Green Witch From The Woods

You walk next to Ryland, both drinking coffee from takeaway cups, your other hand carefully steadying a third cup you picked up for Stratt. The air is cold and biting. Without a word, Ryland reaches across, his bright yellow raincoat brushing against the back of your hand as he gently slips the extra cup from your fingers to carry it himself.

You raise an eyebrow at him, a silent question in your eyes. He mimics your expression perfectly, a look of faux-innocence on his face. “What? Am I not allowed to assist my girlfriend?” The corner of his mouth quirks up, knowing exactly the kind of effect his words have on you.

Rightfully, your heart skips a beat. The word girlfriend still feels new, making you feel a sudden rush of warmth that defies the cold weather. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling wide like an idiot. Taking a deep breath, you try to steady your racing pulse. “You are” you quip, taking a slow sip from your own cup to hide your expression. “But I know you only took that from me so you can hand the coffee to Stratt yourself and make it look like you got it for her all along”

He gasps playfully, “How dare you accuse me of such ill intentions, partner?!” He leans in, bumping his shoulder affectionately against yours.

He still calls you partner sometimes, though most of the time it’s other endearments. It is funny to think about how much has changed - how he transformed from being your academic inspiration, to your mentor, to now your boyfriend. The night of the karaoke party is still clear in your mind: the exact feel of his lips against yours for the first time, and later, the low whisper of his voice asking, “You’re mine, aren’t you?” when he hovered over you after leading you back to his room. Since that night, everything has shifted. The way he intertwines his fingers with yours every time you walk out of the lab together has become a default setting, an instinctual habit neither of you questions.

Being a mere intern, you originally thought you would be terrified of starting a relationship with the lead astrophage biologist of the mission. But the fear evaporated weeks later. You still remember when Stratt first witnessed the change in your dynamic - you had been helping Ryland organise his notes so he could seamlessly explain the complete workings of the astrophage to Dubois and Shapiro. Ryland had dropped a folder, and as you both reached for it, he casually muttered, “Thanks, baby”

You had frozen, rigid, terrified of the impending lecture on professionalism. Stratt had simply paused, raising an eyebrow at your tense form. She moved her gaze to Ryland, who hadn’t even noticed the slip of his tongue, and then looked back at you. Instead of a reprimand, she just gave you a tiny, rare smile before focusing right back on the project details. The boss of the mission didn’t give a single damn if an intern was romantically involved with her lead scientist, so long as the work got done.

Since then, things have been beautifully stable. You still work the same as before, except now you naturally lean into each other’s space without awkwardly smiling and looking away. When you help him solve a data sequence that has been troubling him for days, he looks at you gratefully and murmurs, “I love you so much, you’re the best” instead of awkwardly masking it behind a defensive, “Wow! You’re learning from the best, partner” When others see you being close, they don’t question it. They just know it.

All in all, everything has been going too well. And now, the Hail Mary is set to launch. Every ounce of effort the entire global team has put in is finally culminating in this one, desperate shot at saving the world.

“We ran the sampler simulation again this morning” Ryland’s voice brings you back to reality.

You look ahead and realise you have reached the where Stratt is waiting, staring out at the launch site. Ryland steps forward, handing the extra cup to her. “Shapiro and Dubois nailed it again” he completes.

She takes the coffee from his hands. “What about the others?” she asks, her eyes darting toward you to offer a familiar, tiny greeting.

“They’ll be ready” he responds, his gaze dropping to his shoes.

“I expect so. They have a great teacher” she compliments with a smile. She looks at you, finding you already smiling proudly at her words.

Ryland looks at Stratt, then at you, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. He shifts his weight, looking away toward the open field.

“Can you take a compliment, please?” Stratt asks, a hint of dry amusement in her voice.

“No” he chuckles.

“Come on, Ry, take it” you add, nudging him with your elbow.

He looks down at you, his eyes softening the way they always do when his gaze lands on your face.

“It’s an order” Stratt adds teasingly.

It causes Ryland to flush a little, totally embarrassed. “Okay, if it’s an order, I’ll take it. Thank you” he mutters, staring at the ground. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing aloud at how adorable he is when he’s flustered.

“Good” Stratt smiles at the two of you. Taking a slow sip of her coffee, she gestures with her cup toward the massive, built spaceship towering over the facility. “So, what do you think?” She directs the question to you both.

“It’s…” you start, your voice trailing off as your eyes trace the magnificent lines of the ship. Never in your life had you ever imagined seeing a piece of interstellar engineering like this in person, let alone helping build the science that went inside it.

“It’s pretty impressive” Ryland says softly, watching your wide-eyed reaction with a tender expression. He turns to Stratt, offering a genuine nod. “You’re…you’re good”

“You’re awesome” you add, turning to her as well.

Both Stratt and Ryland let out a low chuckle at your enthusiasm.

“So, what are you gonna do for the next twenty years?” Ryland asks her, his tone turning casual, “you got a plan?”

She chuckles, “Yeah” She pauses, looking between the two of you with a genuine expression, “You both going back to your lives?”

“Yeah, going back” you say, a bittersweet smile touching your lips. A sudden wave of nostalgia hits you, realising that the chaotic, high-stakes world you’ve lived in for the past few years is about to disappear, leaving you to return to normal academia.

“Together” Ryland adds firmly. He reaches down, sliding his hand into yours and squeezing your fingers. He smiles down at you, and your cheeks hurt from how much you are trying to hold back your joy.

Then, everything shifts.

A deafening explosion rips through the far side of the facility where the main labs are built. Everything seems to happen in a blink. The blinding flash of light is followed instantly by a massive shockwave, the impact of which knocks the three of you to the ground.

You gasp as your breath is driven from your lungs, the hard ground scraping against your palms. The air is suddenly filled with the roar of alarms and thick smoke. Through the ringing in your ears, you feel fingers blindly reaching for your arm, gripping you with a desperate intensity. Looking over, you see Ryland. Even though he is dazed himself, his first instinct was to blindly search for you in the chaos.

Stratt is already on her feet, pushing herself on her feet, and running toward the burning building. Ryland quickly moves, pulling you up by your hands as you both sprint behind her, heading into the wreckage.

“One nanogram of astrophage just isn’t enough to blow up a building!” Ryland says, climbing up the short stairs of the facility.

Dr. Lokken informs that the quartermaster accidentally gave the science team a full milligram instead of a nanogram.

Ryland instantly says, “That’s a million times the heat energy that they’re prepared for”

Commander Yao follows, his face a mask of grief and disbelief, “A measuring mistake killed my entire science team?”

“Doesn’t matter” Stratt states, her voice steady as she walks ahead, completely shutting down the panic, “we have to launch”

You watch her back as she walks away, your heart aching. You can’t even fathom how difficult it must be for her to say those words, because you know, despite her icy exterior, she values every single person on this project. But she knows the stakes - the mission must take place to ensure the survival of humanity, no matter the cost.

Before they enter the briefing room, a guard stops you. You are explicitly asked not to follow them into the meeting.

“I’ll be back” Ryland says quickly, turning to you outside the door. He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to the top of your hair, his hands squeezing your waist before he steps into the room.

The doors click shut, leaving you alone in the corridor.

You have no idea what is happening behind those closed doors. Minutes bleed into an hour, and your anxiety spikes into overdrive with every tick of the clock. Unable to pace the hallway anymore, you retreat into a smaller, empty side room nearby, sitting on the edge of a chair and staring at the floor, waiting desperately for him.

Finally, the click of the door opening echoes through the quiet space. You snap your head up.

Ryland is standing in the doorway. Your breath catches at the sight of him. He is slouched, his movements heavy and slow. He is staring straight ahead with a blank, empty gaze. His beanie and glasses are missing. His hair is smothered down against his forehead, and his eyes...his eyes are a mix of fear and a hollow dread. Your heart drops into a bottomless pit at his state.

“Hey, Ry” you breathe, slowly rising from your chair and closing the distance between you two. The closer you get, the worse his condition appears. Your hands itch to reach out and touch his face, to ground him, but you hold back, terrified of breaking whatever fragile thread is holding him together.

“What...what happened?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly.

He doesn’t say anything for several agonising moments. He just stands there, staring down at you, his mouth parted slightly as if he is trying to physically force words out of his throat, but his lungs won’t cooperate.

“They...they want me to go” he whispers. A sheen of tears glazes over his blue eyes.

You blink, your brain refusing to process the sentence. “What? Where?!” you rushingly ask, taking a step closer.

“Tau Ceti” he responds.

The gravity on Earth is perfectly intact, but in that exact second, you feel like the ground beneath your feet has vanished. A sickening sensation pulls you downward into a panic. No. No, no, no. He can’t go. It’s a suicide mission. The Hail Mary doesn’t have enough fuel to bring the crew back. They are going there to die so Earth can live.

No, please, no, is the only thought screaming through your head.

You don’t even realise you’ve been holding your breath until Ryland’s warm palms come up to rest on either side of your shoulders. “Hey” he says softly, his grip tightening to steady you as your knees begin to buckle.

A ragged gasp tears out of your chest. You look up at him through a vision that has gone blurry with tears, your hands flying upward to frantically cupping his face.

“No...no, you-you’re not going” you start, forcing the words out through the painful lump in your throat, “you can’t” You take a shaking breath, your fingers digging into his cheeks, “No, please, Ry. I can’t...I don’t know how to...please don’t go”

The panic takes over, your chest heaving. Ryland sees the hyperventilation starting and immediately moves, gently leading you back to the chair and guiding you down.

“Baby, hey. Look at me” his words sound slightly muffled, reaching you through the loud ringing of your own heartbeat. He drops to his knees in front of you, wrapping his hands tightly around yours and pulling them down from his face to hold them against his chest. “Hey, it’s okay. Just breathe for me, okay? Follow my lead. I’m right here. I’m here”

He tries to soothe you, his thumbs running rhythmic patterns over the skin of your wrists, trying to anchor you to reality even as his own tears finally begin to spill over his eyelashes.

After a few moments, the rhythmic rising and falling of Ryland’s chest anchors you, and your breathing finally begins to regulate.

“You’re okay” Ryland whispers, his trembling thumb reaching up to gently brush the corner of your eye where a stray tear has escaped.

The tenderness of the gesture breaks something inside you, and your eyes shut tightly as a fresh wave of tears forces its way past your lashes. He shifts, pulling you just a fraction closer as he finishes explaining the nightmare that took place inside the briefing room.

“They’ve given me three hours to think” he says, his voice flat, drained of all its usual energy. He looks down at your joined hands, his shoulders sinking. “I-I don’t wanna go. I’m terrified. They’re asking me to give up my life. There is no coming back if I go on that ship. I don’t want to leave everything behind...I don’t want to leave you behind”

The vulnerability in his small voice devastates your heart.

“Tell them no” you say instantly. Every piece of logic you possess, all the years of knowing exactly why this ship was built, the understanding that this mission is humanity’s last stand, flies completely out the window. In this room, he isn’t the lead project biologist. He isn’t a commodity or a savior. He is your person. Your partner.

He lets out a shaky sniffle, leaning forward until his forehead rests against yours. “Do you think they’ll listen?” he whispers. For the first time since you’ve known him, he asks a question with doubt.

“I don’t care” you say, forcing a stability into your voice despite the lump in your throat, “they can’t force you into this”

“I don’t want to lose you” he murmurs, his warm breath fanning across your lips.

“You won’t” you whisper.

You tilt your head, closing the small distance to seal your lips against his. You have kissed plenty of times before, but none of them felt like this. It is a desperate, bruising kiss, the salt of both your tears mixing together between your lips. Your hands move up to cradle his face, holding him with the same frantic intensity he used the night of the karaoke. Ryland presses closer, burying his fingers into your clothes, kissing you as if he is trying to physically erase the rest of the universe.

The quiet of the side room feels like a shroud when you are finally left alone again. Three hours have bled away, and Ryland has finally gone to Stratt’s office to deliver his final answer.

A dread settles in your stomach. You know Eva Stratt. You know she is a deeply pragmatic human being who has spent years carrying the burden of keeping the world from ending. So many years of global sacrifice, so much money, the relentless efforts of thousands of people, and the tragic loss of the primary science team just hours ago, it all rests on her shoulders. You know with absolute certainty that Stratt will not let this mission fail. And to her, postponing the launch is the exact same thing as failing.

Your stomach twists in waves of anxiety. You realise, with a flash of horror, that Stratt has figured out the only variable left to ensure the mission goes exactly as planned: she needs your boyfriend on that ship.

Suddenly, a bright flash of yellow streaks past the glass window of the room, followed immediately by dark silhouettes.

Ryland. Ryland in his yellow raincoat.

He is running.

Your heart begins to hammer in your chest. You slam the door open, sprinting out into the main corridor just in time to see Ryland throwing himself down the hallway, a frantic sprint of panic, with a few security guards chasing right on his heels.

The terrifying, suffocating realisation that they are forcing him onto the mission settles over you. Your knees buckle, nearly giving out, but you force your legs to move, sprinting as fast as you can to catch up to the chaos.

By the time you get close, the guards have Ryland pinned to the ground. He is thrashing wildly, his limbs flailing as he struggles to break free from the weight of the men holding him down.

You sprint straight toward Carl, who is standing just next to them. Ryland’s voice rings out, repeatedly screaming, “No! No!”

You force yourself to stare directly at Carl, knowing that if you look down at Ryland, you will lose your mind. “Carl, please don’t!” you cry, your voice cracking with desperation, “don’t do this to him!”

“Please...” Ryland’s voice squeaks, the wind knocked out of him as a guard presses a knee into his back. Then, a wheezing gasp tears from his throat, choking out your name.

You can’t help it. You look down.

A sob tears out of your chest at the sight. One side of Ryland’s face is pressed hard against the ground, his dark blonde hair a wild, dusty mess. His arms are pinned behind his back by the security team as his eyes lock onto you, silently pleading you to help him.

“Shit, please stop! Don’t do this!” You lunge forward, your hands reaching out to pull the guards off him, but Carl’s arms wrap around your torso, locking you in place and pulling you backward.

“I’m sorry. We have to do this” Carl says, his voice tight but unyielding. He looks over your shoulder at the struggling scientist on the floor, “you know who you are”

The needle plunges down into Ryland’s skin.

Ryland’s blue eyes lock onto yours one last time, filled with a heartbreaking, silent betrayal. Slowly, his eyelids begin to flutter shut. His desperate pleads fade as the sedative takes hold, his body going limp against the floor as he loses consciousness.

You are crying so hard you can’t even form a coherent word, the air hitching in your lungs. The security guards lift Ryland’s unconscious form from the ground, and a fresh wave of panic hits you.

“No, stop! Put him down!” You twist within Carl’s grip. “Don’t do this! You know him, Carl! He said he doesn’t want to go! Please, just let him go!”

“Hey, get it together. Look at me, get it together” Carl grunts, his voice strained as he maintains his iron grip on you, keeping you from rushing after the men who are now carrying Ryland’s limp body through the secure doors, “We need him. The world needs him”

Ten minutes later, you are standing in the corridor in front of Stratt’s office door. You aren’t wiping your face anymore, you just let the tears fall, your chest still heaving with the remnants of the panic attack.

“Come in” her voice comes from the other side before you can even knock.

You push the door open, stepping into the room, and let the door click shut behind you. Stratt looks up from her desk, her eyes tracing the distraught, trembling mess you are.

“You can’t send him!” The words rip out of you, loud and furious. You have never once raised your voice in front of her. For years, you have been acutely aware of your position on this mission. You are an intern, a student, a temporary shadow. But job descriptions and official designations don’t mean a single damn thing now that she has literally kidnapped a scientist who was only supposed to study the astrophage, forcing him into a ship to launch him into the dark of space.

Stratt lets out a slow, heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair. She looks at you with an expression that proves she has been expecting this exact confrontation from the moment that Ryland started running.

“He is the only one left who possesses the complete knowledge of the astrophage and the ship’s biology systems” she says evenly, though for the first time since you’ve known her, a distinct hint of guilt flickers in her eyes, “He is our only option”

“He has a life!” you shout, taking a step closer to her desk, your fists clenched tightly at your sides, “you can’t just rewrite his entire existence and throw it away because it’s convenient for you! And he isn’t the only one with all the knowledge. I’m not as smart as him, and I don’t have his years of experience, but I was right there beside him for every single sequence. I was involved in pretty much every single breakthrough related to this entire mission”

Stratt tilts her head, her gaze narrowing as she studies your posture. “What exactly are you trying to say?” she asks slowly, dropping into the calculated tone she uses when evaluating a structural problem.

”If you’re sending him” you say, your voice leveling out as tears spill over your cheeks, “then I am going with him”

Stratt stares at you for a few long seconds, the silence in the office becoming absolute. “This isn’t a field trip” she says quietly, her voice dropping into a gentle rhythm, like a parent trying to explain a harsh reality to a child, “It is a one-way journey into deep space. To another solar system”

“I know that” you snap, refusing to let her diminish the weight of your words, “I know exactly what it is. I know all of it. I’m asking you to send me along. I know the ship’s schematics. I know you can arrange another coma pod for me in the crew quarters”

“Do you even comprehend the reality of what you are asking for?” she asks, her voice gentle.

You roughly wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, but more tears immediately rush down to replace them.

“Please” you whisper, the anger draining out of you, leaving only a bleeding plea, “please just do it. You think I can just go back now? You think I can live a regular life, go back to my classes, and pretend like none of this ever happened? Like I didn’t spend all this time of my life loving him? You think I can just sit on a bench somewhere, looking up at the sky, knowing the man I love is out there somewhere in the universe, floating in the dark, entirely alone? I can’t do that. I won’t survive it. So please...just send me as well. Please”

Her jaw tightens, and you can see the faint movement in her throat as she gulps down her own rising emotions, her rigid armor cracking just a fraction for the first time in all the years you’ve worked under her.

She lets out a long, defeated sigh, turning her head to look out the large glass window at the launch pad.

“Okay” she says softly, “I hate to do this to you. But if this is truly what you want...a second pod will be arranged for you”

Your eyes move beneath your shut eyelids, your brain straining to muster the strength required to open them.

“What is two plus two?”

A distant, mechanical voice echoes through the white space. Bright, clinical lights flash painfully against your retinas the moment you finally force your eyes open. Your brain, your body, your very thoughts - everything feels like mush. Before you can even process the shape of the room, a plastic tube is smoothly pulled up out of your throat, causing you to gag and cough around it. It is too much. The sensory overload is too much.

“What is two plus two?” the automated computer voice repeats.

You let out a low grunt, shifting your weight in a desperate attempt to push yourself up, but your muscles feel like liquid jello. Your balance vanishes, and you almost slide off the station.

“Mary, please stop” another voice commands through the room.

This one is a human voice, a man’s voice. When you frantically blink, trying to clear your vision, and look in his direction, you see a man standing a few feet away. He is wearing a white T-shirt, with a red jumpsuit covering his lower half.

“Hey, you’re up” he says softly.

Your breathing picks up, a spike of panic hitting your chest at the sudden sight of another person while your brain is still so foggy. Sensing your terror, he stops a respectful distance away, raising his hands in a grounding, non-threatening gesture.

“I’m here. I’m here to help, okay?” he says soothingly. His calm, gentle cadence stands in stark contrast to the ship’s relentless interrogation.

“‘Kay” you manage to croak out, though the syllable comes out as a slurred whisper.

A genuine, relieved smile breaks across his face at the sound of your voice, “I’m so glad you’re up. Do you remember your name?”

You close your eyes for a split second, digging deep into the empty blankness of your mind. The fog in your brain clears just a tiny fraction, enough for you to whisper your name.

He lets out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping with a weight of relief, “Okay, that’s great! That is really great” He reaches up, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Uh, I’m Ryland Grace” He smiles a slightly crooked, nervous smile at you.

The moment his name leaves his lips, a vivid flash of memory passes your mind. You see him introducing himself outside a laboratory, but in the memory, he isn’t wearing a jumpsuit, he has a fox-patterned cardigan on.

You look back into his blue eyes, which are watching you with patience and worry. “Ryland” you repeat. His eyes soften instantly at the slow, slurry tone in which you say his name.

Over the next few days, the two of you throw yourselves into a routine, trying to piece the fragments of your lives back together. The amnesia is a stubborn, heavy thing, but the connection between you is immediate.

You remember each other. You remember him as your academic inspiration, someone you spent years looking up to from afar. He, in turn, remembers you as the brilliant intern who worked tirelessly alongside him, always asking him too many questions that consistently left him impressed by your mind. You both clearly remember the long hours of working together, but it feels like something massive is missing from the timeline. A crucial, emotional piece of the puzzle remains just out of reach.

During a quiet moment in the laboratory, he turns to you, his expression turning solemn. He explains that he woke up one week before you did. He drops his gaze to the floor, his voice cracking slightly as he admits that he had to give a funeral to the ship’s primary crew - the pilot, Commander Yao, and the engineer, Ilyukhina. They didn’t survive the coma.

You feel your heart drop at his words. Even though you still have no memory of them except their faces and their voices, a wave of grief strikes your chest. It hurts to know that these brave people traveled light-years into the dark, carrying the weight of a dying world on their shoulders, only to never wake up to see the destination.

Sensing the sudden shift in your posture and the tears welling in your eyes, Ryland quietly shuffles closer to you. He doesn’t touch you, keeping a respectful boundary, but he positions his body close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off his shoulder, letting you know that you are not alone.

“I was so scared of being alone out here” he admits softly, turning back to the whiteboard where the two of you have been mapping out your returning memories. The terminal monitors behind him blink steadily, confirming that the Hail Mary is on a direct trajectory toward the Tau Ceti. “But...good thing I have a partner here” he adds, offering a small smile in a brave attempt to lighten the suffocating atmosphere of the room.

Your train of thought comes to a halt. The term partner. The word echoes through your mind. A rapid succession of memory flashes floods your brain of Ryland’s voice whispering the word over and over again.

“Hey, you okay?” Ryland’s concerned voice abruptly cuts through the mental noise. Before you can even blink, his hand moves forward, his palm resting gently, instinctively against your shoulder.

You look up at him, your chest heaving as you try to force the panic down, and dismissively whisper, “Yeah. I’m...l’m okay, Ry”

The nickname slips past your lips with ease. The way you so naturally say his name like that, seems to trigger a memories for Ryland as well.

He freezes. His hand stays locked on your shoulder, his fingers tightening slightly against the fabric of your jumpsuit. His blue eyes widen to an impossible degree, the pupils dilating as a look of recognition passes through his eyes.

his excitement rubbed off on you immediately, the brightest smile appearing on your face as he stepped in your space. "ry! that's amazing!" you said, cupping his face to peck his lips softly.

he had been talking about this field trip for months now. every day, he'd come home to expose his points to you, how the museum was filled with interactive activities, the guides were one of the most capable ones and most importantly, it was budget friendly!

you would've given him the yes since the first time he mentioned it, but sadly, you weren't the school board.

"i know! the kids are gonna love it!" he replied, barely even kissing you back in his excitement. now you weren't so sure if the field trip was for him or the kids.

a soft chuckle left your lips and you nodded, pulling him in for a second kiss, but you didn't let go until he kissed you back properly. "i bet they will." you said, letting him pull back. "and i bet you're gonna have a great time, too." you continued, playfully patting his chest.

"we," his correction came almost shyly.

"we?"

"yeah, I just- i guessed you'd chaperone. with me. it's gonna be really fun, I promise."

you looked at him, half intending to put down that idea because spending your morning with 20 middle schoolers didn't sound half as fun as he promised.

but then your eyes found his face and the puppy eyes he was giving you, and you were immediately overpowered. what's 20 kids versus your boyfriend having the time of his life? "yeah. okay. I'll chaperone. just tell me when it is so I can take the day off."

that's how you found yourself outside of grover cleveland middle school with a badge hanging from your neck and an overly excited ryland next to you while you waited for the buses to arrive.

the kids had spent the past twenty minutes staring at you like you were a specimen who escaped the lab they were sure ryland had. you tried waving at them, but that only made their eyes narrow in suspicion.

"mr. grace." one brave girl said, breaking the gossiping bubble of middle schoolers who seemed to be breaking you down.

ryland, who had been intensely staring down the road as he waited for the bus to show up like an impatient puppy, looked at the girl when she talked. "yes, charlotte?"

"is she your girlfriend?" charlotte, as you now knew, immediately asked him.

"oh!" he breathed out, looking at you for a second before looking down at charlotte again. "i- well, i mean- we... we have a relationship, yes." he finally said.

"so she is your girlfriend." charlotte clarified.

"yes, charlotte. I'm her boyfriend." he said. a bug mistake, because every kid was now letting out loud "ooooh" and "mr. grace has a girlfriend!"

you feared the second charlotte turned to you, looking at you with a soft frown. "and you kiss him?" she asked.

your gaze moved to ryland, who shook his head and mouthed "you don't have to answer" before your lips parted without a sound, looking back at charlotte. "i hug him." you offered instead. "we hug and we cuddle."

"but that's not the same as kissing. boyfriend's and girlfriend's kiss." she replied.

"well, we do kiss. she kisses me on the cheek." ryland replied now, sounding almost defensive. that brought an amused smile to your lips.

but the kids had a strong opinion on that because seconds later, the whole class was practically shouting "ewwww!"

"hey! hey, it's a very beautiful thing between two people who love each other." he said, raising his hands to placate the class.

"but she kisses you!" one of the other girls said, pulling out a shocked chuckle out of your lips.

ryland looked at you, looking almost offended. "you're supposed to be on my side." he almost whined, which only made you laugh louder.

"I'm sorry. god, i'm sorry, ry."

the museum itself was a bit of a disaster if you had to be honest.

the kids were, surprisingly for you, actually excited to be there. which meant that it was a nightmare to chaperone them because they wanted to run away in all directions possible.

ryland was pretty much the same as them. but he managed to be composed, following the guide's lead as he completed the tour with his group of kids.

your group of kids made it obvious that you had never chaperoned or even babysat a kid before, because they managed to escape the group before you even realized it. you managed to keep most of them together. somehow.

"jared. come on, man, this is the third time you've run away." you called out as jared tried to make a clean escape, but he stopped as soon as you called him out, returning to your side reluctantly.

"i don't even like science." he complained, and you sighed.

"give it a shot, okay? just try to see it as something fun. you get to touch a shock machine, isn't that fun?" you said.

"i guess." he muttered, returning to his friend's side.

your eyes found ryland, who was also in line to see a live bacteria on a microscope, the sight bringing out a smile to your lips as you walked up to him.

"isn't this what you do every day?" you asked him once you were standing next to him, an amused smile on your lips.

he immediately looked down at you, offering a shy smile. "well, you can't ever skip a chance to see one of those guys. it's really something else." he said, defending his position.

you hummed, watching him lower himself to the microscope's height to look down through the lenses, and you could hear a soft, breathy gasp leaving his lips. like he was falling in love with science all over again.

after a few seconds, he straightened up, guiding you to stand over the microscope instead. "go on, take a look." he told you, gently guiding you to take the same position he had.

his hand hovered over your back, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel it. and then you heard another loud and obvious "ewww!"

"guys!" ryland said, looking at his students who were taking in the scene like he was dissecting a living frog.

you were sitting on an inside garden in the museum, eating sandwiches that ryland had packed for the two of you as you kept an eye on the feeding middle schoolers.

"so, are you having fun?" you asked ryland, reaching for the water bottle the two of you were sharing.

ryland looked up at you through his glasses, waiting until his bite of sandwich was completely chewed before speaking. "the kids are very entertained. and they are learning many things."

you hummed, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "so you are having fun." you concluded despite his politically correct answer.

you saw the corner of his lips curl up in a smile. "i am." he finally accepted, and you nodded.

you reached for one of his chips since yours were long gone, popping it into your mouth before he talked. "are you having fun?" he asked back at you, and you could feel his eyes studying you.

you waited until you swallowed and took a sip of water before nodding. "yeah." you revealed, and you were witness of the brightest smile appearing on his lips.

"i knew you would." he said, but you could hear the relief in his voice.

"the kids are very funny." you added, and that only made him more excited.

"they are! they can say the weirdest things sometimes." he replied, his smile turning wider.

as you looked at him, your own smile grew, and you found yourself becoming even fonder of him in just two seconds.

you looked around to check on the kids. they were focused on their lunch, none of them paying any attention to the two of you, not when they were dealing with their own drama.

"do you think we can kiss without them noticing?" you asked ryland in a whisper, returning your attention to him.

he almost choked, but he also took a quick look around before he nodded. "just a peck, though." he mumbled.

you smiled, leaning closer to him to press your lips against his for just one second.

He naively thought if he knew a life with Lon was truly what you wanted he could survive your second departure. But when you gave him exactly that— told him in no uncertain terms that you had moved past him, past the childish love — flashed the ring like proof — it didn't help. At all.

He lay in bed, in a room that was supposed to be shared with you, fully clothed and wrapped in a blanket— the fabric stained your favorite color. Tears burned at the edges of his eyes. They had been there from the moment you started your car and drove away. None of them fell, they simply lingered, blurring his vision and refusing to leave. He felt himself sinking. Not into sleep— sleep would have been a mercy. No, he sank into memory. The echo of your smile, your thighs wrapped around his hips, his fingers in your hair.

And beyond the old plantation, you kept driving.

The tears hadn't come for you yet, but the feelings were there all the same, creeping into every inch of empty space inside the car. They settled in between the hum of the engine and the tires on asphalt. Your heart felt... absent somehow. Like someone carved a hole straight through the center of your chest, yanked it out, and left nothing but an ache. Yet something still raced there, restless and relentless, refusing to let you breathe easy.

You pushed a curl away from your face for the fourth time, but the pomade you'd worked through that morning held stubbornly, and the singular strand over your forehead sprang right back into place.

It was maddening.

But it wasn't what was really bothering you.

You couldn't decide whether to think about Noah, or force him from your mind entirely. Every time his face surfaced, you tried to push it away. When that failed, you searched for negatives : the most damning was that you didn't know him anymore, not really. The boy you remembered was gone, replaced by a man who felt almost like a stranger. You had seen it in his eyes. Something had changed there, dimmed or darkened. And that was probably thanks to the war. When Noah told you he had been drafted, the knowledge sat heavily in your stomach. He was a man who had seen war, and that was not a man you wanted. It was personal— you had watched what it did to your uncle. He had come home wearing the same face, carrying the same name, but he was not the same man. War changed men.

But even that didn't seem to be enough, so you drew upon your mother and her words. If you needed reasons not to be with Noah, she could supply an endless list of them. The biggest one — Noah couldn't provide for you.

The thought made your grip tighten on the steering wheel. Because it wasn't true. Maybe Noah didn't earn what you were accustomed to. Maybe he didn't come from money or promise a life of luxury. But he had built you a house.

The house.

Your house.

And he got every detail. The white paint, the wrap-around porch. Dear God, the blue shutters. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. And even more, was the intent it was built with.

Your attention slipped and your car drifted across the center line as you rounded a bend.

A horn blared.

You jerked the wheel, tires screeching in protest against the pavement. The other automobile flashed past in a blur, missing you by what felt like inches.

The car lurched before coming to a stop at the edge of a shallow ditch.

Heart pounding, you turned your head and watched the other car disappear down the road. Only when it disappeared did you face forward again. You dragged a trembling hand down your face.

For several long moments, you made no attempt to move.

And in the silence, there was Noah.

There was always Noah.

You slumped into the seat and gave in to the thoughts.

Your hands wandered unconsciously over your arms, your neck, your shoulders—a quiet attempt to soothe yourself without even realizing you were doing it.

You missed Noah. Wanted Noah. Wanted Noah. It was the only honest way to say it — the only way broad enough to hold everything rushing through you at once. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted to press your face in his neck, to breathe him in.

And Lon had never made you feel this way.

The truth settled over you with awful clarity.

Still you tried to fix it, to think of the man you had already given yourself to in word. You traded dusty blond for dark brown. Replaced warm brown eyes with something lighter. Green … Blue?

You couldn't remember.

Your own widened, and the realization sunk into your stomach. You couldn't remember Lon's eyes.

You glanced down, and the ring seemed to tighten around your finger. You pulled it off and tossed it onto the passenger seat.

It was all going downhill now.

Your heart was beating too fast now, each pulse sharp against your ribs. Your throat constricted.

You rubbed at the mark left behind, but the tan-line wouldn't go away. You just wanted it to go away.

The last breath of oxygen in your lungs had left.

You pressed a hand to your chest, wrinkling your blouse beneath a tight fist.

You wanted comfort, wanted it so badly it hurt.

The name escaped before you could stop it, dragged from somewhere deep inside you, "Noah." Barely a whisper, but the sound of it seemed to fill the car. And once it was spoken, once the dam had cracked, there was no holding it back. You squeezed your eyes shut. "Noah." You bent over the steering wheel, forehead resting against it. And one last time before you couldn't speak from the sobs bubbling, "No— Noah."

──── ♡ ────

“Noah!” You screamed, punctuated by your palm slapping the door. “Noah!” You closed your fist — bang, bang, bang!

Your heart wouldn’t slow. It kept pushing against your ribs like it was trying to get ahead of you. You weren't even sure of what you were doing— why you were at Noah's door a mere moment after having told him it was over, that the two of you would never be what you once were.

But the need for comfort — his, only his — destroyed any chance of remaining level-headed. You simply couldn't stop yourself. Your hand closed around the doorknob and you opened it like it was already yours. You stopped in the foyer, eyes searching every room visible from the door.

And then you saw him.

Straight ahead, he stood at the base of the stairs, blanket around his shoulders, hand on the railing like he had just landed, like he was coming to you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Your confidence — the thing that had driven you here — broke against the sight of him. You didn’t know how to speak, how to shape your feelings into words.

His mouth parted slightly, pink and twitched upwards in a way she hadn’t seen in years. For a moment, he was no older than the boy you left. None of the dim and dark the lingering war left behind in him. Not at the sight of you, none of that shadow clung to him now.

Your hand clasped over your open mouth.

The distance vanished under your feet. You launched into him. He caught you before impact, arms locking around you.

Just like that, you were sixteen and he was finally off from work. You were running to him, and he was dropping his lunch pale in order to catch you coming at him like a tornado. Just like that, if only for a minute, the two of you were exactly who you once were.

Everything awry in your chest eased. Oxygen came into your lungs like the easiest thing ever and a warmth bloomed in your chest, spreading to the tips of your fingers and toes. Your arms wound tighter, your eyes shut, forehead pressed against his neck.

His hand settled firmly behind your head, and he just barely swayed you two side to side. "You want this?" His other hand — bigger than you remembered — pressed firmly to the base of your spine, his stomach spread your thighs and you had to wrap around him tighter to stay in place. He pulled back, and his brown eyes had more depth than anything you had seen before. "This is what you want?”

You nodded.

“Forever and ever?”

“Yeah,” you tried to reply, but your voice cracked. “Forever.”

He let out a pent up exhale as his eyes shut. “That's good,” he whispers with a strained laugh and his eyes return to yours, “Because I was totally lying, I can't live without you again.”

You laughed shortly. Eyebrows curled into upside down crescents. Your lips parted as you exhaled.

And his gaze was drawn to them.

You followed his gaze. The sudden rapt attention he gave your mouth made you lick your bottom lip. You knew what was coming next, but you weren't sure if you were ready.

It didn't matter though, because he did it anyway.

His mouth was hot on yours, and there was nothing to cover up the sound of suction when you parted, and no time to catch air before he was doing it again— harder with each separation. It hurt in a way, but with him pressing against you, close as possible, you knew it was his devotion manifested as a physical act.

Just as you were getting used to it, as you were beginning to participate in the aggressive affection, he pulled away and he went for your neck.

Your glistening lips parted and you huffed softly. You swiped your hair out of his way, adjusted your hold over his shoulder, and let your head fall back.

He loved your neck mercilessly, beginning at your collarbone, stopping in the middle of your neck to suck a little too hard, and surely leaving bruises in his wake. He reached his destination at your jaw with a sloppy, saliva-soaked kiss. He whispered your name, and it felt like worship.

You grabbed his hair firmly and leaned down to plant your mouth on his. Your tongue slipped past his lips with no clear plan or method.

Saliva coated the rim of your mouth— his too. You pulled away to wipe it away with the back of your hand, and the second you were done, he dragged your head down and took the lead. Your mouth now became the host for your tangled tongues.

He spun around and grabbed the post at the end of the staircase, then he hoisted you onto the railing.

Your mouth parted from the sudden shift in balance. Your fingers curled into him for stability until you registered the feeling of his arm still around you, keeping you steady against him. You swallowed— surely taking some of his spit down your throat as well, and oddly enough it was the most addicting thing you had ever tasted. “Noah,” you said, and the next words carried very double meaning, “I want you.”

His brown eyes darted between each of yours. “You have me,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in existence. “You've always had me.”

“No, Noah,” you murmured lowly, “I really want you.” He knew what you truly meant, and you knew he did. But you wanted to tell him anyway. “I want you in a way I haven't had you yet.”

His tongue poked between his lips as he looked over your face. “Then you'll have me like that too.” His hand traveled down your back, his fingers poked into the top of your skirt and he tugged your blouse out of the neat tuck you had it secured with. His touch slid up your spine, calloused fingertips causing goosebumps to rise on your sensitive skin.

You arched towards him.

It was such a simple touch— only a caress, but it lit you up with anticipation. It felt like a teaser of all the things you wanted from him tonight, and a guarantee that you would get them.

You kept one arm wrapped around his neck while your free hand slipped between your bodies and began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

When you reached the fourth, he pulled you from the railing and began walking up the stairs.

Your attention didn't divert. You got each button free, and then pushed the flannel from his shoulders, but his arms remained in the sleeves.

There was a thud that echoed behind your head once you reached the top of the stairs, but you didn't feel an impact. You glanced to the side, seeing his hand, braced against the wall across from the bedroom.

You barely registered it.

You turned back to your real focus and pulled the sleeves down his arms with unnecessary force until there was nothing left to tether it to his body. It fell to the floor, and his undershirt followed shortly after.

He straightened back up and entered the bedroom with you on his hip.

Now that he was bare from the waist up, you took the time to look— to just look at his fucking body. He was so big. You remembered thinking of him as a man when you met — past puberty and finished with growing. At seventeen, he was handsome, skinny, and possessed some deceptively strong arms. You loved that about him. But you were clearly mistaken, he hadn't been a man then, he hadn't been close to done.

Now he was filled out. Now he was a man.

Your back hit a mattress you didn't see coming and you were suddenly horizontal. He came down with you. The only reason you weren't crushed was because his hand planted firmly on the mattress beside your head, just like the wall. Your eyes shut as he gave you one more kiss — soft this time, and then he took his turn to pick and rip at the buttons of your blouse. Once unfasted, he held it against the bed as you pulled your arms from it and grabbed onto him— your arms wrapped around him like a refuge, and he encircled you in return — bare arms against your bare back, causing your spine to curve into an arch.

He kissed down your neck and nipped at the top of your collarbone.

You jerked, lips parting, eyes squeezing shut. What he did was painful, yes, but it made your heart race faster, made your body want harder. In return, you sucked the lobe of his ear, then went for the space beneath it, moving down his jaw until your lips connected again, and finally, you bit him back — right on the plush of his lip.

He pulled away, his breath still coming fast. He stared, as if searching your eyes for a motive. “You bit me,” he said with tame surprise.

Your chest rose and fell as quick as his. You smiled— invigorated by the confidence in your move. “You did it first.”

He huffed, smirking. “I definitely didn't do it that hard.”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows. “I think you'll be okay.” You pressed your thumb to his bottom lip and eased his mouth open. You pretended to inspect it deeply. “See, no blood. Don't be a sissy.”

“Sissy, huh?” His eyebrows furrowed in a way that said you were going to pay. You knew this because it was the same look you got at seventeen — right before he would chase you, wrap his arms around you, and kiss you until you tapped out. He pulled himself away, arms slipped out from beneath your back, and he went straight for your skirt. He grabbed the hem with one hand, and with this other, he grabbed the fabric near your thigh.

You helped him remove it with an arch of your hips.

He pulled, pulled, and pulled until you were only in your undergarments, and then he leaned down, and with solid grips on both of your legs, he angled them up so he could kiss the inside of your thighs freely.

You hummed in satisfaction and stretched out, for a moment, your legs hung over his shoulders, your fingertips grazed the backboard, then returned to his hair, drifting down to the scruff on his cheek. You glanced at your underwear, then his slacks. “Take yours off,” you mumbled, barely audible.

He either didn't hear you or just didn't listen.

“Noah,” You said again, “Take yours off.”

He looked up at you — a far too challenging look in his eyes — and pressed his nose into your fabric-covered folds.

You gasped, both at his taunt and his touch. “Noah!” You pushed at his head with your hands, and when that didn't work, you pulled your leg back and dug a heel into his shoulder, prying him off.

He stumbled back and looked down at you like he was hungry — really, really hungry — for something really specific.

You narrowed your gaze. “I said take yours off.” You were sitting up, reaching for his belt, and he was submitting. You pulled at the leather strap and pried the silver from the hole, all the while your lips softly assaulted his stomach.

His fingers tangled in your hair, his palm put a firm pressure on the back of your head.

Your eyes fluttered before you pulled the strap loose and exposed everything he had to offer in one very effective yank. Now he was fully naked, and you were fully staring. To be fair, it was at eye level, twitching, pulsing, seeping from the tip— an eye catching display. You had never done it before, but you were tempted to wrap your mouth around him. Still, your humility outweighed your confidence, so you reclined and waited for his move.

He lowered slowly, one knee, and then the other. His hands settled on your knees, fingers wrapping beneath them, and with a firm grip, he pulled your ass to the edge. His fingers tangled in your underwear and he slid them down, deploying his other hand to grab the rest of the fabric when it stuck to your hip.

You watched as the most private thing you possessed was uncovered and presented to him. It woke your nerves. You looked at yourself more than him, surveying your body for adequacy.

He slowly swiped a finger between your legs, not yet touching you, but catching the drops of pure want that had gathered in your bush. His expression was as unreadable as ever. You always found yourself wishing he would just talk more, tell you what was going on in that head of his. Then he took his middle finger, glistening with you, and slipped it into his mouth.

Your jaw unhinged just a bit at that.

He stared at your stomach as he tasted you, tongue just barely poked between his lips. He didn't swallow, he savored.

You held back a whimper — one of want and shock.

His eyes focused, as if deciding something, he grabbed your thigh, put it over his shoulder, then grabbed your hand and put in his shaggy hair.

“Noah —”

He stuck his tongue out and dragged it slowly up the inside of your folds.

You inhaled sharply, spine going rigid, fingers clenching in the hair he offered up. “Oh —” Your eyes widened. It was like a little lightning strike of warning — warm, hot — telling you to prepare. “Oh. God,” Your chest deflated as you pushed out an exhale and forced yourself to lay flat.

The feeling was surreal, everything was, the hand tight around your thigh leaft white marks behind, the pulse that beat faster beneath his tongue with every stroke. And this was for you, all for you.

As the laps persisted, you grew familiar with them. It became easier to contain your moans, but you still threw your head back and allowed a loud and uncontained one to leave your parted lips before hooking your other leg over his shoulder, one thigh on each side of his face. “I'm terrible,” you reflect out loud, feeling physical bliss with a drop of emotional turmoil. “So … terrible …”

Noah stopped to reassure you, and you regretted speaking at all. “No,” he told you, “You're not.” His brown eyes went from hunger, to love, and then circled back to hunger. “You're perfect.”

“Mm … No …” In the same, shaky breath, you reached back and grabbed one of Noah's pillows, tucking it under the curve of your spine. The trick was something Lon taught you— it made the pleasure better. You grasped his hair softly and guided him back down. “I'm terrible.” You whined at the fact. It could have been passed off as a reaction to the assault of his tongue on your little button, but it was all guilty conscience. “Married,” you whispered.

He popped from your clit. “Not yet. Besides, we all have our things.”

You scoffed. He acted like this was okay with such certainty that the belief almost rubbed off on you. “What's your thing?”

He smiled at you, then pressed a slow kiss where he really shouldn't have. “You,” he murmured, “You're my thing.”

You sighed and dropped your head back. “Be quiet and do your thing to my thing.”

With a smirk, he went back down.

Your heel drew circles on his back, stopping at the base of his spine. You rubbed strands of his messy hair between your fingertips. It was quiet aside from a moan here and there— from both of you.

And that was when he disrupted the calm and plunged a finger into you.

You gasped and shot up halfway, your stomach coiled in on itself.

His hand came up to your stomach and he attempted to push you back down. When that didn't work, he went higher, to your chest. You felt each finger bruise the bones covering your heart as he pushed you down.

Your head hit the mattress, just shy of a pillow. Your eyes were pleading, but directed at the ceiling. “Noah …”

He pulled you down more, you had to be dangling off the edge of the bed, but you couldn't make yourself lift your head to see. The new position only exposed you to him more. You felt the air on your clit, and then you felt his mouth.

“Oh my god, Noah …” Your knee bent around the back of his neck. A struggled noise sprouted from your throat. You grabbed his hair again, half pulling him off, half pushing him down.

One hand covered both of yours, forcing you to be still.

As if spurred on by your struggle, he moaned inside of you, and you felt every vibration. He was licking and sucking like never before.

You fingers tightened in his hair and you pulled yourself back up by his roots.

He made a noise — that you could assume was pain, but you didn't give a shit after what he just did to you — and hoisted you back up the mattress for stability.

You saw every inch of his back, from freckles to tension in his muscles— and there were a lot of them. The only time you stopped leering was when he sucked or flicked just the right spot and your eyes fluttered shut. Heat was building, and fast. Your hips twitched and you squirmed. “Noah, stop, I'm gonna — I can't— not yet.”

He pulled his face out from between your legs. “Yes you can.” He kissed a trail on your body, belly to chest. All the while his hand worked relentlessly. “You can.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck the moment he was parallel to you. “Stop …” You thought about what you said, thought about him actually listening, and that sounded terrible. “No, don't stop.”

He smiled. “Just do it,” he talked softly to you, his breath fanned across your neck. “It's easy. Come off on my fingers.”

Fingers? There was more than one in there? God almighty. You pushed your palm into his arm — caging you in — but he didn't budge. Solid. Strong. There was nowhere to go. Nothing to do but succumb to the overwhelm. “No, no, no.” You whined, not wanting to cross the bridge, no matter how tempting. Once you were there, it'd all be over. “I don't want to, don't make me.”

He ignored your pleas, tracing his lips over the curve of your jaw. “It's one of the easiest things in the world.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. “Noah,” you scolded. It was so good, and it was so close to being over. But no matter how much you complained, it was coming — you were — and there was no use attempting to deny it. You cursed, arching up to wrap your legs around his hips, strapping in for the ride.

His fingers slowed for a few pumps, and then they went fast, and there was no staying on that edge.

Your lips parted, a hardly intelligible noise coming from them. You held on to him tightly— one hand hooked into his shoulder, your chin over the other. As you came undone, one curse escaped, “You bastard.”

He pressed his face to your neck. “Yeah. I'm a bastard.”