllable. Denying his claims would only serve to make you worse off in the long run but the betrayal on the runner's face is something that is going to haunt your dreams for a long time.

"You tricked me!" Their rage is burning hot, eyes a burning storm, and when they move quickly towards you, it partly horrifies you that you instinctively step closer to Jareth, hoping he'll protect you from their (well placed) fury. He does, of course, whether intentionally or not. The floor of the labyrinth almost seems to give way under the runner's feet and they fall through with a startled cry. Maybe into the oubliette, maybe somewhere worse. You're not sure you have it in you to care. It's clear their time in the labyrinth has come to an end. There's a heavy silence between the two of you for a moment.

"Is that why I'm here? So you can play with your food?" Jareth almost looks offended at your accusation. There's a whisper in your head that you'll pay for that comment at some point but there's a lot of things that have happened today that you'll probably be paying for so it almost feels logical to get all your insubordination out in one fell swoop.

"Come now dearest, even I'm not that cruel. Not towards you, at least. No, that was a goblin who had ideas above his station. I'll deal with him later."

"Oh." A wave of numbness passes through you as you turn away from the Goblin King, steadying yourself against the wall of the labyrinth which almost seems to move forwards to meet you halfway. You briefly wonder if you're going to pass out or be sick.

"Oh come now, it's not all bad (Y/N)." You freeze at his words, turning slowly on your heel. The triumphant grin on his face makes only serves to make you feel sicker. How could he…

"'You heard me." You curse yourself. You'd been so careful to never give him your true name, content to let him call you whatever else he desired to avoid doing so. It was the only thing you had over him. You hadn't even thought about handing it over to the runner when they'd asked, too overwhelmed by the situation to think about the potential consequences of your actions.

"I hear everything that's said in my lands, but you already knew that. Remarkably careless of you really. If I'd known this was all it would take to make you hand it over I would have dropped you in here eons ago." Him knowing your true name feels like a death sentence in what has been years of living in purgatory. If you had any misguided visions of one day escaping his capture and being free of this place, they've been dashed by one foolish decision on your part.

"I…" You want to lash out; scream that this isn't fair, that none of this is fair. This isn't how your life was supposed to be. Your words fail you though when you look back up at the predatory smile Jareth wears.

"It's only fair, dearest. You've had knowledge of my true name for all this time, it only makes sense that I deserve yours in turn. I've been so incredibly patient don't you agree?" You've wondered many times since that fateful night whether the name he gave you was his true name or just another lie regardless of what he promised. The idea that he freely gave you his true name even when he could've easily deceived you once again stirs something in you whether you want it to or not. It does nothing to reassure you of your fate though. Knowledge of true names is power in this realm, and you're starting to wonder if today's events make you a liability to him. Being his little pet isn't fun but it's kept you relatively safe for all this time; today is the first time in a long time that you question why you're still permitted to grace the halls of the castle.

"So what now? I become just another of your goblin slave?" His face scrunches with displeasure at your question, like you've suggested he wear the same outfit to two consecutive balls.

"Hardly. Gosh you really do think little of me, don't you?" You don't respond to that, not trusting yourself to hold your tongue. There's no sense in digging yourself a deeper grave at this point. He tuts his annoyance at your silence but continues, more than used to this particular song and dance. "You seemed to know so much about fae culture when you first arrived and yet you're entirely ignorant to the most important information."

"And what information is that?" The question spills out before you can reign it in. The smile on his face is a terrifying mix of sinister and triumphant. You're once again painfully reminded that the thing in front of you is far from human.

"Anyone who knows a fae monarch's true name and is known by them in kind becomes their consort." Your legs almost give out underneath you as you take in his words. Consort. The word spirals through your mind, unsettling every part of you it reaches. He wants to marry you? You're aware that he's started talking again but you can't make out the words, it's like your head is underwater and everything coming through is muffled. He huffs a sigh of irritation at you but doesn't push it which might be the most generous thing he's ever done for you.

The labyrinth seems to almost melt away from your sight, rough grain softening to smooth stone underneath your fingertips. You blink and you're back in the castle, your long-forgotten book only an arms reach from you. Jareth is nowhere to be seen so you allow yourself to slide down the wall, unable to support your own weight anymore. The cool touch of the stone soothes you for only a moment. A tear escapes your eyes before you can stop it.

You're never leaving this place.