₊𖥔 𝓳𝓪𝓷𝓮 ! ۪ ׄ໑୧ ׅ𖥔ׄ

You didn’t know who he was or what he studied, nor did you care to find out.

In general, you were pleasant with everyone you crossed paths with and your first time meeting Ryland Grace wouldn’t have been any different from seeing any other random grad student if he hadn’t immediately pissed you off. To his credit, he didn’t even know he had done something to irk you and it hadn’t been his intention to be a thorn in your side- not at the beginning at least.

If you hadn’t already been having the worst day of your life (woke up late, missed bus and denied scholarship application, to name a few of the events that morning), maybe the two of you could’ve hit it off and been fast friends. He was probably nice enough and besides occasionally being a smartass, he had a good head on his shoulders. Smart, confident and easy on the eyes- all things that pointed to a person you could get along with.

So how had he immediately put himself on your shit list?

Well, he was sitting in your spot.

No, the little nook in the University’s library did not have your name on it, nor did it actually belong to you.

But you’d been sitting there, in the same sunny little spot of the library that you’d come to call the closest thing to heaven you’d experienced during your doctorate studies, every day since you began your research. After extensive lab work, you’d disappear into the almost always empty corner of the library to type up your findings for hours at a time. 

No one had ever been in your nook before. Until Ryland Grace decided he wanted to sit there too.

You’d already had a day from hell so stumbling up to your spot midafternoon only to find that someone else had already claimed it with all of his stuff immediately infuriated you.

He seemed to be around your age, most likely working on his masters or PhD like you were. A spread of papers, books and packets were strewn over the desk surface, no apparent rhyme or reason to their organization. The guy was tapping away at a laptop where a huge spreadsheet of data was displayed, completely ignorant of your presence until you cleared your throat.

Any other day, you would’ve grumbled about it but found a different area to plant yourself for the night. But not that day. You were too irritated and too tired to let this dirtbag take away the last scrap of peace you would get until the sun set.

The blonde haired intruder jumped at your pointed grumble, pulling a pair of wired earbuds out of his ears and looking you up and down from his seat. You most definitely looked like a hundred miles of bad road but you couldn’t have cared less.

“You’re in my spot.”

The quirked brow he gave you had you seeing red.

“Pardon?”

“You’re in. My spot.”

He seemed at a loss for words, pointedly looking past you where you knew a slew of other perfectly empty desks sat. “Uh… can’t you go sit somewhere else?”

You ground your teeth together. “No.”

Gesturing to all of his stuff on the table, he shrugged in a half-assed apology. “Sorry, I’m pretty comfortable here and I’m kinda busy, so…”

The stare off the two of you had for several seconds was charged with tension. He wouldn’t back down and you didn’t want to either, but he had the advantage. He had already claimed your nook and if you went and complained to one of the library staff several floors down, they would look at you like you were crazy. Every spot in the library was first come first serve, you had no special claim to this specific spot.

So you moved. To a table very close to the one he occupied. And spent the better part of your evening glaring daggers at him. 

He’d look up occasionally, meet your gaze and go back to his studies, like he wasn’t bothered at all. It sure bothered you that he was so nonchalant about everything. You could only watch with a sneer as the sun slowly set, bathing your perfect little nook in warm, golden sunlight and in turn making the messy jerk look ethereal while you were stuck in the library’s shadowy interior.

You’d been the one to leave first. It was late, you were exhausted and you had a 10 minute walk home in the dark. The stranger didn’t seem to be ready to leave at all, dutifully typing on his laptop and occasionally shuffling through the mess on the table for a notebook or sheet of paper marred with scribbles.

He’d looked up when you stood, giving you a smug grin that nearly had you flying into the booth to wring his neck. Unfortunately, there were laws against that so you just settled for a middle finger and left.

You thought that would be the end of it.

A one off encounter that you’d fume about for weeks and a man who you’d never see again. The university was big and hopefully you’d made your point that the spot was yours so he’d find somewhere new to study.

When you walked up to your spot the following day in much higher spirits, your good day shattered when you saw the familiar fluffy haired head over the back of the booth. He’d come again. And deliberately sat in your spot.

You decided right then and there that Ryland Grace was the bane of your existence.

For two weeks the man hogged your little piece of heaven. Try as you might to come earlier and claim it yourself before he could, he was always there. Did he ever do anything besides study? Did he eat? Did he sleep? Surely he didn’t spend the night at the library, but you wouldn’t put it past him to hide when the library staff shut the place down and stay until morning. The jerk would probably do that to be petty.

You could’ve found another spot. Surely there was another booth a floor up that was the exact same layout and would get just as much sun. But you refused out of principle. You wouldn’t let this asshole get his way. He wanted to sit in your spot? Fine. If your glares weren’t enough to deter him, you’d turn to another method to smoke him out.

The shocked face the man gave you when you slid into the booth opposite of him one day was worth every drop of fury you’d endured for those couple of weeks. His look of distress when you shoved all of his things to his half of the desk, leaving your half clean, was priceless.

“Hey! Why??”

“You want to sit in my spot? Fine. We’ll share.”

You began unpacking your things while the blonde tried to straighten out his. “You messed up my system!”

Neatly setting your own books on the desk and opening your laptop, you laughed incredulously. “That was your system?”

His scowl was searing. “Yes. I don’t expect you, of all people, to understand my method of madness.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You’d parted ways very angry that day. 

The next day, you did the same thing: sat opposite of him and pushed his things to his side. And the next. And the next. And the next. He slowly started to learn to keep his things on his half of the desk to save himself the trouble of ‘reorganizing’. 

One time, you were surprised to find you’d beat Ryland to your nook and nearly jumped for joy. Finally! Your persistence must’ve paid off and he’d found somewhere else to plant himself. You were all smiles- up until a thick book was dropped onto the table, scaring you half to death, and that stupid messy mop of hair plopped into the booth with a smug grin. Said mop of hair then proceeded to give as good as he got; shoving your things from his side of the table back to your side.

Thus began your slightly hostile relationship with the man you eventually learned was molecular biology doctorate student, Ryland Grace (you read his name on one of the papers that snuck across the invisible line on the table).

For the most part, neither of you acknowledged each other during your joint study sessions- any conversation was clipped and tense. You didn’t try to learn anything about him and he made no effort to learn anything about you. In fact, you weren’t sure he even knew your name which was fine by you.

While you rarely conversed, there were small things you began learning about Ryland just by observation alone. 

Number one, while he was studying molecular biology, he seemed to have a specific interest in the stars; life in regards to space and the possibility of life outside of our planet. You knew as much because he had this annoying habit of grumbling while he worked- speaking out loud and working through his thoughts verbally.

He also had a smorgasbord of space and science related stickers on the back of his laptop you occasionally stared at when you were trying to think. NASA, planets, beakers, science puns and the occasional fox sticker stared at you every day. You weren’t sure why the foxes were thrown into the mix but you weren’t about to ask. 

Ryland couldn’t ever seem to sit still. He was always bouncing a leg or tapping a pen. The one time you got after him for it, he only did it more so you never brought it up again.

You also noticed something that Ryland didn’t seem to even know about himself. It took a couple of days to work up the willpower to actually ask about it.

“Do you have contacts?”

It was rare that you spoke to him, so Ryland looked up from the notebook he was writing in with a blink of surprise. “Huh?”

“Contacts. Y’know, the things in your eyes that help you see? Or glasses?”

“No?” He seemed truly flabbergasted.

You hummed and sat back in your seat. “Looks like you need them.”

“Wh-”

“You’re always squinting at your laptop so I was wondering if you have some but are so stubborn that you refuse to wear them. If you don’t, it might be worth getting your vision checked. I can’t imagine your eyes and brain appreciate the strain you put on them every day.”

Ryland didn’t speak to you the rest of the evening, which wasn’t too odd, but then didn’t show up in the library for a week. You wanted to say you loved the extra space, but you begrudgingly realized the table felt too big with him gone. You didn’t want to say you missed him, per se, but maybe somewhere adjacent.

When you saw Ryland after a week of absence- outside of the library for the first time- you had to do a double take. 

It was early in the morning- so early you could barely stand on your own two feet, which was why you were standing in the ever growing line at one of the cafes on campus for a cup of brain fuel.

You weren’t paying attention to who you stood behind in line, absentmindedly blinking at the slew of texts you received from a friend about a huge frat party happening that weekend that you weren’t planning on attending. A familiar notification sound jolted you out of your tired stupor.

Ryland had a unique chime that played any time he got a notification. It was the satellite phone jingle from the 3rd Jurassic Park movie. You suspected Ryland was a huge nerd about science fiction media but he’d probably rather die than admit that to you. In and of itself, the sound wasn’t that annoying but you’d heard it so often that it had seared itself into your brain and ‘Pavlov’s dogged’ you into feeling annoyed when you heard it.

Sure enough, a familiar set of shoulders stood in front of you, all covered by a cream sweater.

“Ryland?”

The science student turned on his heel. He seemed just as surprised to see you as you were him. It felt like seeing a wild animal, seeing Ryland outside of the library. You were surprised in turn, to find a new addition to the man’s outfit. Gold rimmed glasses sat on his nose. 

Ryland’s ears quickly became tipped in red.

“Oh. Hey.”

He seemed embarrassed, like he’d been caught red-handed. 

“Nice glasses.”

“Thanks…”

Your interactions were always awkward but this felt different. “Farsighted?”

“Yep.”

“Knew it. They fit you though, if that’s any consolation.”

“Thank you.”

Coffee suddenly didn’t sound appealing any more- not if you had to endure one more second of this horribly uncomfortable encounter. Your regular chats together weren’t always pleasant but they weren’t this odd. What changed? Was he angry that you’d been right and pointed out something he himself hadn’t noticed? Was he embarrassed that you’d proved him wrong? Was he that egotistical?

You stomped off without another word.

-

There was a hot, steaming cup of coffee with your name on it sitting in front of Ryland the next Monday. 

You hadn’t expected to see him at all in the library anymore, not after your last altercation, so you didn’t get a chance to turn and flee before he spotted you standing a couple of paces away, giving you a crooked smile.

You were too proud to run away now. You feared you’d look weak if you did. And Ryland Grace was the last person you wanted to look weak in front of.

So you pressed on, pointedly not looking at the scientist and pretending he didn’t exist. Ryland watched you the whole time, You could feel his stare and you wanted to slap yourself silly when you felt your cheeks heat up.

When you made no move to talk to him after you settled, Ryland nudged the coffee closer to you with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat. 

You pursed your lips and kept your eyes on your notes.

“I feel like we started off on the wrong foot.” His voice was cautious, like he was talking to a cornered animal. “I’m sorry for being an ass when we first met. I’d had a rough day and I know that’s no excuse but it’s the truth. I was feeling stubborn.”

This was the most he’d ever said to you in one go. You peeked a glance.

God did those glasses suit him. They made him look softer, somehow. Maybe they made his eyes bigger? Yeah that was probably it. Big eyes, like an alien. 

“Can we start over?”

He stuck a hand over his laptop and held it out to you. A handshake. His fingers were trembling. Did you make him nervous? Your confidence took a nice little boost from the thought alone.

You didn’t hate Ryland. Not really. As much as it pained you to admit, you enjoyed his company and had missed it while he was hiding from you. He just annoyed you sometimes with his snarky comments. But even those weren’t that bad. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give him a chance?

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you carefully clasped a hand in his and gave him one firm shake. 

His ears bloomed red again and he held onto your hand a little longer than you thought he would.

“Yeah, ok cool! Didn’t think you… would actually accept my offer so this is awesome. Your coffee order, I think I got it right? I’ve been peaking at your coffee cups for a little while to read the labels. Is that creepy? I didn’t mean it in a creepy way, I just wanted to make sure I knew what you liked if I ever got you anything.”

This was a new side of Ryland- unsure, stammering and sweet? Maybe he’d always been this way and you just hadn’t seen it.

You didn’t know how to feel about it.

-

Being ‘friends’ with Ryland lasted about a week.

All too quickly did you regularly find yourself hidden in a far corner of the library between the endless shelves of academic literature, kissing each other senseless. Or making out in a quiet study room. Or whispering weak protests against his shoulder when he laid you back in your shared nook to suck a mark on your neck.

Turns out, Ryland didn’t hate you. Never did. Except maybe for a second the first time you got after him for sitting in your spot but other than that, he was just smitten (and terrified) of you which was why he kept coming back. He was still arrogant and a smart ass, usually when you asked him a question related to his field- like you were supposed to know what the boiling point of liquid helium was- but you found yourself enjoying his quips.

It was just another Wednesday when your relationship shifted.

You had Ryland pressed up against a line of shelves, cradling his head in your palms and soaking up the feeling of his glasses brushing over your cheeks while your lips slowly worked against his. 

The library was silent at this time of day, especially being in such a far off corner of it, so the only sounds you could hear were the creak of the shelves when Ryland pressed too far back into them, your mouths, and your breath. It was your favorite pastime when you were tired of writing essays.

When Ryland pressed his thumbs into your hip bones, you pulled away an inch to give him space. His glasses were smudged from your skin and barely hanging onto his nose. His stupid t-shirt (a navy blue top with a ringed planet graphic and the words “Jupiter? I hardly know her.” stamped below it) was rumpled and riding up on his navel, allowing you a glimpse of his happy trail.

“I start a new job on Monday.” He breathed, eyes jumping between yours.

You pulled back even more in surprise. Ryland kept his hands on your waist so you didn’t go too far.

“Really?”

“Mhm. It’s a part-time lab technician job. The pay isn’t great but it’ll help boost my resume once I get my doctorate and I need the extra income anyway.”

You beamed. “That’s great! Are you going to be able to juggle school and work, though? Will it be too much?”

Ryland’s eyes fluttered when you ran a thumb over his cheek. “I should be ok. But…” He hesitated. “I won’t have time to come here anymore.”

Oh.

Neither of you put a label on… whatever it was the two of you had together, so you never had a reason to meet up outside of your unspoken joint study hours. Ryland stopping his visits here meant you wouldn’t get to see him.

Your hands slid from his face to his shoulders as you tried to put on a nonchalant face. This was just a hookup- a little fling that probably never would’ve worked anyway. Ryland would continue his life and you would continue yours. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did to find out you would rarely, if ever, see the prospective scientist after Friday.

“I’ll miss my desk partner,” you smiled, hoping it wasn’t obvious how sad his words made you.

One side of Ryland’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Yeah, me too.” He seemed awfully nonchalant about the whole thing. You kicked yourself for being so blinded by the handsome ass that weaseled his way into your life. Ryland fiddled with the hem of your shirt and straightened it out a bit, tilting his head to gesture down the aisle.

“So… should we go back to our spot and hash out our schedules, then?”

Now you are confused. “Our schedules?”

“Yes? To find times that work for both of us to meet up? Like… between labs and such. Or in the late evenings. Or weekends. Or you could stay the night at my place- uh, unless I read this thing wrong?” He let go of you to gesture between your bodies, beginning to fidget on his feet. “Did I read this wrong? If I did, forget everything I said because it was all just a funny joke-”

You flew onto your tiptoes and flung your arms around his neck, only slightly shoving him into the shelves behind him to claim his mouth. Ryland made a noise of approval and wound his arms around your torso to lift you into him. 

Schedule swapping would have to wait a little longer and you offhandedly hoped that there were no security cameras this deep between the stacks of books because if someone was watching them, they wouldn’t enjoy what they were about to see.

The winter air flowed through your lungs with a harsh bite as you inhaled, threatening to freeze your lungs solid. When you exhaled, a thick fog of condensation fell from your lips and twirled away into the dull gray sky. You shivered and drove your hands deeper into your coat pockets; your fingers quite literally felt like they were going to snap off if they were exposed to the cold for any longer. Your heavy snow boots stomped through the slush below your feet as you hurried home.

You’d been making dinner for yourself in your cozy little cottage when you realized you were missing a key ingredient for your recipe. So, with a sigh, you’d pulled on all your winter gear and braved the freezing outdoors to hurry down to the small supermarket down the block. The whole journey had you deeply questioning your life choice of not buying that cheap old sedan you’d seen in the newspaper a few weeks ago.

Unfortunately, working as a barista at the town’s local coffee spot hadn’t proven to yield much money, at least not enough to afford transportation. Fortunately, it was a small area and everything needed to survive was within walking distance. It just meant you had to suffer.

Your stomach gave a panicked jolt as your foot slipped in the snow and the grocery bag in your arms fell to the icy ground with a muffled thump. Once you felt confident that you weren’t going to fall, you let out a curse and bent down to pick up the paper bag before the food inside could be ruined beyond repair. As you straightened, a paper flying in the wind caught your eye. It was stapled into a phone pole before you.

On the damp page was a large black and white photo of a shy looking man. The photo looked like it had been taken without his knowledge, as he sat at a kitchen table engrossed in a small puzzle, his eyes downcast. He had carefully combed brown hair and a mustache on a slightly round face, and was clad in a brown sweater with a white shirt and tie peeking up above it. You had to admit, he was quite cute in an innocent sort of way.

Below the photo were big black letters typed in all caps:

NEED A CAR? “DATE” MY BROTHER-IN-LAW

Below that, smaller text:

He’s smart. But socially very shy. “Date” him and bring him out of his shell. In exchange, we’ll give you a 2004 Buick Regal. Clean, rust-free, 40k miles.

Serious inquiries only:

[email protected].

A small laugh bubbled up in your throat at the hilarity of the ad. You wondered how the brother-in-law in the photo felt about this.

You then frowned, eyes scanning over the words detailing the car.

A free car, basically? You wouldn’t have to suffer on freezing walks anymore while letting out every curse in your vocabulary. And he was cute. You could deal with shy; you talked enough for two people according to previous failed dates.

Glancing around to see if anyone was near, you quickly snatched the ad off the pole and shoved it into your wet grocery bag.

What could go wrong?

You stared at the old computer monitor before you, biting a lip between your teeth. A drafted email blinked up at you on the screen, waiting to be sent off into the void. All you had to do was press send. It read:

Hello,

My name is (Y/N). I saw this ad and was very interested in the car you mentioned, as right now I do not own one and have to walk everywhere (which is the worst thing imaginable in the winter). I’d love to discuss the arrangement further, if possible. Let me know.

Kindest regards,

(Y/N)

Blowing out a raspberry, you hit send and quickly stood up to get away from the screen. You hoped they replied quickly, as you had a shift at the coffee shop the next evening and the weather report predicted a raging snowstorm rolling in.

You paced restlessly in your small kitchen, wiping down the counter and putting away dishes. About thirty minutes later, your computer gave a small ping, signaling an incoming notification. You nearly tripped over your own feet to sit down in front of the monitor and opened the new message sitting in. your inbox.

Hi (Y/N),

I have to be honest, I’m a little shocked someone actually reached out. You’re right, the weather here is awful right now, and it sounds like we could really help each other out.

My brother-in-law’s name is Lars. He is very shy and it’s like pulling teeth to get him to talk to anyone, but you sound nice enough.

Do you work at the local coffee shop? I feel like I may have heard of your name around town. If I’m thinking of the right person, I think you’d be great getting Lars to open up. Just one thing, he hates being touched physically, but really is the biggest sweetheart.

Are you available to come by tomorrow around noon? You can meet Lars and take a look at the Buick.

Sincerely,

Karin

He didn’t like physical touch? Well, that wasn’t a problem. You never kissed on the first date anyway. You quickly sent a reply off, asking for the address and letting Karin know you’d be there at noon the next day.

The next day, you stood in front of a white garage next to the main house, its paint peeling and in desperate need of a touch-up. You’d just come from meeting Karin, where she told you a little bit about Lars and showed you the car. She insisted on you meeting him alone, as he would absolutely loathe Karin if he found out about the ad.

You knocked on the door softly, taking extra precaution not to sound too urgent. There wasn’t an answer for a minute or so, but you did see a curtain twitch in the window.

Just when you thought about turning back to head back to the main house, the door cracked open, wide enough to only show Lars’s eyes and nose through the opening. You smiled softly at him.

”Hi, Lars, right? My name is (Y/N). I ran into Karin and she was telling me about you, thought we’d get along well.”

Lars didn’t move. In truth, he had definitely seen you around town, walking in the slipper snow to and from the local coffee spot. He’d always secretly thought you were pretty and wanted to stop and give you a ride, but chickened out every time. After all, why would someone looking the way you do ever want to bother with someone like him? He couldn’t believe you were standing at his door right now. It was too good to be true.

”D-did Karin put you up to this?” He spoke softly, still not opening the door wider.

You shrugged. You didn’t want to lie to him, so you settled on a half-truth instead. “A little bit, yes. But I also thought you sounded really nice and…” You trailed off, searching for the right words. “I thought you could use a friend.” You found yourself genuinely believing the words flowing from your mouth. You smiled at him again, hoping to put him at ease.

He said nothing. Usually he hated when people tried to get close to him, like they pitied him and wanted to feel good about themselves. But for some odd reason, he wasn’t feeling that familiar spark of irritation he usually did.

You mistook his silence for anger and laughed in embarrassment, shuffling a toe in the snow. “Ugh, I’m sorry. This is rude, just showing up like this. We can just forget this ever happened if you want and I’ll give you free coffee for the rest of your life to make up for it.” You were rambling, the way you always did. It was the thing that seemed to make dates no longer interested in you. You began to turn to leave.

”Wait.”

You looked back over your shoulder and Lars opened the door wider. Your eyebrows rose up in surprise. He was tall. Very tall. His head almost brushed the top of the doorframe. And his hands, God his hands. He had one planted on the doorframe, as if he were holding himself back from running after you. It was huge, like a bear paw. He was wearing a flannel over a thermal undershirt with jeans, looking every bit like a lumberjack straight out of a novel.

He breathed heavily into the cold air, a puff of steam blowing out before him, and glanced up at the main house before returning his blue eyes back to you. You faced him again.

“Do you maybe…want to come in for some tea?” He smiled slightly under his mustache and shifted nervously on his feet.

Heat warmed your chest at that smile. You were positive it was the cutest one you’d ever seen on a man. “I’d love to.”

He looked down shyly and shuffled back to make room for you, and you entered the small garage apartment. As you passed him, you caught a faint whiff of woodsmoke mixed with some kind of earthy cologne.

Suddenly, he was removing your coat from your shoulders gently, taking extra care not to brush the skin on your neck. He hung it reverently on a nearby hook near the door, next to his own coat. The sight of them next to each other felt strangely domestic. You blushed at the chivalrous act and smiled up at him in thanks.

The tips of his ears turned pink and he nodded once before heading to the small kitchenette to prepare tea, shuffling a bit like a penguin. The sight was very endearing in a cute way.

Before moving any further into the apartment, you removed your snow boots and carefully set them on the rug next to the door. Lars watched you with fascination.

You’d cared enough about his space to remove your shoes. No one had ever really done that, Gus and Karin included. It was such a small gesture, but it made his heart thump in an unfamiliar way.

You took a look around the room, noting the single twin bed in the corner with a small blanket folded neatly on top of it, a black wood furnace that burned heartily, the small table with two rickety chairs, and a modest bookshelf stacked with different books, their spines facing out.

It was a cozy space, simple but clearly catered to the tall man’s personality. He clearly liked things neat, something you both had in common.

Lars was at the counter, clumsily steeping two teabags into mismatched mugs. His hands shook slightly, likely from nerves. After all, from what Karin had told you, this was completely unfamiliar territory for Lars. You felt your heart bloom with warmth that he was letting you into his space. It was intimate.

”Is it okay if I look?” You asked, pointing at the bookshelf. Reading was a massive hobby for you, and you were eager to learn more about Lars’s personality based on what was on the shelf.

He nodded, watching you carefully.

You perused the spines, eyes traveling down each spine. There were a lot of religious books, which didn’t surprise you. Karin had told you how Lars never missed a church devotional each Sunday. There were also some old fantasies, westerns, poetry, and even a couple of books on birds. On the top shelf, some of the book collection was broken up by small carvings of birds, whittled from wood. Your eyes brightened.

”These are beautiful. Did you make them?”

Lars nodded shyly, then, “Yeah.”

You examined the furthest one on the left, instantly recognizing the feathers’ formation and the beak. Your father had been an avid birdwatcher before he passed away and had always taken time to teach you about the different birds he observed while you sat on his lap as a child.

”This is a Goldfinch, right?” You asked with a smile while pointing at the carving in question.

A pleasant warmth rolled through Lars. You were talking to him about. his interests like he was an actual person and not just someone to try and help. And you knew birds. His heart did that funny jump again.

“You know birds?” He asked the question quietly.

You nodded enthusiastically and told him about your father, beginning to ramble about the memories associated with him and the birds. Lars listened with rapt attention, his eyes never leaving you and the way your eyes lit up when you talked about the subject. He realized he loved watching your hands gesture through the air as you talked.

He wanted to make you do it more.

Leaving the cups of tea to finish steeping on the counter, he approached you and the shelf slowly, testing each step for signs that you would shrink away. Again, you were startled at how much taller he was; your head only reached the bottom of his stubbled chin. His scent washed over you again, and you quietly inhaled it without thinking, as if you could hold it inside your lungs forever.

He picked the carving of the Goldfinch up carefully — it was tiny in his hand — and held it out to you. You smiled and took it, making sure not to brush his fingers with your own. As you examined the figurine more closely, he stared at you, taking in the way your hair fell over your cheeks and the smattering of freckles on your nose.

He abruptly longed to reach a thumb out and brush the hair away, which wasn’t like him at all.

”You can keep it, if you want,” he said with a small smile.

Your eyes widened. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly take it. It looks too beautiful here, next to the others.” And you meant it. You carefully placed it back in its spot, shifting it exactly the way it was so that the weak sunlight shining in through the curtains could illuminate its feathers.

Again, Lars marveled at the respect you displayed for his personal possessions. As you hummed, satisfied that it was in the right place, he suddenly reached a thumb out and lightly, oh-so lightly, brushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear.

He internally braced for pain and panic, but it never came. At least, not as intensely as it usually did when he felt touch.

Your vibrant eyes locked onto his, a blush spreading across those lovely freckles. Your heart pounded in your chest, racing like a prize horse. He was looking at you so tenderly, like you were his most treasured possession. No one had ever looked at you like that, and it startled you.

You inhaled sharply but quietly, and slowly rose up onto your tip toes. Your lips hovered over his cheek for a moment, waiting for him to jerk away. When he didn’t, you gently brushed them against his scruff, featherlight.

Lars went rigid at the fire on his skin. Not the painful kind, but a kind full of warmth and comfort. He felt like the sun itself had just kissed him.

And, for the first time in his life, Lars Lindstrom found himself wanting more. Wanting your touch. Wanting you.

Ryland doesn’t think of himself as strong: he never used to go to the gym because the one time he went, he slipped straight off the stair master and never went back.

Of course, aboard the Hail Mary and on Erid, it’s a different story: Ryland woke up from the coma in decent shape, found that being in even better shape helped you two to navigate space life much easier, and started doing a home workout routine once a day, or jogging along the coast. Muscles for Ryland were not an aesthetic choice; it was just practical to be able to move heavy stuff when you’re one of two people on a space craft (though, once he gets word that you really like looking at his thick thighs and biceps, he starts putting extra work into the more visible muscle groups).

You first discovered your penchant for his strength when you were struggling to move one of the heavy supply crates in the sleeping area. You huffed and puffed, pushing with all your body weight against the box. Ryland walked in mid-conversation about Eridian atmospheric models, still talking animatedly. He stopped short when he saw you panting: you'd always been to proud to ask for help. “Oh, here. Let me get that." He reached down with one arm, gripped the side of the massive metal crate, and lifted it effortlessly onto the shelf while continuing to talk. “—and that’s why Rocky thinks the methane levels might spike next cycle. What do you think?” His bicep flexed and his shirt rode up, revealing a fantastic V-line as he adjusted the crate’s position with one hand.

You just stood there, staring, heat rushing to your face. Ryland finally noticed your silence. Blinking innocently behind his glasses, he furrowed his brows. “Y/N? You good?” You nodded and closed your mouth, a little dazed. “Yeah! Sorry. Just— you’re really strong. That box was like... thirty kilos.” Ryland looked genuinely surprised. “Am I?” He glanced at his arm like he’d never considered it before. “Huh. Anyway, about the methane…”

Later that week, you were trying to reach a book that had fallen behind the small library corner you and Ryland had built in the sleeping area of the ship. It was a bit pathetic since you hadn't been given many books: it was mostly made up of instruction manuals and physics textbooks, but nonetheless, you made it cosy.

Ryland walked past on his way to the lab, but froze and back-tracked, unsure what you were doing. He leaned against the doorway for a moment, amused by your lying down on the floor, groaning and trying to grab the book that had fallen down the back. Finally, you stopped and dropped your head onto the floor, sighing in defeat. "Ryland! Ry!" you shouted over your shoulder, hoping Ryland would hear you from the lab, where you thought he was. "Need some help?" he replied, arms folded over his chest. You almost jumped out of your skin. "Grace! Don't sneak up on me like that!" you huffed. "And yes, obviously, I need some help, please." Ryland obliged, smiling, and strode toward you. He placed one hand on the side of the tall bookshelf and lifted the entire thing a few inches off the ground so you could grab the book trapped underneath.

You peered up at him as he towered over you: his bicep strained visibly against his sleeve as he held the heavy piece of furniture, lightly huffing in effort. He looked down at you; you continued to ogle up his shirt, effectively lying between his legs. "Uh, Y/N?" "Yeah?" you replied, still admiring the view up his shirt. "This is pretty heavy." Your eyes snapped up to his. "Right— sorry." You grabbed the book and rolled out from under the shelf, cheeks burning. Ryland set the shelf back down gently and cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm gonna just... I'll be in the—" "Yeah." You both walked away briskly, unsure what had transpired.

Once you'd finally recovered from that indiscretion a good few hours later, you returned to the lab. Ryland, of course, had forgotten all about it, too immersed in his work. "There she is!" He scooted his wheelie chair back and plucked the goggles from his face. "Wanna help me with this? New paste! Might not taste like—" "Dogshit?" you asked, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Yeah," he nodded, "might not taste like dogshit." You laughed: it was so rare to hear Ryland swear, but you loved to make him blush.

And so you got stuck in helping to reorganise the samples, until one of the large diagnostic machines froze up. Ryland walked over to where you were smacking the machine, half-listening to him explain the new nutrient formula to you. “Oh, stupid thing, it keeps jamming,” he said, interrupting himself. He squatted down next to you, gripped the side of the heavy machine with one hand and tinkered with the underneath, muscles shifting under his shirt and jeans as he repositioned it perfectly without so much as a strained groan. "Try it again?" he instructed, peering up at you over his glasses. You fought to follow his instructions instead of just ogling him for a moment more. "Uh— yeah, s'working now," you stuttered. "Awesome. So, like I was saying, if we adjust the nitrogen ratio by point zero three percent, we should see better growth in the—”

God. You wished he'd cotton on, already.

You were enormously relieved to land on Erid, having been sharing such a close space with Ryland over the past few years. You thought you'd finally gotten away from your perversions, that your fantasies about his thick biceps were just the product of spending too much time with him. Sadly, that was not the case, and his strength continued to be one of your biggest weaknesses.

On one such occasion, you and Ryland were moving supplies off of the Hail Mary and into the biodome. You realised that you’d overpacked the large, garden-refuse style bags, and were now fighting to lift even one up.

“Fuck! Ow,” you cried out: you’d dropped the bag on your foot, leaving you hopping on the spot and cussing in pain. Ryland exited the spaceship, one big bag slung over his shoulder, and headed back down the Xenonite tunnel to the dome. He caught sight of you hopping and immediately furrowed his brows. "Oh— ouch. You ok?" "Yeah, sorry. Just dropped this fucking heavy bag on my left foot—" Before you could finish, Ryland took the bag from you in the arm already carrying one, tucking his arm through the carrier handles. Then, without a second guess, he scooped you up with the other arm, carrying both you and the heavy bags like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Ryland," you moaned, "I can walk.” You protested weakly, face burning as you felt the strength in his bicep supporting you against his side. “I know,” he said, completely oblivious to how affected you were. “But you looked hurt!”

Weeks later, you couldn't take it anymore: you'd taken to openly ogling him whenever he did something remotely related to strength, accepting your fate in the most pathetic way possible.

During a walk near one of the cliff faces in the Biodome, a heavy branch had fallen from a nearby 'tree' (or what Eridians had scrambled together to resemble a tree— to their credit, it looked like the real thing) and blocked the path. Ryland was in the middle of excitedly telling you about a new theory when he noticed. “Oh no, hang on a sec,” he said. He reached down with both hands, gripped the trunk, and rolled it clear off the path. His bicep bulged under his sleeve as he casually moved the heavy obstacle aside and set it down, much as your eyes bulged in surprise. No matter how many times you'd seen Ryland exert his strength, it always amazed you: he just didn't seem the type.

He wiped has hands on his jeans, barely throwing a glance over his shoulder as he kept walking up the path, talking like nothing had happened. “...which is why I think the atmospheric nitrogen might actually be—” You stopped in your tracks, unable to contain yourself any longer. "Would you stop doing that?" you hissed. Ryland turned quickly, tilting his head with an adorably concerned expression. His eyebrows were stitched together in worry. “Huh? Did I say something?” You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "No, Ryland, sorry. It's just—" you paused, suddenly embarrassed. "You are like— built. Like you do all these things, like picking me up and throwing a tree trunk off the path—" Ryland scoffed, interrupting you. "It was hardly a trunk—" You continued, ignoring his logic. "—and it's distracting! You don't even seem to know that you're like... freakishly strong, and It's driving me crazy!" You ceased your barrage, suddenly out of breath. Had you actually just told your only surviving crew-mate, and only human friend for the foreseeable future, 'distracting'? Ryland, too, didn't move; he blinked down at you.

You got out of bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes before padding your way to the living room, the laminate floor cool under your feet. 

Some random tv programme was silently playing on the TV and you couldn’t help the soft “oh” that made its way past your lips when you noticed Ryland asleep on the sofa, one arm across his chest as the other hung off the side of the sofa, glasses crooked and halfway up to his forehead.

It had been a good while since the last time you’d seen him like this. Though this time, a certain kind of softness bloomed in your chest as you took in the scene before you. 

You moved as carefully as you could and turned off the TV first, making sure you didn’t wake him up as you crouched beside his sleeping form and took his glasses, placing them on the coffee table. Then properly covered him with the throw the two of you had been sharing a few hours prior, allowing yourself a minute to just look at him. 

Truly look at him.

Ryland had this easy way about him, a comforting presence that always put you at ease whenever he was around. You always considered that the reason you were so drawn to him in the first place when you two first met.

And lately, more often than not, you’d catch yourself thinking. Thinking about stuff that you hadn’t really thought about before. 

Noticing.

The way he always made sure you were stocked up on your favourite tea, how easily he moved around your place and the way he knew exactly how you liked your coffee. 

How you’d automatically melt into him when he hugged you, and the way he’d always know if something was wrong without you saying a single word. 

Normal stuff friends do, you kept telling yourself. But lately, something about it felt different. Something had shifted, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. 

You’d become aware of him in a way you hadn’t been before.

And then… there it was. Clear as day, and mocking you, like it couldn’t it could believe it had taken you so long to see it for what it really was.

“Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, I fell in love with you.” Your voice was barely a whisper above the sounds of the city slowly waking up outside your window.

Your hand had a mind of its own as it moved before you could stop yourself, brushing a few stray strands of blonde hair off his forehead, his brows furrowing slightly before relaxing again and making you wonder what he was dreaming about. 

A sad smile pulled at your lips as you let out a heavy sigh, fully standing up and making sure he was properly tucked in before making your way back to your bedroom. 

To a bed that now felt bigger and emptier than it ever did before.

—

The next few days passed in a blur of bad weather, slowly easing back into routine and comfort movies every evening to wind down before bed.

Ryland made sure to regularly check on you, asking how you were feeling, stopping by to bring you food when you didn’t have the energy to cook for yourself, and just generally existing in your space the way he always did. 

“Uh, of course I'm staying hydrated? What kinda question is that?” You say walking around your kitchen island, holding your phone against your ear with your shoulder as you open a new gallon of milk.

“Water. Not coffee.” He says with a sigh. “Are you drinking enough water?” He adds, making you stop in your tracks as you were about to pour some milk into your freshly made coffee.

“There’s water in coffee” You say, and you can hear him chuckle softly. 

“You’re impossible” He huffs out, and now it’s your turn to laugh. “I’ll see you shortly.”

Your front door opened as you walked into the living room. You were met by a smiling Ryland, a grocery bag in each hand, as he closed the door with his foot before making his way to where you stood in the kitchen and placing the bags on the small kitchen island.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He replies, pulling you into a tight hug and you melt against him. “You smell of eucalyptus.” He pulls apart slightly, shooting you a quizzical look. “New shower gel?” At that you can’t help but laugh.

“Since whe-.” You stop mid-sentence when you notice him trying not to laugh. “No. It’s VapoRub.” You explain, pushing his glasses back up his nose, amusement never leaving his beautiful face. “I’m still a tiny bit congested.”

“You do look a whole lot better than you did a few days ago.” He gently touches your forehead with the back of his hand before gently moving to your cheek, his thumb grazing your soft skin as he checks your temperature. “Will you allow me the privilege of cooking you some dinner tonight, m’lady.” He says, curious blue eyes scanning your face and you can feel a blush starting to creep its way up your face.

“M’lady?! I know you’re old, but man…” His hand shoots up to his chest, eyebrows raised and feigning offence at your words. “Quit clutching your metaphorical pearls.”

He let out a laugh, warmth spreading through your chest at the sound of it, as you tapped his chest lightly and rolled your eyes at his buffoonery.

The rest of the evening went on as it usually did when you two were together, soft music playing over the speakers as you helped him cook dinner. 

You had done this so many times, it felt like second nature to both of you. He knew where you kept everything, and you knew exactly what he’d need even before he could ask about it.

The problem wasn’t that anything had changed, cause it hadn’t. Not really.

The problem was that now you knew.

Knew what the tightness in your chest meant when he smiled at you. Knew why quiet moments with him felt different from quiet moments with everyone else. Knew why going home sometimes felt like leaving.

You sat on the kitchen island, looking at him as he finished up cooking dinner. Watching him. Seeing him. The light above the stove illuminating his features, glasses hanging halfway down his nose, that beautiful nose of his. Muscles unintentionally flexing under the fabric of his t-shirt as he moved. That stupid t-shirt that looked far too good  and far too tight on him. Your gaze lingering on his biceps longer than intended.

You laughed at something he said.

Immediate, automatic. His attention shifted to you without thinking. Which would have been fine.

Except now he was thinking about it. The familiar sound of your laugh and how it stopped him in his tracks. And that was probably part of the problem.

Familiar meant unnoticed, it meant accepted without question. Familiar meant he couldn't remember when he'd started memorizing things.

Your apartment stopped feeling unfamiliar years ago. Somewhere between late nights and takeout containers and knowing which cabinet held the good mugs. Somewhere between I'll stay for an hour and watching sunlight move across your living room floor. 

Somewhere along the way, he'd stopped noticing it happen.

His eyes met yours and you smiled softly.

And he felt something tug at his heart.

“Come here.” You say, as he turns the stove off. Pulling him to stand between your legs and wrapping your arms around him, your head on his chest.

He hesitated for a second, he wasn’t really sure why, before wrapping his arms around your back as he felt you melt into him. One hand moved up to the nape of your head, fingers tenderly threading through your hair, chin resting atop your head. 

Nothing had changed. Not really. It had just naturally morphed into whatever this was. A sort of something you’d both been dancing around for longer than either of you could remember.

You were just finally noticing it.

He kissed the crown of your head tenderly as his hand moved to cup your face. You pulled apart slightly, looking up at him. Getting lost in the blue of his eyes.

“Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, I fell in love with you.” His voice was barely a whisper and you stilled at his words, heart skipping a beat. And he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life.

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out as everything hit you all at once. Every look, every smile, every lingering touch. 

You let out a shaky laugh as your own hand came up to cup his cheek.

“I love you.” His thumb gently traced your bottom lip as he spoke, eyes never leaving yours as you leaned into his touch.

And then he kissed you. He kissed you slow, and sweet, and deep. And you let him. 

Soft lips on yours, the hand on your jaw holding you close as you sighed against his mouth. The tension in your body finally breaking as you melted under his touch. Fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his head, pulling him closer without thinking, until the world around you disappeared.

He kissed you for what felt like forever, and you almost whined when he pulled apart, already missing the feel of his lips on yours.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve dreamed of doing that.” He rests his forehead on yours as you both catch your breath. His hands cradling your face, thumbs tenderly grazing your skin, neither of you wanting to fully let go.

You couldn’t help but laugh again as you realised. He had heard you. 

You looked up at him, standing between your legs, a content smile on his face as you gently pushed his glasses up onto his head. 

“You heard.” You simply say.

“I did.”

A pause stretched between you.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to risk finding out I’d imagined the whole thing.”

“Oh, you sweet, silly, beautiful man.” He chuckled at your words before letting you pull him into another kiss. 

His hands found your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You could feel him smiling against your lips before he started kissing his way down your jaw and to your neck, his stubble tickling your skin and making a shiver run down your spine. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he found that sweet spot where your neck met your shoulder, teeth teasingly grazing your skin.

“Dinner’s gonna get cold.” You managed to say as his hand found its way under the hem of your top, his touch hot on your skin.

He laughed into the crook of your neck.

“Dinner can wait.” His breath tickled your ear as he spoke. “I’ve more important things to take care of right now.” Lips found yours once more before you could say anything else.

You let out a surprised yelp when he picked you up, your legs automatically wrapping around his hips, and you couldn’t help your laugh when you realized he was carrying you towards your bedroom.

Needless to say, neither of you cared about dinner anymore.

—

You woke up to Ryland’s arm loosely draped around your middle, rays of sunlight dancing across the side of his face as the curtain moved in the morning breeze, and casting an ethereal glow on him. 

For a moment you almost felt like you were dreaming. But his arm pulling you closer as he hid his face in the crook of your neck made it clear that you weren’t.

His hand tenderly squeezed your hip as he finally stirred awake, causing a soft blush to creep its way up your cheeks.

“Morning.” You say softly,

“Morning.” He replies, his voice heavy with sleep, leaning into your touch with a content hum.

You have  no idea how long you stayed like that. Just enjoying each other’s presence, his thumb absentmindedly tracing random patterns on your hip, your fingers running through his hair.

You noticed his breathing even out again and for a moment you thought he’d fallen back asleep.

He eventually stirred again, stretching one arm above his head and letting out a groan that made you chuckle softly. 

“I’ll go make us some coffee.” He says as he slowly lets go of you and sits up.

As he properly stretched both of his arms above his head this time, you allowed yourself to shamelessly stare at him. The morning light bathing the expanse of his skin in a warm glow.

“Staring is rude.” The amusement in his voice is clear and you bite back a smile as he looks down at you over his shoulder. “You gotta stop doing that.” You shoot him a quizzical look.

“Staring?”

“No, biting your lip.” He explains leaning on his arm next to you, his thumb gently pulling your lip from between your teeth.

A shiver running down your spine and goosebumps blooming over your skin at the intensity of his gaze.

He pulled you into a slow kiss before reluctantly letting go of you and getting out of bed, slowly making his way around the room, muscles flexing as he leaned down to pick up his discarded t-shirt and pull it over his head before walking out the bedroom and into the living room.

You stayed there for another moment, staring at the door he'd disappeared through before finally dragging yourself out of bed.

The apartment felt the same. 

Same morning light spilling through half-drawn curtains. Same quiet hum of life outside your window. Same coffee table cluttered with traces of him you'd long since stopped seeing as temporary. You'd spent so long trying not to look too closely at what this was.

At him.

At the way he'd carved himself into the quiet corners of your life so naturally you hadn't noticed it happening.

Until now.

Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, something had changed.

Or maybe it hadn't.