FOR A MOMENT I KNEW COSMIC LOVE.

Grace can only let his head fall back against the headboard of the pilot’s seat; he groans impatiently, with a weathered mumble, “Oh my God…” From beside him, you can see his blonde hair sticking up in all directions. At first, you think it’s best to give him a moment of silence, maybe tilt your head to look up at the plethora of status lights above the three of you.

Then, finally, you decide to pipe up with a very kind, “You’re doing your best, Ry.” It should be a relatively pleasant exchange. Grace is on the verge of thanking you, turning in his seat with his lips curled into a soft smile. But, Rocky can’t help but angle himself toward you in his casing, arms flailing up in what looks like the mimicry of a shrug.

“Grace doing best, question?”

This steals Grace’s attention away instantly. His smile drops and, eyebrows furrowed, Grace grumbles, “Is that supposed to be rhetorical? What am I saying—of course it is.” Grace huffs, snatching his glasses off his face and folding them over the collar of his jumpsuit. “Now, he wants to be funny.” How they love to bicker. With Grace’s back to you, you can only imagine the pout on his face. He fiddles with his sleeves, trying to tighten them down lower on his wrists.

You rub your eyes tiredly. You’ve been sitting in zero grav for hours now, and you’d kill to feel the ground like normal—maybe have a cup of coffee in a mug and not a plastic-sealed pouch. It’s also clear that Grace isn’t getting any better, and Rocky isn’t getting any more patient. “I think it’d be pretty productive to take a break. Don’t you?”

Grace claps his hands together softly, “Break.” He’s just about to unbuckle himself out of the seat when Rocky taps a claw on the glass.

“Longer break means longer Earth, Erid sun dim. Grace need practice, or all die,” Rocky insists. You can see him stamp repetitiously on the xenonite glass a few times. Obviously, he’s being a little bit dramatic—but it still clearly gets under Grace’s skin, because he’s practically squirming in his seat.

“Okay, okay,” you decide, “Why don’t we switch for a bit? I can go over my part with you, and Grace can go strap down downstairs.” It might do you good to go over the post-handoff of controls, even if you’ve already got it all down. If it buys Grace a little bit of rest time, you’re willing to do it. 

But Rocky repeats, “Grace need practice,” this time with more intention. It’s absurd how well the computer modulates his voice so intuitively.

“He’s trying to say that I suck,” Grace affirms. He doesn’t seem to deny the accusation; if you aren’t mistaken, Grace is pretty embarrassed about this whole ordeal of not being able to fly well. You watch as he flattens the decals on his jumpsuit, patches and all, down with his palms.

“Rocky, play nice,” you scorn. Even underneath the glow of the screens, you can see Grace’s cheeks are tinted a light red. You hate to see him so stressed out about this stuff, but admittedly, it looks good on him. It’s probably a bad habit to even think that way about Grace—considering that it’s just the three of you on this ship and you have to sleep a few feet away from him every night. You should decidedly pour more effort into making him less anxious about the mission. So, you tell Grace, “You’ll get the hang of it.”

You reach a hand out to touch Grace, thinking that a soft squeeze of his bicep might send across your genuine feeling on the matter. You do believe in him. As soon as your fingers curl around his arm, brushing the rough fabric of his jumpsuit, Grace’s hand seems to pass over the armrest and, with a slip, collides straight into the joystick. The Mary jerks left in a longer stride across the black space; you’re realizing, as the force throttles your body yet again, that you’re very lucky to have this much open space. Meanwhile, Rocky is grabbing on to his own makeshift seatbelt, claws tight on the strap. “Brake. Brake. Brake. Brake. Brake.”

—

The same thing happens the next go-around two days later, when Grace is trying to train for sample extraction. You’re in your seat, and Rocky’s in his. Between the first practice run and now, the three of you worked handily to rig the collector into a dropping mechanism on the lower portion of the ship. It’s all been programmed up to drop at the click of a button. Rocky has Grace testing the mechanism in a one-to-one simulation.

Now, all three of you are playing pretend, as if you’ve already breached Adrian’s atmosphere and settled into a steady trajectory across the top. Grace is doing a decent job up to this point, having trained his muscle memory and studied the thick paper manual you’d found detailing all the console’s buttons and switches. He mutters under his breath, “Okay, okay. I got it.” It appears to be more self-reassurance than anything else. You’ve been on the ship long enough to know that Grace is a master at talking to himself.

Rocky is counting down from T-minus 10 seconds with a monotonous tone, keeping his attention closed on the texture monitor in front of him. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…” You have your eyes trained on Grace, who’s clearly trying to guide himself through a deep breath in and out. Grace flips up the metal casing on the drop button, sucks in a deep breath—“six, five, four, three…”—and slams it with his thumb. The collector discharges. On the monitors, both Grace’s and Rocky’s, you can see it free-float out of the containment chamber, right out of the open panels. At least, you know the release mechanism works well. But, Rocky is quick to note, “Grace release collector too early.”

Three seconds too early, you shake your head. Grace is already very aware of the mistake, searching for a half-excuse himself: “I was being punctual.”

“Need exact time. Count for reason,” Rocky grips and ungrips his left claw. Then, Rocky rotates to face you, stamping one claw on his seat. “Stare at Grace make Grace bad. Close eyes.” 

Your eyes widen, index finger poking into your own chest. “Me? Close my eyes?” You can’t imagine how that would make things run any more efficiently.

“Woah now,” Grace coughs out, hand running over the back of his head. As he brushes his palm down against his short blonde hair, he seems to tilt his chair away, clearly locked in on the monitor in front of him. He shoves his fingers against a few switches—completely meaningless motions. “What’re you trying to say, pal?”

“Need word,” Rocky deliberates slowly, “For when watching heightens nervous system.” Grace’s hand hovers over the monitor.

You click your fingers: “Performance anxiety.”

Grace twists his seat to face the both of you, palms open and waving in disagreement. “I don’t have performance anxiety.” But, his body says otherwise. He’s practically sweating through his tight white polo—glasses on the verge of fogging up. It’s difficult not to be giddy when he gets like this, all flustered and discombobulated. Grace is having a hard time keeping it together. He must recognize your overt fawning, because he puts up an index finger, lips parted, “Don’t.”

“…Sorry.” You scramble for the vocal software on Rocky’s computer, typing it out hastily: <performance anxiety>. You press your middle finger into the enter-key and Rocky chirps a few times. Too happily, he exclaims, “Is performance anxiety!” Rocky alternates his attention between the two of you, and Grace’s nose is scrunching softly. He’s distressed. Up to this point, you’d thought that Grace was just having a hard time acclimating to the controls. This definitely has to be it.

Grace says, rather grumpily, “For your information, I actually perform great under pressure usually. This is just an… extraneous circumstance.”

Rocky seems to shake his head, but makes a more urgent tap on the glass towards you. “Retrieve collector, question?” The collector’s still floating out there, and somebody needs to lock it back into the release mechanism. Rocky sees you best fit, apparently—no magic words there. Since Grace has been doing the heavy lifting with the captaining, you’re not very motivated to complain.

“When I get back, we can try to run it back,” you offer. You unbuckle your seatbelt swiftly, zero gravity making your legs sway upwards.

Rocky hums, “No, no. Collector requires extra yard and half chain according to visual on monitor. Extra links in lab. Make while Rocky Grace reset.”

“Uh… okay,” you snort. The addition of the chain makes you feel a little bit like you’re being sent on an errand. Then again, Rocky’s the expert fabricator, so you decide not to push it. As you start to make your exit out of the cockpit, Grace pulls his glasses off his face to buff the lens on his shirt. Softly, he tells you, “Just radio in if something happens with the rig or the collector. I can put a suit on to come help you.” He throws his glasses back on, and you give him a curt nod. Rocky waves you goodbye with his right claw as you pull yourself towards the corridor.

Once you make it out of the cockpit, in the joint between the airlock and the rest of the Mary, you can hear Grace and Rocky bickering again. Their muffled voices barrel out into the whole ship. First, Rocky, pointedly: “Need re-test.”

Then, Grace, who’s sure to have his arms crossed in a tight lock over his chest: “Re-test what?”

Rocky replies, “If three in cockpit, Grace rate of distraction high. Need to re-test with two.” And Grace can only groan in response.

—

A half hour later, with the collector safely retrieved, your two crewmates set the Hail Mary into centrifuge. You get to work as soon as your feet touch the ground. The chain situation is meticulous and boring and you find it best fit, after linking together that extra yard and a half, to stay bundled up in the patchwork quilt in the lab—coffee in hand. It feels like as soon as you’re able to enjoy being upright, though, the commotion moves to you.

With the rapid sound of thunking on metal, Rocky rolls past you and makes it straight for the crew quarters. You whip around to tell him, “I finished those extra links you asked for, Rock.” It passes through one metaphorical ear out the other.

“Rocky develop breeder tank design,” he relays to you with a general disregard, “Try help Grace. Is impossible.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to be a little more patient,” you shout down the corridor. He doesn’t respond. You can already hear Rocky clinking his daily ball into the larger compartment. With the patchwork quilt clung around your shoulders, you place your mug down on an empty counter and peek in on Grace.

At the other end of the corridor, he’s still getting out of the cockpit—straightening out his polo and stretching his arms. When he finds that you’re standing behind him, he gets slightly more animated. “Hey…” Grace seems to trace his gaze down the individual patches on the quilt hanging off your back. Then, he looks up at you, dark blue eyes peering over his lenses.

You give him a wide grin. “Did Rocky give you a good lecturing while I was out?”

“No,” Grace pauses, pushing the bridge of his glasses up. “Yes.” With a defeated shrug, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “He’s right, you know. I am… pretty bad at captaining the ship.” 

“You’re fine at captaining the ship—”

“—I’ve been getting distracted this whole time because you sit too close to me,” he blurts. You draw back a bit, tugging the quilt tighter over your shoulders.

“The cockpit isn’t that cramped, is it?” you laugh. It’s a little bit embarrassing how close together you three have to sit in there. The thought of Grace’s discomfort at the mere proximity makes you sheepish.

“No, I’m saying that when you’re near me, I get, you know…” Grace stammers, “Jittery. I get jittery.” He crosses his arms over his chest, Converse pointed towards your work boots.

“I hope it’s not that I’m putting too much pressure on you. I swear that’s the last thing I want.”

“That isn’t it.” Grace wrings his hands together and then drops them to his sides. “When I get in the cockpit, it feels, well, suffocatingly small, and Rocky’s talking, and you’re just watching, and you’re waiting for me to fly the thing. And I want to fly it well in front of you. For you,” Grace blinks. You’re not even sure he knows what he’s saying. “I’m trying to tell you that I am very attracted to you, and it’s cramping my motor skills.”

You can feel your eyes widen. You’re trying your best to settle with the fact: “You can’t fly ‘cause of me?” You can’t be hearing it right.

Grace struggles to give you a steady “…Yes.” He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, opting next to run his hand over the control panel above you both. He can barely look at you, eyes flashing up to faux-examine the thing.

 “I make you nervous. It’s performance anxiety for an audience of one,” you reiterate. “Are you sure?” It’s a little silly for you to ask, considering that he’s just laid it all out for you. It’s just… impossible. Grace drops his hand back down.

He looks like he’s about to melt into the floor. And still, he rasps, “I think I have about thirty failed test runs and one very upset alien to corroborate my claim.” He’s being serious. One close inspection of Grace and he seems to be blushing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. The small grin on his face matches your own, but it’s riddled with a hint of unease. He’s dying for you to give him a straight answer.

You have to give him a little bit of slack. “Would it make you fly better if I told you I’m very attracted to you, too?”

Grace tilts his head, brows furrowed. “I think it might make it worse, actually—” The quilt drops off your shoulders and crumples soft on the ground as you launch up to kiss Grace. “Oh.” His surprise doesn’t get far, because you’re running your hands over Grace’s chest, throwing them up into his hair. Grace lets out a contented hum against your lips, his palms only lightly grazing over your jaw. It’s with an accidental bit of force that you guide Grace over and push him up against the side-wall of the corridors, your work boots tucked in between his Converse. You’re maybe too excited to kiss him, hands anchoring on his hips, then toying with the hem of his polo. He’s blushing—you can feel the heat coming off of him—and you’re not much better.

It’s all very heated until Rocky’s voice rings out from the crew quarters: “Crew take Rocky advice. Reject null.” Privacy at a minimum, you remember. You pull away, taking a look over Grace’s face. He’s heaving by this point, with you nearly kissing him to death. His hands finally lay strong on your hips, back still flush to the corridor wall.

You take a few steps back into the middle of the corridor, dragging Grace along with you. With a bit more air, he lets out a shuddered breath. You murmur, “I can think of a few good motivators for you to fly better.” There isn’t any bit of goodwill behind it, just utter anticipation; you’re too eager to get to be with Grace like this.

“Rocky is going to be very disappointed when he finds out you're going to be deeply, deeply unhelpful.”

“Ry? What’s wrong?” You kept your voice low, even in the soundproof study room. This conversation had apparently been too important to wait until you were in the privacy of your home.

You held your breath as you waited for his answer. Your time was his, for however long he needed to get the words off his chest.

“There’s no easy way for me to say this, Y/N.” Ryland leaned towards you a bit, as if he was about to entrust you with a secret that he needed to get off his chest. In the end, he cut right to the chase. “I’ve been asked to go on the Hail Mary.”

The words chilled you to the bone. “What?”

You hadn’t realized how drastically your life would change when your husband had been recruited for Project Hail Mary. Over the course of his experimentation with Astrophage, Ryland had covertly updated you on his progress. It was something you were thankful for, especially now.

You had been under the impression that he would be exempt from going on the mission. After all, he had gone through none of the typical training required of astronauts. Apparently, that didn’t matter in this case.

You listened carefully as Ryland provided you with an explanation. Both of the scientists who had been selected to go ln the mission had died in an accident in the lab. And now, in a twist of fate, there was no one else who could possibly fulfill all the necessary criteria for the role…except for him.

“I have less than three hours to think about it,” he concluded.

Your heart sank. So that was all the time you had left with him, before he would be lost to you forever. No wonder he had come running straight to you with the news.

“What are you going to tell them?”

You knew what his answer would be the moment you looked into his eyes.

“Y/N, I don’t want to leave you.” Ryland wiped away a tear before it could drip down onto the study desk and leave a temporary stain. “Besides, the kids need me here.”

You nodded solemnly. “I know.”

You had seen firsthand evidence of exactly how much Ryland cared about his students. He always cheered them on, encouraging them to be their best selves no matter what life decided to throw in their paths. And from what you could tell, they adored him for it.

“But…” Ryland continued with a shaky breath. “I can’t do it.”

He shook his head, as if this entire scenario was unbelievable to him as well. But to you, this was hardly news. He had never been the bravest person…unless it involved you.

“What if I came with you?”

The decision had been made before you even opened your mouth. It had been so obvious; right there in front of you the entire time. You would do whatever it took to stay with your husband.

“What? No, Y/N, you can’t…” Ryland wiped at the tears that had begun to well in his eyes once again and amended his words. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

You reached for his hand across the study room table. The longer your fingers stayed intertwined, the more it struck you that this could be the last time you ever felt his touch. “But that way, you won’t be alone. It’ll be me and you, together. Okay?”

It was practically unthinkable for you to be separated from him. In the span of time that you had known each other, you had rarely been apart for so long, until now. You couldn’t conceive what it would be like to part with Ryland forever. For all intents and purposes, you were his only family.

“Okay. Yeah. We’ll do this together.” He wiped away yet another tear, seeming to resign himself to his fate. If all went according to plan, it was a fate you would share. “So how is this going to work?”

“I’ll just say…I don’t know.” You sat back in your seat, your posture straight. As soon as you spoke, the beginnings of an idea had already formed in your mind. “Someone has to record and keep track of all that data, right?”

You spent the rest of your time in the study room discussing everything you could do to persuade the team to send you along with Ryland on the mission. And in the middle of all your brainstorming, you came up with what you saw as a foolproof tactic.

You ultimately decided to offer yourself up as collateral. Ryland had helped you go over your argument time and time again, perfecting it until you were certain that there was no way the answer would be no. You would convince every government of the world to make an exception for you; make them see how much they needed you. Failure was not an option.

In the end, you would remember that moment as one of the worst moments of your life. It was second only to when the time came for Ryland to give his answer, a mere few hours later. The only small comfort you could think of was that you would be by his side long before the two of you wound up eleven lightyears away from Earth.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

From the moment you woke up on the Hail Mary, you forced yourself to remain calm and collected. Your mind was still fuzzy during your reintroduction to the waking world, but lucid enough to have your memories slowly return to you. At the very least, you could be grateful for that fact.

“Welcome back, Payload Specialist Y/N,” the ship’s computer greeted you when all was said and done, and you had passed the cognition assessment.

“Thank you, Mary,” you replied.

You decided to dress in the orange mission jumpsuit you had found that was tailored precisely to fit your frame. Directly above the patch with your maiden name on it, a golden winged badge had been affixed to your suit. It was as if you were meant to be part of the crew all along.

Flashes of memories passed through your mind, from your whirlwind plan to board the Hail Mary to the plan’s ultimate execution. You had gotten exactly what you wanted in the end. It had been surprisingly easy to convince the team to agree, despite all of the accommodations that would have to be made for you. Your presence on the ship was seen as an added incentive for your crewmate to complete the necessary work to save humanity. But that was something you had anticipated, and would never regret.

A minute or two of exploration revealed that you were not the only one who had survived the trip into space. You took a moment to pause at the signs that marked two of your fellow astronauts deceased, pondering what could have been. But all was not lost. Judging by the sole empty bed you had observed upon first waking up, at least one other person had survived besides you.

A series of footsteps caught your attention, abruptly bringing you out of your thoughts. And then a man stepped into the room.

“Oh, hey! You’re awake!”

You looked up sharply and found yourself staring into the captivating blue shade of his eyes. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought you knew him from somewhere, but you couldn’t be sure.

His blond hair was cut short, the way he clearly preferred it. His glasses rested properly on his nose, although they had slid down a bit. Oddly enough, you felt the need to readjust them for him. He even wore the same jumpsuit as you, identical to yours in nearly every way, except for the name Grace embroidered on the patch.

There was another name on the tip of your tongue that you were sure also belonged to him. You took a chance and spoke it out loud.

“Ryland?”

His eyes widened as you slowly stood up, intending to make your way over to him. He took a slight step back, as if to prevent you from coming any closer to him. You could understand; after all, you were as much of a stranger to him as he was to you. At least you had full confirmation that you weren’t the only person alive on the ship.

And yet the words that left his mouth filled you with a sense of dread.

“I guess you know me; that’s great, but…I don’t seem to know you.”

You indicated the patch on your jumpsuit as if it was the only thing that could help to jog his memory. “I’m your crewmate, Y/N.“

The words came out stilted, not quite the way you had imagined them in your head. You hated that you couldn’t fully remember anything about who you were, but it was the most logical explanation you could come up with. Of course you would be lucky enough to have the privilege of dying in space alongside such an attractive man.

“Y/N. Hi.” Ryland gave you a soft smile.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice equally as soft. It was as if you had known each other in a past life, and were picking up right where you left off.

Ryland stared at you over the top of his glasses. “So how much do you remember?”

“Not much,” you admitted. But as soon as you spoke, an idea struck home. You dug around in the pockets of your mission standard jumpsuit. “But I think these photos are supposed to help.”

Your hand closed around a Polaroid and you showed it off to Ryland. It had been one of the first things you had found among your belongings, and you were already growing particularly fond of it. In the photo, you stood in front of a library, a grin on your face.

Ryland leaned over to get a better look at the photo. He studied it as carefully as if he was studying a crucial science experiment. You caught the smile that flickered across his face.

After a moment, he looked up. There was something almost hopeful in his expression. “Can you help me get my memories back, too?”

In the span of that moment, you had found a new purpose, in addition to the one you already had. You would make it your mission to help Ryland remember his past, while figuring out the pieces that were missing from your own life.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I can do that.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You sat across from Ryland on the floor in the observation room, making sure to keep a careful distance. In between you, several Polaroids were splayed out in no particular order. Most of them had been stashed among your belongings, except for the single photo of him all alone that sat directly in the middle of the pile. By all rights, that belonged to him.

It had been your suggestion to try this method in the first place. You were thankful that it had helped both of you to remember a little bit more of your past, even if the first few memories to resurface were far from being as vivid as you’d hoped.

Each time Ryland remembered something new, he would run it by you, waiting for your confirmation or denial. The two of you would compare notes and see if your stories matched up. It had almost become a game that you thoroughly enjoyed. After all, it brought you closer to him.

There was no trace of the frightened man who you now vaguely remembered from your last moments on Earth. In fact, he seemed to be almost at peace with the situation.

Ryland spent his time toying with the simple gold ring that rested on his fourth finger, twisting it around almost long enough to become a habit. So far, he hadn’t asked you about it. You anticipated the inevitable day when that particular conversation would have to happen, since you had noticed a similar ring on your finger as well.

As if he could read your mind, Ryland looked up. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You know, I…” Tears began to form in his eyes, but he made no move to wipe them away. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

All of a sudden, leaned forward and wrapped you up in a hug. He clung to you as if you were the only thing in the world that was keeping him together. And up in space, that was more crucial than ever.

You immediately melted into his embrace. From what you could remember, the last time you had been so close to Ryland had been when the two of you were still on Earth. And now, it was like feeling the ground beneath your feet again. Like coming home.

You had slowly begun to remember bits and pieces about Ryland, triggered by an arbitrary set of variables that you felt you had almost figured out. He had been so touch starved, deprived of any other human connection before he met you. It hurt so much to think about, even after all this time.

You sat back and looked into his eyes.

“And I’m glad we’re not alone anymore.”

Without thinking, you reached for his hand. The moment your fingers brushed his, your heart began to race. But Ryland didn’t pull away. In fact, he laced his fingers through yours.

Little did you know how true your words would turn out to be.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

It had taken time to get used to the idea that there was intelligent life elsewhere in the universe. From the moment the Blip A arrived in your orbit, you and Ryland had been of the same mind, wanting to protect yourselves in case of the very real possibility that your companions in space were hostile. No matter the outcome, you would never be able to think of science fiction novels in the same way again.

You were well aware of the limits of what your mind could handle. Data sets and cataloging were no problem for you, considering how often you dealt with them in your career. The fact that aliens were real? That left you completely out of your depth.

You stood next to Ryland at the airlock as he prepared to communicate with the alien aboard the Blip A for the third time. He had foregone the bulky red EVA spacesuit that he had used during his first two trips into the tunnel that connected both ships. As Ryland had discovered, the precaution was unnecessary, since his half of the tunnel was full of oxygen.

This time around, he carried two of the laptops that had been stored on the ship, held together with duct tape and a dream. You had worked with him to establish a language model program; a better way to communicate with the almost spider-like alien who Ryland had decided to call Rocky. It was a historic moment that deserved to be celebrated and documented.

You held out your hand, an invitation for him to accept or deny as he saw fit. Ryland mimicked your motions, aligning his free hand with yours until your fingertips brushed. You took a risk and threaded your fingers through his.

“Be safe,” you told him, squeezing his hand once. It took everything you had not to let the words you truly wanted to say tumble from your mouth. You had no idea if he would ever be ready to hear them, coming from you.

“I will.”

You watched carefully as Ryland let go of your hand and began his journey into the tunnel. The long cords attached to the LED lights he had used during his second venture created a pathway for him to navigate his way forward. He walked backwards a few steps, allowing himself the best view of the Hail Mary…and you.

You lingered at the edge of the airlock for as long as you could. It became impossible to tear your eyes away from your crewmate. There was still a high possibility that this would be the last time you ever saw each other. If that was the case, you wanted to make sure that the moment would be ingrained in your mind forever.

Ryland gave you a smile that was barely visible from inside the dimly lit tunnel. This was shortly followed by a small wave, which you promptly returned.

When Ryland had fully disappeared into the tunnel, you headed back into the Hail Mary with a slightly heavy heart. You knew very well that there was still plenty of work to be done. And for the moment, you were the only one left to see that the tasks would be completed.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You spent hour after hour scrolling through all the data that Ryland had brought back to you, as a result of his subsequent trips into the xenonite tunnel. A small, triumphant moment of gloating had been allowed in honor of your past self’s intuition. You had been right, after all.

Your purpose in coming on the mission was even more vital than you had anticipated. The skillset you possessed in synthesizing data was best utilized towards transferring the information Ryland had obtained over to the probes that would eventually be sent back to Earth. You had made a promise and you were determined to keep it, despite your lingering ire at all parties involved.

The footage you viewed had been taken during the early stages of when Ryland had begun to communicate with Rocky, which already seemed like it had occurred a lifetime ago. According to the footage that had been captured so far, Rocky had proved to be extensively smart and curious.

“How many humans on Grace ship, question?”

“My original crew was four,” Ryland replied. “Two died on the way here. Now it’s only me…and Y/N.”

A crash sounded from somewhere on the ship, startling you away from the work you were supposed to be focused on. You paused the video and briefly took your eyes off of the footage before you had the chance to decide how to categorize it.

“Ry? Are you okay?”

The sound of footsteps was shortly followed by your husband’s voice. You recognized the tone; it was the one he used when his students were growing unruly. And it was something you hadn’t heard in a long time.

“Ryland? What’s going on?”

Moments later, his voice reached you. It was enough to calm you down, but only so much.

“Y/N, hey. Don’t freak out, okay?”

You kept moving forward, regardless of the request. Nothing good ever followed the words your crewmate had spoken.

The moment you stepped around the corner, your breath caught in your throat. You stopped in your tracks at the sight that awaited you.

“Oh my God.”

Nothing in the world could have prepared you to finally meet Rocky, in person.

Instead of being comfortable staying on his side of the tunnel, he was encased in a clear ball that allowed him to move around freely in the oxygen-rich atmosphere of the Hail Mary. If you had to take a guess, it was made of the same material as the tunnel connecting the Hail Mary to the Blip A. A material that Ryland had dubbed xenonite.

“Hello Grace friend! I am Rocky. Rocky from Erid.”

He raised one of his claws and waved at you.

“Oh.” You let out a slow breath in an attempt to calm your racing heart, then gave him a slight wave in return. “Hi. I’m Y/N.”

“Sorry about that,” Ryland said, turning to you and running a hand through his hair. His cheeks were slightly flushed. “He invited himself up.”

“My bedroom over there!” Rocky suddenly exclaimed, pointing to an empty corner of the dormitory.

You followed the gesture with your eyes, letting the words sink in. “You’re…moving in with us?”

There was a limited amount of space on the Hail Mary as it was. But now, if things worked out as planned, the space would be shared among three of you.

“Yes. Is good plan.”

“A plan I never agreed to,” Ryland protested.

The more you thought about it, the more it seemed to make sense. The three of you would need to work together, given the amount of work that would go towards saving Earth and Erid. That was the only way your stars would survive.

“I dunno,” you mused. “It could be fun.”

It would be a completely new experience for you. Then again, you had experienced a lot of things for the first time up in space.

Rocky was silent for a moment, as if he was processing your answer. And then a series of solemn notes came from his carapace, and he echoed your thoughts from moments ago.

“Crew must stay together.”

You exchanged a glance with Ryland, hoping to convince him that this was the right thing to do.

After taking a few moments to think it over, he relented.

“Okay.”

And just like that, it had been decided. Rocky would join your crew.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Over the past several weeks, you had been spending more and more time in the laboratory, looking over some of the experiments that Ryland had done with the Taumoeba. He had implemented Rocky’s breeder tank design and would occasionally ask you to check his work, a task you were all too happy to perform.

Ryland stood next to you, analyzing the samples as you input the data into the laptop. From time to time he glanced in your direction, as if he was working up the courage to ask you a question. And at last, he did.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

You looked up, giving him your full attention. Ryland leaned against the wall of the ship, having decided to take a break from his work. His gaze was fixed on you, as if you held all the secrets of the universe in the palm of your hand.

“Can you tell me that story again? About how we first met.”

You turned away from your work and decided to indulge him. That particular memory was ingrained in your mind, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. It was far past time that he knew the truth.

For a long time before you had even started dating, Ryland had been one of the San Francisco Public Library’s most frequent patrons. He’d tended to use the excuse of the quiet environment to spend his afternoons grading his students’ assignments. But, as you found out later, it was really an excuse to see you.

Over the course of several months, both of you had slowly gotten to know each other better. You had bonded over working with children and how much you enjoyed it. He became your favorite patron, though you would never admit it to anyone but yourself.

It had taken a long time before he’d worked up the courage to ask you out.

Ryland had a thoughtful look on his face when you finished your story. If he needed more time to absorb this information, you were determined to let him have it.

“So you’re telling me that we,” he gestured between the two of you, “were married.”

“Yeah,” you said. The words were careful, as if they would shatter the moment. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well, because…I wanted to ask you about this.”

Ryland held up a Polaroid and passed it to you.

Your mouth fell open and your heart skipped a beat as you absorbed each detail that you could discern. This was it; the photo you had been unable to find, until now.

“Oh my God.”

In the photo itself, you had been lifted into Ryland’s arms, bridal style, as if you weighed nothing more than a feather. The two of you had been captured mid-kiss, oblivious to the rest of the world. A diamond engagement ring rested on your finger.

If this wasn’t enough proof to confirm the validity of your past, you had no idea what it was.

“So it’s true,” he said. “You’re my wife.”

“Yeah. It’s true.”

Ryland stretched out his hand, spending several seconds gazing at the gold band that rested on his ring finger. The same one from the photo, unchanged and untarnished after all this time.

“Holy smokes.”

He looked back up at you, eyes filled with wonder. You held up your hand to him, bringing your own matching wedding ring into his field of vision. It was another testament to the truth, and you hoped that it would be upheld as valid in a court of law, especially given your current circumstances.

“I know.”

The vows you had exchanged still echoed in your mind, as clearly as if the event had only taken place yesterday. It had been a small and quick ceremony down at City Hall. That had been more than enough for both of you.

“I must’ve done something right,” Ryland said. “I mean, gosh. Wow. You’re just so…”

He gestured at you, as if that could encompass everything he wanted to say.

“Thank you.” A slight heat crept into your cheeks. The last time you’d heard such a compliment from him had been back on Earth.

It warmed your heart to know that your wedding vows still meant something.

He moved closer to you, until his hands came up to gently cup your face. You leaned in at the same time, making your intentions clear. It was the perfect moment, everything you had been wanting.

And just as his lips were about to lower to yours…

“What Grace Y/N doing, question?”

You jumped apart immediately, as if you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t have.

Ryland turned to face Rocky and put his hands on his hips. “Rocky, we talked about this. You can’t just interrupt us when we’re having an important conversation.”

“Grace Y/N very close proximity,” Rocky observed, completely ignoring the admonishment. “Increased heart rate. Is part of human mating process, question?”

Heat began to build beneath your skin. “How do you even know about that?” you asked.

“Grace teach Rocky human biology.” There was a pause, and then… “Humans need time alone to mate, question? I will give.”

Ryland covered his face with his hands. “Oh my God.”

With a series of satisfied notes, Rocky headed towards the dormitory, where his bedroom had been set up.

“Wow,” you said with a light laugh. “Is he always like this?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Ryland smiled. “But you get used to it.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The dormitory was bathed in dim light as the Hail Mary switched to the night cycle. You had settled in the space next to your husband, looking forward to spending another night in his arms.

Rocky prepared to watch you and Ryland sleep from his place above your bed. The Eridian cultural norm was something you still hadn’t quite gotten used to. But over time, you had come to accept it.

Ryland shifted onto his side, his arm stretched out towards you in invitation.

“Come here, honey.” He gave you a fond smile. “I sleep better when I’m with you, anyway.”

“Me too.”

You fulfilled his request and snuggled up to him. The warmth of his body was comforting as you rested your head on his chest. If you closed your eyes, you could almost pretend that you were back on Earth.

Muscle memory took over as your fingers wound absently through Ryland’s hair. Without prompting, another pleasant memory rose to the surface of your mind. There had been countless times when you and Ryland had lied together in bed almost exactly like this, talking late into the night. You had anticipated never having the opportunity to experience that again…but you had been proven wrong.

Ryland made a small sound in the back of his throat, bringing you back to the present.

You pulled your hand away as quickly as if you’d come into contact with the ammonia-rich atmosphere on Rocky’s ship. “Are you okay, Ry? Sorry. Was that too much?”

“No, no; please don’t stop,” Ryland said, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “That feels really nice.”

You didn’t hesitate to oblige him. Your hand went back into his hair and you continued to card your fingers through it. A soft smile spread across his face.

Eventually your hand motions stilled. But as your hand came down again, Ryland brushed his hand against yours before intertwining your fingers.

“Let’s stay like this for awhile,” you suggested.

“That’s a great plan. Yeah. I like that plan.”

Your eyes fluttered closed. For awhile you were content to lay beside your husband, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

You had nearly drifted off when Rocky decided to speak up.

“Grace still awake, question?”

“Yeah, pal.” The words were punctuated by a yawn. “What’s up?”

“You are lucky to have mate here.”

“Trust me, I know,” Ryland said. Even in your half-asleep state, you could feel his gaze drift to you.

“Grace Y/N complete human mating process. Have many tiny humans!”

You felt Ryland’s heartbeat speed up as he let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, maybe someday.”

A slow smile started to spread across your face. Though you had never had the opportunity to discuss it with Ryland back on Earth, you had always imagined that future for yourself. For a time, you had thought that there was a possibility that it wouldn’t be able to happen. But you had been proven wrong.

Your hands were still intertwined with your husband’s when you finally drifted off to sleep, fully content with your life for the first time in a long time.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The green light on the small handheld camera blinked once before remaining steady. You sat next to Ryland, making one last contribution to the series of vlogs the two of you had put together, detailing all your findings. Rocky had insisted on being a part of the project, offering valuable contributions and insight.

You had spent weeks on end making extra copies of all the research you had organized, as well as all of the footage from your vlogs, so that there would be an increased chance of it surviving. There had been enough storage space left for one last recording before the probes would have to be sent off.

“Do you miss home, question?”

“Not really,” Ryland admitted. “I have everything I need right here.”

“Same,” you added.

You looked into each other’s eyes. A smile spread across your face.

“Good good good. Other humans treat Grace Y/N like ♫. Eridians different. Eridians will love you.”

Tears began to well in Ryland’s eyes. “You promise?”

“Yes. I promise. Rocky love love love Grace Y/N.”

“Aw,” you said. “We love you, too, Rocky.”

You and Ryland enveloped Rocky in a group hug, the recording briefly forgotten. He participated in the only way he could, pressing up against the barrier of xenonite that kept him safe.

Eventually, Ryland turned back to the camera and gave his closing statement.

“This is Dr. Captain Ryland Grace and Payload Specialist Mrs. Y/N Grace, reporting from the Hail Mary.”

You performed an Eridian farewell for all the people of Earth, copying your husband’s actions. In the background, Rocky voiced his approval.

After making sure that the camera had captured everything, you leaned forward and stopped the recording. The screen faded to black, severing your last link to Earth. And in that moment, it was as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

No. That'd mean you're jealous, and you aren't. This isn't an exclusive thing between you two, just two people who like to have sex.

Have you had sex with anyone else since you two started hooking up? Not the point. The point is you're at a party and probably should be doing the same thing he's doing: flirting with people.

You look around the party for someone, anyone to come up to when you see a familiar face and you walk over.

"Mark Watney, right?"

The man looks at you and smiles, he's blonde and boyish- maybe reminding you a bit of... no. Reminding you of no one.

"Hey- yeah! We've met before, right?"

You two fall into an easy conversation over drinks, talking about your respective works and schooling and for a moment you see yourself going home with him or at least on a date later when-

"Hey are you free right now- sorry, Park was it? Do you mind if I steal her? Thanks, buddy."

And suddenly you're being dragged away by none other than Ryland Grace. 

His hand is warm around your wrist. He has a loose grip, like he already knows you won’t actually fight him on it. You stumble a half-step before catching up, shoes clicking against the floor as he weaves you through clusters of people toward the hallway.

“Wow,” you say dryly, once you’re out of earshot of Mark and the crowd. “Subtle. Really. No one will suspect a thing. You’re great at this whole casual thing.”

Ryland doesn’t let go immediately. He turns to face you, still too close, still holding on just long enough for it to feel deliberate.

“You looked busy,” he says.

“I was,” you shoot back. “That was kind of the point.”

“You seemed… interested.”

You huff a laugh. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, finally releasing your wrist, though his fingers brush yours on the way out, “you let me drag you across the room without putting up much of a fight.”

You open your mouth to argue that. Which you can’t. 

Annoying.

“You interrupted me,” you say instead, folding your arms. “I was having a perfectly nice conversation.”

“With Mark,” he says, like the name leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“So you do know his name?”

“Not the point.”

“Feels like the point.”

“You were having a conversation with Mark,” he just repeats.

“With Mark,” you echo, pointedly. “Who, by the way, did not physically remove me from any conversation to do so. Feel like I found a real winner.”

Ryland exhales through his nose, glancing past you toward the party just for a moment.

“You were going to go home with him.”

It’s not a question.

“So what if I was?”

Something flickers across his face. It’s fast, gone before you can pin it down.

“That’s...” he starts, then stops, jaw tightening briefly. “That’s not what this is.”

“Yeah, it’s not.”

The music from the other room thumps faintly through the walls. Someone laughs, distant and bright. And here you are, in this quieter pocket of space, standing too close to a man you absolutely, definitely are not jealous over.

“You had options too,” you add, nodding vaguely back toward the party. “That girl looked very interested.”

“She was boring. Dull.”

“And I’m not?” 

He meets your eyes then, properly this time, and whatever easy sarcasm he usually wears slips just enough to show something more focused underneath.

“You’re a lot of things. Boring’s not one of them.”

Your stomach does an annoying little flip. Stupid stomach, you ignore it.

“Then why drag me away?” you ask. “If you weren’t jealous.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t.”

Damn it.

You blink. “Oh.”

He seems just as surprised he said it, honestly. His gaze drops for a second, then comes back up, steadier.

“I just…” He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I didn’t like it.”

“That I was talking to someone else?” you press.

“That you were about to leave with him.”

The honesty of it sits between you, heavier than either of you seem prepared for.

You swallow, then recover, because that’s what you do with Ryland. Meet him where he is, push back just as hard.

“We’re not exclusive,” you remind him, softer now but no less firm.

“I know.”

“And I’m not yours.”

His jaw ticks, which makes you a little self satisfied. “I know.”

“Then what-”

“You wanted me to come over.”

“I-... what?”

“You kept looking at me,” he says, stepping closer now, closing that last bit of space you hadn’t realized was still there. “While you were talking to him. You kept checking if I was watching. Like you wanted me to come.”

“That’s-” You shake your head. “That’s not-”

“It is. You do that thing where you pretend you don’t care, but you do.” 

God he's insufferable. You haven't been able to stand him since you met him, because if Ryland Grace is one thing, it is sure of himself. Sure that whatever he has to say is the one and only true answer.

Unfortunately, it usually is, which makes him even more annoying. A guy who doesn't know what it's like being wrong in his chosen academic field is insufferable.

It’s even worse that Ryland is a decently nice guy outside of it all. Whenever you're talking about things outside of work and sex he's… sweet. It’s annoying. He cares about what you have to say and learns about your interests, he even read a book for you because you said in passing you enjoyed it.

Maybe that's why this is all more weird. The non-labels you put on each other and the way you bite at each other's necks in bed and in the classroom. 

You think of the jealousy that bubbled up in your chest when you saw him with that girl, just talking. You feel like a high schooler with a crush, and it's embarrassing. You wouldn't even admit to yourself you were jealous till he did. 

Why does it bother you so much? You’re casual, you two fight all the time, talk all the time, you know too much about each other, he's stupidly attractive, he smiles too brightly, he…

When did you start saying positive traits?

He’s really messed you up.

“Why do you always have to be so frustrating, Grace?”

Ryland huffs out something that might be a laugh, though there’s no real humor in it. He shifts his weight, like he’s trying to decide whether to deflect or double down, and, predictably, he doubles down.

“Because you don’t listen.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t listen? That’s rich, coming from you.”

“You don’t,” he insists, stepping a little closer again, like proximity will somehow make his argument win. “You hear things, sure, but you decide what they mean before I even finish saying them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you snap. “Am I misinterpreting the part where you dragged me away from someone I was hitting it off with because you ‘didn’t like it’?”

“Yes,” he says immediately.

You stare at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t go home with him, I didn’t say you weren’t allowed. I just-” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply. “I wanted you to choose not to.”

You cross your arms tighter, like that might hold your composure in place. “That’s not how that works. That’s not how this works.”

“I know how it works.”

“Do you?” you challenge. “Because it feels like you want something from me that you won’t actually say out loud.”

His gaze sharpens. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you.”

You open your mouth, then close it.

Annoying. He’s so annoyingly good at this. Why does he have to be good at everything? Can’t he be bad at something?

Relationships, you guess.

“I don’t want anything,” you say, a little too quickly.

Ryland tilts his head, studying you in that way he does when he’s about to dismantle an argument piece by piece. “Right. That’s why you were staring at me from across the room like you were waiting for me to kiss you.”

“I was not-”

“You were.”

“I was observing,” you correct. “There’s a difference.”

“Oh, of course. Purely academic interest.”

“Exactly.”

He steps even closer, and now it’s ridiculous how little space is left between you. You can feel the heat off him, the faint scent of whatever soap or detergent he uses.

“Then what was your conclusion?”

“That you have terrible taste,” you say, but it comes out softer than intended. “She was dull, remember?”

“That’s not it.”

“No?” you challenge, though your voice lacks its usual bite now.

“No. You were wondering if I’d leave with her.”

You hesitate, just for a second, yet long enough to give yourself away…

Ryland exhales, something almost like relief threading through it. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s what I thought.”

You hate that he’s right. You hate it even more that you don’t actually want to argue it.

“So what if I was? You don’t get to care.”

“You don’t get to care either.”

“I don’t,” you insist.

He gives you a look, skeptical, “Yeah, right.”

You glare at him. “God, I hate when you do that!”

“Do what?”

“That,” you say, gesturing at his face. “That look. Like you’ve already solved the problem and I’m just lagging behind. You always do it when we’re talking.”

“Well,” he says, not even a little apologetic, “in this case-”

“Stop it.”

“Stopping, we can talk about something else?”

You groan, “I don’t want to talk, Grace.”

He almost smiles, “...We could go back to my apartment.”

You hate how you don’t even remember the next twenty minutes before you end up at his place. You’re pressed up against his door, his lips locked against yours in a sloppy kiss. He tastes like shitty beer and mint chewing gum and you can’t get enough.

You do remember how it felt, however. The rush of adrenaline as he pulled you away, the way fumbled with the keys, breath uneven, forehead leaning against the door before he got it.

Now you’re getting dragged into his bedroom, getting his and your own shirt off in the process, leaving them somewhere in his hallway to pick up later. 

“You just need to get fucked, don’t you? That’s all you’re good for anyways…”

You hate how much his words turn you on. It’s like admitting you’re losing, but you can’t seem to care as you kiss him deeper, pulling at his hair that is far too soft. 

“So needy,” he chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips.

His hands are all over you, caressing your bare skin in an infuriating manner.

“You’re such an insufferable person,” you murmur, although there’s not any anger in those words.

“You keep saying that.”

“That’s because it’s true.”

Your words hold little meaning due to your hands, which are currently pressing on his chest. His hands push you backward so hard that you’re sitting right at the edge of the bed, your legs touching the mattress. Before you realize what is happening, he’s pushing you back, making you fall on the bed with a thud. You can't stand how cocky he looks at you when climbing over you and easily overpowering you. Stupid muscles.

“I’m an insufferable person,” he repeats, and his smirk deepens. Then he leans closer, his nose brushing against your cheek as a chill runs down your spine. “And you can’t get enough of me.”

You are about to interject with a sharp remark aimed at showing him what you think of his attitude until…he’s biting on your neck. It’s not a comment but a shuddery breath of air that comes out of you.

His hands start to travel downwards to the point where they meet the button of your jeans. The pressure his hands apply on them seems almost too much for your skin. Your button opens followed by the zipper. His hands move from there to find your waistband.

“You never know when to stop,” he whispers against your neck, “always thinking you know everything, and proud of it, too…”

He pulls down the hemline of your pants along with your undergarments and sits back on his knees, ripping the fabric free from your ankles. When you try to speak again, all that comes out is a whimper while he’s spreading your legs apart while enjoying the moment of victory.

You glare at him, trying to collect yourself. “That’s because I’m usually right.”

He gives an exasperated laugh like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard today.

“You seem pretty certain about yourself.”

His fingers brush against your clit and you can’t help but buck your hips, trying to get closer to the contact. But instead, he retracts just enough to keep you hanging by a thread, your body burning with need.

"You’re only irritated because you know I’m not inferior to you."

He slides a single finger inside you, but it’s far from enough. His eyes stay trained on yours, as if daring you to make eye contact. His fingers are wider than yours, and he fills you up better than you ever could. Not because of him. Definitely not due to stupid handsome Ryland Grace.

"You are so-," you’re cut short when he adds a second finger and your body gives a needy whine.

“Aw, did you want to say something?”

Your lips part to give a witty comeback, but before you can even think it, he tweaks his fingers perfectly…

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? You can say it. I like hearing you say that I’m better.”

“No, you- you’re not,” you stutter, but it sounds hollow. Your mind feels foggy and you feel helpless against him.

He pushes into you, pressing his body closer to yours. His thumb rubs against your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You moan in response.

He gives a contented chuckle, as if hearing your sound of arousal is the greatest compliment he could ever receive. He bends his fingers again, searching for that magic spot inside of you until he finds it. He doesn’t stop rubbing against your clit, either. The sensations become too much for you to bear.

“I think you do. I think I’m the only person that- that can get you this worked up, don’t I?”

His voice is full of arrogance, and you’re not fighting the urge to sink your teeth into him. All you can do is gasp and moan in pleasure, arching against his touch.

"Just say it. Say it, and I’ll make it worth your while."

You shake your head, refusing to utter the words he needs to hear. He hasn’t improved, you’re not going to give in. Not ever.

The pressure in your center mounts as his digits move faster than before, drowning your mind in waves of ecstasy. You’re on the edge, about to fall into bliss, and you’re breathing hard and shaking uncontrollably underneath him. His arrogant smirk is still plastered on his face, and you can’t stand it. You detest his self-satisfied expression, but you don’t dare speak up. The pleasure he brings is too much for you to resist.

"C’mon," he urges gently. "We both know that’s true. You’re playing coy with me now."

Oh God, you’re close, so close when-

He stops his hands.

You moan pathetically at the abrupt halt of his fingers, grinding your pelvis upward involuntarily.

"No no no," he whispers triumphantly. "Don’t be impatient. You can do this. You can tell me that I’ve won."

“Insufferable,” you tried saying, but it comes off sounding like a groan rather than a comment meant to sting.

His laugh was sharp, cocky, sending warmth spiraling through your body in an instant. He continued working his fingers, but now he did it slowly and gently, not hard or fast enough.

You tried wriggling around to make him apply pressure, but he held you down by putting one of his hands on your hip.

"You're so close," he whispered, and you felt it too, just within reach. "You're right there."

"Just shut up," you said, but you didn't really have any authority left when you said it. You couldn't deny how desperate you were for him.

With his other hand, he inserted a third finger into you, making you feel stretched to breaking point. “Just say it,” he commanded. “Say it and I’ll give you what you want.”

The pleasure was getting to be too much for you. The world seemed to spin and blur around you and all you wanted was relief from-

"You win," you say chokingly, surrendering at last. "You win, all right? You're better, you're better, you-"

He doesn't allow you to finish, his fingers pressing into you deeper, hitting that sweet spot within you that makes you spasm in response. Your toes curl against the sheets and your fingers dig into the covers.

He continues his constant rhythm, pumping his fingers inside of you and flicking your clit with his thumb while continuing the constant stream of compliments, yet these compliments he whispers softly into your ear, almost like a lullaby. "Good, good, you're so good, you're so good at this, you take my fingers so good, you're so good for me." You despise how these words make you feel your eyes roll back.

"You're so close," he purred, his fingers moving without mercy but not yet enough for your pleasure. Your hips bucked against his touch, desperate, and you found yourself pleading with him.

"Please," you whimpers, unable to say anything more than that. "Please, please, please-"

"Oh." He was smug-sounding, clearly pleased at your desperation. "You are so good, so good, but... What exactly do you want, can you tell me?"

A sob came from you and your hips started moving erratically against his fingers. So close and so much torture, you were close.

"Do you want to come?" his voice was too smug and filled with satisfaction. "Do you want to come?" 

"Yes!" You moan and sound near to insanity. "Yes, yes, yes! Oh, please, please-"

He curled his fingers within you once again, right where it was supposed to make you lose your mind and a loud whine escaped your lips.

“Please, what?" he asked in a murmur, his fingers continuing to move without stopping. He increased the pressure on your clit, making your head spin.  “You gotta use your big girl words.”

The rate at which his fingers moved in and out of you quickened. You could not think straight anymore; in fact, you could hardly remember who you were at that point. You needed more and more, needed him to increase the speed and deepen the depth-

“Please what?” he repeated, now close enough to whisper into your ear. "Tell me what you want."

Your hands grabbed onto his sheets as you struggled to speak. “Please... please make me come.”

He stuttered momentarily, obviously having not expected those words to come out of your mouth.

"Mmm, did it really kill you?" He asked, sounding smug as hell, making you hate him a little bit but also hating yourself for enjoying it. He began to move his fingers faster and faster, striking the exact spot every time.“Asking to come, that’s a good girl, that’s so good. You’re being so good, and you want to come, don’t you? Stupid girl wanna cum?"

You groaned in return, words forming nowhere. The pressure was added to your clit once more, and you squirmed under his touch.

He was relentless, fingers working faster and faster, pounding into that place within you again and again. You were so, so close, but you just needed a little bit more-

He bent down then, lips searing the flesh behind your ear. "Look at you," he whispered. "So pathetic, so helpless, so needy. You want this, don't you? You want this from me."

And that was too much, you cried out, head thrown back into the pillows, arms flailing about, trying to grab anything that might offer some sort of relief.

"Are you… are you close?" He whispered hoarsely in your ear, his fingers not stopping their ruthless motion. "Is the dumb girl close to coming?"

Words died on your lips, leaving you to whimper and sigh as your legs trembled, your hips involuntarily bucking into his touch.

He moved closer, his fingers speeding up and you let out a loud moan.

"Yes, yes, that’s it, you’re so close." He whispered again.

And then it hits you. It breaks down the dam in one fell swoop.

You come with a choked cry, pleasure crashing into you in waves. Ryland kept touching you, fingers continuing their movement inside of you, hitting that spot inside you as you bucked your hips into his touch.

You sobbed, hips twitching as you rode out the waves of pleasure. He praised you, whispers in your ear, and they made your mind spin.

Eventually, you relaxed against the mattress, se and limp. He withdrew his fingers from your body with a soft, wet sound. You moaned at the loss, but your body was too heavy.

He bent down and kissed you on the side of your neck.

"You did such a great job," he said. "You paid attention to everything I told you to do. You want some more?"

You nodded; you were still too relaxed to say anything. He lifted himself up and lay beside you, touching your lips with his fingertips. You weren’t trying to hide your eagerness when you sucked on his fingers, moaning at the taste of the salty, metallic tang of yourself. You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze. The expression in his eyes was almost glazed-over, like he felt as much as you did. He pulled his fingers from your mouth, and you whined in protest.

"Shh," he said, smoothing your hair back. "You did so great. You did so great."

You cuddled into him, feeling weak but satisfied. He put his hand on your hip and stroked you in slow circles. He was silent for a while, and you just enjoyed the aftereffects of the whole thing. After a few minutes, he finally spoke.

"Are you ready to keep going?"

You looked up at him, still weak in the knees, but you nodded.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm okay."

He moved then, rolling on top of you. His hands traveled over your body in an almost possessive manner, and you arched under his touch, wanting him even more. He leaned down and kissed you hard on the neck before flipping you over. "Good girl,” he whispered. “We're not done yet."

You moaned at his words, a heat beginning to rise within you. He pressed you down onto the mattress, his hands roaming over your body in a possessive way. His hands settled on your hips, fingernails biting into your flesh, leaving marks that had your toes curling in pleasure. He positioned himself over your legs, and the hard press of his erection against you had you moaning loudly.

His hands grabbed your hips, holding you tight as he positioned himself. Fingers bit into your flesh.

"Just loving being a slut for me... you're only ever mine right?"

You moaned, nodding eagerly. "Only you."

He thrust into you slowly, claiming you an inch at a time. Your moans followed his thrusts. He leaned in, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His forearms bore the weight of his body, pushing you against the mattress. For a while, he was silent, his breath coming in short bursts on your skin. You felt the tension in his muscles, his control, as he held himself back from plunging into you completely. He let out a long, low moan, struggling to hold himself together.

“Oh god, you always feel so good.”

Your moans were your answer as he was aware of you being overtaken with the urge and craving that you had begged to fulfill. Your movements were in an attempt to beg for more from him, only for him to push you down further onto the bed.

“Want something?” he taunted arrogantly.

“You know that I do.” Your intention was to be tough, but your moans came through more like a sad whine. His smile made you aware of how much pleasure you felt him give you before he pulled out of you completely in an attempt to make you feel like there wasn’t enough.

You let out a slight moan in your frustration at trying to move your body upward to achieve some friction from your efforts. However, his restraining hold did nothing but satisfy him.

“See…” he said with amusement in his voice. “Even without me you are a disaster, wait till I get started.”

You moaned once again, frustration rising inside of you. “Move, move, please,” you pleaded, trying to raise your hips once again.

"Move?" he echoed. "Can I hear a please?"

With a frustrated sigh, you answered: “Please, move. Please.” 

His face turned smug once again. “Good girl,” he purred. And with that, he moved forward again, thrusting in quick and hard. You moaned loudly, gasping in pleasure from the sudden feeling. He groaned deep and hoarse in turn. With one hand, he shoved your head down onto the mattress.

He kept moving, with a fast and rough rhythm. He slammed into you, as if he had to prove himself to you, his hand keeping your head firmly planted against the mattress. You moaned beneath him, totally unable to do anything but submit to him.

"Didn't you want this?" he murmured. "Didn't you want this from me? Didn't you want this?"

And then you moaned again, submitting completely to the sensations. You were already unable to speak coherently, only able to whine.

"You did so good,” he said again. "Being so good for me... just fucked stupid..."

He shifted a little, changing the angle and hitting a new spot inside you. You cried out, pleasure building and building with each thrust.

He groaned at the sound, his hand tightening in your hair. "There you go,” he murmured. “There you go, that's the spot. Right there."

You were consumed with pleasure, feeling like you were about to lose control. You held onto the sheets for dear life.

"You think Mark can do this?"

It dawns on you how serious he is being, realizing that it isn’t a joke anymore, but rather that he wants more from you.

"N-no..." you whined. "Can’t... oh god..."

You were so close, about to go over the edge again. Words were streaming from your mouth, meaningless pleas and curses.

"I see, dumb girl. I own you."

And his tone of voice made your entire body shake and wet your clit.

Because he was going to cum as well, you could hear how desperately he wanted this. How his hips moved randomly without any kind of rhythm. How raw and desperate his voice sounded at that very moment.

What a mess you were squirming under him, asking for some relief that wasn't coming while he was fucking you and pressing his chest to your back.

"God, I'm…" He's gasping for air and making wild thrusts into you. "I'm-"

"Please, please, please..." All you could do was whimper because of the pain and ecstasy in his actions.

"Just one more time, damnit, you're-" He panted. "-you're such a good girl."

Just like that, he shifted his position a little and placed his fingers onto your clit, making you moan with delight and shivers going through your whole body.

He growled, making low, harsh noises from deep inside his throat. "Yes, just like that," he said.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m- I’m--"

He comes hard, deep within you. His entire body shudders from the force of his orgasm, while you feel yourself contract tightly as he comes inside you.

His body remains there for a brief moment, breathing roughly into your skin. Then, he pulls himself out and rolls off of you, collapsing onto the bed next to you.

There was nothing left to do but lie still for a few moments and breathe, both of you out of breath and gasping for air. The only sound filling the room other than the labored breathing coming from you was dead silence.

You were tired, but filled with electric sensations. Your head was buzzing from the overload of sensations that had just taken place. It felt like being run over by a truck, but you wanted even more of it.

"Stop thinking too much," he finally spoke up.

"I am not overthinking anything," you replied, defending yourself.

"Well, you are always overthinking everything. I can practically hear your brain whizzing around inside that pretty little head of yours."

He leaned onto one elbow and gazed at you. Your gaze followed and noticed how his cheeks were flushed and hair all ruffled from your touch. He looked debauched, in a way that was brought upon by you.

"I'm not thinking too much about it," you reiterated, stubbornly defensive. "I'm just...processing."

"Which is what I was doing," he replied with a laugh.

You scowled up at him. His grin only made you feel even more flustered. Moving around, you could feel how moist your thighs were and realized that you were going to have to clean up yourself, but Ryland beat you to it by rising to go get a cloth.

You watched as he walked away from the bed, observing how large and muscled his back was, and found yourself irritated at your body’s reaction to the sight. It wasn’t really fair of Ryland to be so incredibly attractive.

He returned to the bed and sat next to you, cleaning the area between your legs.

After finishing, he tosses the rag into a corner, lying down beside you. Both of you are exhausted and covered in sweat, and the sheets seem to be stuck to your skin. It isn’t comfortable, but neither of you moves.

After a few moments of silence, both of you staring at the ceiling, you cannot stand it anymore.

"You were jealous," you say suddenly. "Tonight earlier. You were actually jealous."

He chuckles, not even denying what you said. "Yeah, I was."

Asking why, you shift onto your side so that you could look directly at him. "Why? It’s not like… we didn’t make a deal of becoming exclusive or anything."

"No, we didn’t." He paused. "But-"

He stopped, his forehead wrinkling. It seemed unusual for him to show such uncertainty about things.

"I don't like you with other people," he admitted.

"...I guess if you have that kind of feeling, we need another name for what's going on between us."

He looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Sighing, you clarified, "If you aren't okay with me seeing other people, then we need a new term to define whatever this is besides 'casual.'"

Ryland thought for a few seconds before answering. "So you're saying...?"

"You want exclusivity," you clarified. "You want a relationship."

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded once, jerkily. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I do."

You’re shocked, for a moment, before you shake your head, kissing him once.

“Sleep first and then we can talk about it, deal?”

“Deal.”

________________________

You are curled into a tight ball on the "bed"—that massive, reinforced platform layered with every soft textile and scrap of insulating foam salvaged from the Hail Mary. Every few minutes, a sharp, white-hot wave of pain rolls through your abdomen, a familiar monthly visitor that feels particularly cruel when you’re light-years away from a pharmacy.

Under your shirt, the jagged line of your "Rocky Scar"—the mark left behind when your Eridian friend saved your life—pulses in sympathy-like with the cramps. It’s a reminder of survival, but right now, you just feel like a mess of malfunctioning nerves and a waste of carbon.

A heavy, metallic thump-clack echoes across the floor. You don't have to look up to know it’s Rocky. His five-legged structure is as familiar to you as your own mind. Beside him, the lighter, more melodic tapping of Adrian’s claws follows.

"Question?" Rocky’s synthesizer voice rings out from the nightstand, clear and inquisitive. "Why is Human Y/N still in the insulation pile? The 'sun' has cycled twice. Teaching time is soon. Grace confused. I also confused."

You groan into your pillow, a sound that translates to the Eridians as a low-frequency distress signal. Adrian moves closer, her form rotating with concern. She reaches out a warm, stone-like limb, hovering it just inches from your back.

“Temperature is high,” Adrian’s whistles and clicks are translated by the small device clipped to her harness. “You are leaking heat. Is there a hull breach in your biology? Is human dying!? Please do not die! It would be very inconvenient and sad.”

"I'm not dying, Adrian," you wheeze out, squeezing your eyes shut as another cramp ripples through you. "It’s just... a human thing. My body is resetting. It hurts. A lot."

Ryland wanders in then, looking disheveled, holding a mug of chamomile tea the Eridians replicated. He sees the three of you huddled together and immediately softens. He knows the look in your eyes; he’s seen you power through lab accidents and alien microbes, but he knows this particular brand of misery is one that requires total surrender.

"They're worried about you," Ryland says softly, sitting on the edge of the platform and placing a hand on your shoulder. "Rocky thinks you’re melting because your core temp jumped a degree. I tried to explain human reproductive cycles to him, but he just got offended that your body 'destroys its own systems' once a month. He thinks it’s bad engineering."

“It IS bad engineering!” Rocky interjects, his claws clicking rapidly against the floor. “Why break the internal walls? Just keep the walls! If I built a ship that melted its floor every thirty days, Grace yell at me!”

"He's not wrong," you mutter, pressing your face into Ryland's thigh. "Ryland, tell them I'm okay. I just need to be a potato for about four days."

Adrian tilts her head, her eye focusing on where you are clutching your stomach. “You are in pain. Pain is for when predators bite. There are no predators in the dome. Except maybe the vacuum, but the dome is strong. If you are in pain, we must fix.”

"You can't fix it, Adrian," Ryland says, stroking your hair. "It just has to happen. Heat helps, though."

The word heat seems to trigger something in the Eridian pair. On a planet where the surface temperature could melt lead, "heat" is their specialty. They are technically biological furnaces, their carapaces radiating a steady, dry warmth that far exceeds any electric heating pad.

Rocky steps up onto the platform. The bed groans under his weight, but it’s sturdy. “I am heat, statement.” he declares with a flourish of his limbs. “I very good at being hot. I am the best heater on Erid. Adrian is also a good heater. We will insulate the problem.”

Before you can protest, Rocky moves with surprising gentleness. He doesn't crowd you; instead, he maneuvers his heavy, five-sided body so that he is braced against your back, his warm carapace pressing firmly against your spine. The heat is immediate and intense, sinking through your shirt and into your aching muscles. It’s a dry, deep warmth that seems to vibrate.

Adrian doesn't want to be left out. She climbs onto the other side, tucking her limbs in and resting her front-side near your abdomen, being careful not to put her full weight on you. She feels like a living stone warmed by a desert sun.

Ryland watches them with a look of pure, unadulterated affection, full of care. "I think you've been secured by the Eridian Heating Company," he jokes. He crawls into the middle of the pile, slotting himself behind Rocky so he can still reach over and hold your hand.

"This is... actually amazing," you whisper. The crushing weight of the Eridians combined with their radiating heat acts like a full-body pressure therapy. The sharp stabs in your stomach begin to dull into a heavy, manageable ache.

Then, the sound starts.

It begins as a low-frequency hum, so deep you feel it in your teeth before you hear it. It’s a rhythmic, pulsing vibration coming from both Rocky and Adrian. It isn't the musical whistling of their speech; it’s more primal, a steady thrum-thrum-thrum that echoes the beat of your own heart.

"Are they... purring?" you ask, your eyes fluttering shut as the tension finally drains from your shoulders.

"Yeah," Ryland whispers, his voice thick with sleepiness. "Rocky told me about this once. When they have 'pebbles'—their young—they communal-sleep. They produce a resonance in their carapaces. It’s meant to stabilize the heart rates of the young and keep them calm while they grow. It’s a biological lullaby."

“You are small,” Rocky’s translator chirps, though his voice is lower now, hushed. “You are un-harmonic. You are pebble today. We vibrate buzz pain away. Sleep now, statement. Grace, sleep. You are noisy when worry.”

Ryland chuckles, his fingers interlacing with yours. "Copy that, Rock'. Sleeping now."

The dome is silent save for that incredible, ancient purring. It’s a sound that has existed on Erid for millions of years, a song of protection and kinship. Nestled between the two aliens and the man who traveled across the stars with you, the pain in your body feels insignificant.

You feel the scar on your side—the one that matches the one on Ryland's arm. It feels warm, almost glowing against the heat of Rocky's shell. You aren't just a human in a dome anymore; you are part of their kin, a family that doesn't care about biology or species, only about the fact that one of their own is hurting.

The lavender and apricot light of the artificial sunset fades into a deep, restful indigo. As the Eridian purring synchronizes, your breathing slows. Ryland’s head drops onto your shoulder, his breath hitching in a soft, rhythmic snore. Adrian shifts her weight, her claws making a tiny, comforting tink against the bed frame.

The last thing you feel before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep is the overwhelming sensation of being loved—not just by a man, but by a planet. You are tucked into the safest place in the universe: a cuddle pile at the edge of the galaxy, guarded by two biological furnaces who think you’re a very poorly engineered, but very dear, friend.

Outside, the Eridian winds howl and bash against the glass, but inside, there is only the warmth, the purring, and the steady, unbreakable bond of home.

Taglist: @strigiform-titan @whats-my-hyperfixation @negativefoursanity @everythingismadeofchaos @t0nystank @greenlalianime @my-cat-can-slay-dragons @gardenavenve @whore-msc @goslingcore @rivercattail @ambertiger5 @starsbelongtotheworld @emmyishere77 @wayward-avenging @rocktthehouse @unabashednightmarepizza @lowbudgetdoll @lastminutescience @anixszci @lov3lanuage @hailholyground

Not even the quiet you were comfortable with before, the kind where you could sit tangled together and not speak for hours. No, this silence makes you feel empty, like something is missing.

And there is.

You notice it in the smaller things. The way Ryland used to reach for you hand like it was second nature, now he always hesitates, like he has to remember it’s something he should do. The way you both default to talking about work because at least then you don’t have to talk about what’s going on between the two of you. The way you miss him, even though he’s right there.

Tonight is another late one, or you assumed.

You rest against the edge of the bed, still in your work clothes, just… staring ahead at nothing in particular. The bedside lamp’s glow is warm and soft enough that it almost feels like things are normal.

Almost.

The door opens, and you don’t bother looking, you know it’s Ryland. You can tell by his stride, he’ll come in, say hi, get ready for bed, kiss your cheek, and sleep. It’s about what you’re used to.

“Hey,” right on cue.

“Hi.”

And even this sounds wrong. Far too polite, like you’re just coworkers seeing each other in the hallway.

Yet he doesn’t move for the bathroom, doesn’t go into the usual hollow rhythm. Instead, he just looks at you, staring, though doesn’t say anything. You can’t handle it, so you finally look at him.

“What?” you ask, and it comes out harsher than you meant. It’s not fair of you, he hasn’t done anything. You suppose that’s the problem, neither of you have done anything.

He lets out a sigh, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I think… I think I miss you.”

It lands quickly and hard. You miss him too, but you’re not sure if you can say it. So you don’t.

“I’m right here,” it’s defensive when you don’t want it to be.

“I know.” He moves closer, his voice quiet. “That’s kind of the problem.”

There’s silence again, but this one’s different. It’s full, like a pressure cooker begging to pop.

“I don’t want this,” he gestures between you both, “Us… feeling like this. We don’t act like we’re together. We just share a bed now.”

Your chest tightens. He’s right, and you have nothing to say. You’ve both known it, just too scared what would break if it was said.

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

Ryland laughs in a humorless way. “How could I not? I notice everything about you.”

He’s closer now, next to you. There’s exhaustion in his eyes and something else. Fear, maybe. Definitely.

“I don’t want to lose you to this project, or to… everything else.”

You shake your head immediately. “You’re not losing me.”

“Aren’t I?” His voice cracks and you feel even more guilty. “Because it feels like you’re already gone.”

Your voice is instant as your head snaps up.

“I’m not! Sorry, I-... I’m just overwhelmed. And tired… and scared. I mean- this whole thing is…” You gesture vaguely, like you could ever sum up what “this whole thing” is. “It’s a lot.”

Ryland nods, like he understands that part at least. Which- of course he does. He’s right there in it with you.

“It’s all terrifying.” He lets out a shaky breath, eyes dropping to the floor before flicking back up to you. “But I don’t want to be so busy being scared of the end of the world that I forget about… us.”

And he’s right.

Again.

Damn.

You swallow, and you feel your throat tighten. “I didn’t mean for it to get like this.”

“Neither did I.” His voice is gentle, not accusing, which somehow makes it worse. You know if it were you you’d be more frustrated. “It just… happened. One late night turned into ten, turned into not talking, turned into…” He gestures vaguely, like you had. “This.”

“We’re really bad at this, huh?”

“At saving the world?” he tries.

“At being together.”

That wipes any hint of humor from his face. “I don’t think we’re bad at it,” he says, inching even closer now, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. “I think we just stopped trying.”

Ouch.

Your eyes sting a little at that, and you hate how it feels. How true it is. Not because you stopped caring, but because you assumed he’d always just be there. That you both would. That love alone would carry the weight without effort.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you admit. “You always look so… focused. And I know how important all of this is and I just- I didn’t want to be another thing pulling at you. I knew I was stressed enough. I couldn’t imagine how it was for you”

His expression softens immediately, something almost pained flickering across it. “You’re not a burden.”

“I know that, logically,” you say quickly. “But it feels like it sometimes. Like if I ask for more of you, I’m taking you away from something that matters. And I am! This is bigger than either of us!”

Ryland shakes his head as he moves closer till his legs are almost touching yours. For a few seconds, his hands dangle limply from his sides; he seems to have forgotten what he should be doing with them, before his fingers move tentatively forward, hesitantly seeking contact.

As though he's asking for permission.

That comes close to breaking you.

"You matter. Not less than the project, not less than anything. You matter with it. I just… forgot how to show you that. I’m sorry."

His fingers brushing yours makes you hold your breath. It's such an insignificant touch, barely more than the gentlest pressure between two people sitting next to each other. But it feels louder than anything in the world.

"I missed this," you murmur, glancing down at where your fingers brush.

"Me too."

The way he intertwines his fingers with yours is slow and careful this time, and it almost feels as though he's trying to learn something long-forgotten. Your hands tingle as his thumb skims across your knuckles.

"...I miss you," you confess, voice trembling slightly.

Ryland exhales, apparently relieved to hear you say so. "Yeah?"

You nod quickly. "A lot. Even when you’re right in front of me, I just… I felt like I couldn’t reach you anymore.”

"I'm right here," he whispers back, repeating what you'd told him earlier, but softer, warmer, as though he thinks he can somehow make that happen. He isn't being defensive, he's trying to reassure you. "You can reach me."

Your gaze lifts from the floor, meeting his once again. The weariness, the tension, the worry, but underneath, he hasn't changed at all. The same guy who used to wrap you in his arms automatically, without ever having to ask questions.

Your free hand rises, tentative, resting against his face within moments. He leans into your touch almost immediately, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he’s starved for contact.

"I don't want to lose you," you whisper.

"You won't if we stop pretending nothing’s wrong," he responds quietly.

And then, before you realize it, a tear slides down your cheek, eliciting an embarrassed little laugh from you. "Wow… not how I thought tonight would go"

But Ryland just offers you a soft smile, albeit one tinged with sadness of its own. "Me neither. I was ready to go in there and brush my teeth and pretend we were fine."

You pause, tilting your head. “Why tonight?”

“Hmm?”

"Why talk tonight? Why didn’t you just go to sleep?"

"...Then I realized that I missed loving you."

You laugh, but your eyes are more wet now. "Well, that fits pretty well."

His hand moves up and brushes away the tears from your face, resting his thumb there. "Hey- everything is fine. It's just that we… needed to talk. And maybe…," and then he pauses, for a moment looks down at your lips and back up "Maybe we just needed to remember how to love each other."

"…Yeah," you whisper. "I think I remember."

And this time when he bends down, there is no fear of rejection.

It’s a slow and sweet kiss, like you are afraid that one of you will stop. But you don’t, and he pulls you by the neck, and you clutch onto his shirt, it turns passionate.

And it feels like months of separation were poured into it, and it is all messy and sweet and right.

You move away just far enough to lay your forehead against his, both of you are catching your breaths.

"Hi there," he says quietly, his lips forming a smile.

You make a sound of amusement and laugh softly. "Hi."

His smile lingers, softer now, but there’s something different in it, something warm, a little more certain. Like he’s not afraid you’re gonna slip through his fingers the second he lets go.

Neither of you pull away.

Your noses brush, breath still uneven, and there’s this quiet moment where you just look at each other, really look, like you haven’t had the time to in months. His hand is still cupping your face, thumb absentmindedly tracing along your cheekbone, like he’s relearning you by touch.

“You’re… really here,” he murmurs, almost like he’s convincing himself.

You huff a soft laugh. “Last I checked.”

“No, I mean- you feel here again.”

That does something to your chest.

Your fingers curl into his shirt again, but this time it’s not out of urgency, instead it’s grounding. “You do too.”

There’s a beat. Then his eyes flick down to your lips again, slower this time, more deliberate.

“You gonna kiss me again,” you whisper, “or just think about it?”

That earns you a quiet, breathy laugh (one you haven’t heard in too long) and then he does.

This one is different from the first. It’s still deep, still full of everything you haven’t said, but less overall frantic, more intentional. He leans into you, and you lean back, and somehow you end up shifting without really noticing until you’re the one being eased back onto the bed, the lamp casting everything in that same soft gold.

His hand slides from your cheek to your jaw, then down, pausing at your neck like he’s checking if this is still okay.

You tilt your head slightly into his touch in answer.

“Missed you,” he murmurs against your lips, the words barely there.

“I’ve heard. I can tell,” you hum, though your voice catches a little when his thumb brushes just under your collar.

He smiles into the kiss and it makes something warm bloom low in your chest.

For the first time in a while, neither of you are trying to beat a clock or steal a moment between obligations. His hands take their time, tracing familiar paths like he’s reminding both of you what this feels like. You shift under him, closer, and he exhales softly at the contact, forehead dropping briefly to yours again like he needs the pause.

“God,” he mutters, almost to himself. “How did we go so long without this?”

You brush your thumb along his cheek, catching the edge of a tired smile. “We were being very noble and self-sacrificing.”

“Yeah. Nice way to say stupid.”

You both laugh, and it breaks whatever tension was left. Soon enough, his lips are back on yours, sure of himself. One hand moves from your face and begins to move upwards under your shirt, and it feels so good you feel goosebumps up your back.

"This needs to come off," he says against your lips, starting to pull the bottom of your shirt.

You chuckle lightly against his lips, "Does it now?"

Ryland lets out something akin to a groan, which you have not heard in a long time. The shiver you get makes heat flood through your core.

"Yeah, it does..."

His hands won't give any space to raise questions. You can feel him taking off your shirt and throwing it to the side, his gaze traveling over you in a way that leaves you with no other choice but to shiver.

"My sweet boy… you're all wound up… show me you missed me?"

Ryland swallows hard, looking at you with lips slightly parted.

"Always."

Hands go for your waist and unbutton your pants, quickly pulling them off along with your underwear. Lifting your hips a little helps you get rid of the last bit of fabric that is in his way.

He stares at your eyes with a hungry gaze, taking in your appearance, and the way his eyes travel over you makes you feel hot.

"Holy moly, I forgot how pretty you are."

"Fuck- good... show- God... I want you, Ry..."

A shiver runs through you as Ryland’s hands drift higher, brushing just above your knee before sliding slowly along your skin. Not pressing, only grazing - enough to pull a breathless sound from your throat. Each curve of your body seems to hold his attention, studied without hurry. The space between his palm and your hip feels charged, empty in the worst way. You shift slightly, chasing pressure that doesn't come.

Shivers run through you when he touches you. His name slips out, “Ryland…”

He lifts his gaze suddenly, away from his hands, locking onto you as if pulled by something deeper than sight.

"What do you want?" He murmurs.

You speak so softly, each word heavy, as if dragged from deep inside.

“Please touch me…”

Ryland isn’t making you plead, no, not now. Down your body he goes, lips brushing skin in soft trails while his tongue explores each spot it finds. Your thighs part with little resistance under his touch. There he settles, right where the heat builds.

A shiver runs down your spine as his hand climbs up your thigh. Soft touches trace the warmth beneath your skin. One by one, moments stretch into quiet breaths. Fingers drift where heat begins to rise. Movement slows just before everything tightens. A pause lingers in the air between you.

“You’re so wet…”

You clamp down on a sharp breath instead of letting it out. Your body fights the urge to make noise. Hips lift slightly, chasing contact, seeking pressure where his hands are

He lets out a little hum, almost laughing. The warmth of his breath brushes over your skin.

His thumb swipes over your clit, resulting in a gasp. There’s this moment where he remains hovered, just a breath away, like he’s taking a second to savor this. To memorize like it’ll be gone again.

He lets out a shaky exhale and then he’s on you. He pushes two fingers between your folds, while his mouth wraps around your clit. Your hips jerk up against him on instinct, and then he's holding your hips down, lapping and sucking with a fervor.

You cry out and try to muffle the sound with your hand, legs shaky as he flicks his tongue over you. He knows your body way too well, even with the time. He uses all the tricks he perfected over the time you were together. All the right spots to focus on, the pace to keep, the pressure to apply. He takes you straight to the edge, then pulls back just as you feel yourself start to lose control. He teases, he draws it out, but doesn’t let you tip over. It’s torturous. Jackass.

"Oh my god- oh my god,” you whimper and grip his hair.

Ryland moans against you, the vibration making you arch off the bed. It’s like he’s getting just as much pleasure out of this as you are. The sound is filthy and so so loud in the confines of the room, but you could never be upset about it.

"Ry- please," you gasp out through panting breaths. "Don't stop- please-"

"You taste so good," he mumbles against you, voice hoarse, the vibrations against your clit sending shocks through you. "I missed this. You."

He goes back to where he was, lapping at you like he's trying to learn you again, like this is the only thing that matters. That has ever mattered. His fingers grip you firmly, keeping you still. You’re mewling and writhing helplessly now, unable to stop the sounds coming out of you. You’d be more embarrassed if you could think straight. Luckily, you can’t.

”I’m gonna c-mmmm..."

Ryland picks up the pace, sensing you’re close. His hand presses into your hips tighter, and you can feel your thighs shaking.

"Please, please, please,” your hand tugs at his hair desperately. "Please let me- I need to- ah- you can't tease- it's not fair, it's not fair... it's been so long..."

Ryland just hums in response, the sound low and sending shivers running down your spine. He finally gives you what you want, what you’re both craving. He sucks your clit hard, pushing his fingers into you in a come hither motion, finding that sweet spot that makes you keen in seconds like it’s second hand.

"Oh fuck," the words are moaned out on an exhale like a prayer. "Oh God, that's- that's so good, so- so- mmmmm...”

You're already lost, hands gripping the sheets, your back arching off the mattress. He works you like he can never get enough of you, like each sound and twitch is some kind of reward. His reward, given completely to him, reveling in it.

Your legs are shaking hard now, your toes digging into the mattress as he works you toward the edge again, and then you’re there. He holds you firmly, doesn’t let you move, just keeps going until you’re coming apart. Your whole body tenses as you come hard, head thrown back in a silent scream as pleasure floods through you.

You whine in protest as Ryland withdraws his tongue, and then he’s pulling away enough to look up at you. He’s panting, face pink and wet, looking like a wreck.

”That… was... wow."

You’re panting too, legs still shaking, body shuddering with aftershocks. You look down at him, at the way he’s looking up at you through his eyelashes, eyes light.

"You’re so pretty,” you whisper, voice hoarse, pushing a hand through his hair. "I love you so much."

Ryland grins up at you and moves up the bed, crawling up your body and settling between your legs. He’s hard, you can feel his cock against your thigh, leaking already and it makes you shiver.

It feels insane that you want him this badly still, even after all the time that’s passed, the distance you felt. But God, you do. You want him. The fact that he’s still yours, and that you’re still his, it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

"Need your pants off..."

“Impatient,” he echoes himself, but with a bit of a chuckle thrown in for good measure.

Your eyes roll as you grin, feeling brave and frantic. You lift yourself up just enough so that you can unbutton his pants efficiently and slide them down along with his underwear.

There’s something comforting about the sight of him, flushed and naked before you. It’s nice, the way his weight settles against your own. He reaches an arm around himself to guide himself into position. The hand that holds you by the hip is familiar.

“Are you alright?” he questions softly.

“Yeah,” you reply, breathless. “Definitely.”

He draws you closer to him with his hand placed on your hip, and then he starts moving inside you slowly. You try to position yourself properly for him. He takes a breath and slides inside you deeply without hurting you. And then he starts moving inside you slowly, and you find yourself moaning very soon. His hand moves off your hip, goes up, and rests on your chest, on your breast.

"God, look at you," he says, and you feel something squeezing in your chest due to the awe in his voice. He looks down at his hand touching you, as if he is witnessing something unbelievable.

“You’re so perfect.”

Your head hangs back, your hands gripping his arms as you press your hips against his in time with his thrusts. You drape one leg over his waist, your mind foggy and unable to think about anything else except for him. There’s nothing else that you can concentrate on other than how he feels within you.

“I forgot…” you choke out, your nails digging into the skin on his arms.

“What did you forget?” he manages to rasp, his teeth gritted together, as he begins to thrust at a more rapid pace. One of his hands slips down to your waist, restraining you, and he drives into you harder, just a bit roughly.

“Just how good you feel,” you manage to say in a voice choked with desire.You squeeze him instinctively, causing him to groan, low and rough, as he grips your waist.

“You sound so good,” he murmurs, eyes squeezed shut, focusing on the movements. “I…want… need you…”

The perspiration is glistening on his body from where his skin touches your thighs, stomach, and chest. He leans in close and plants a kiss on one of your breasts, sucking on your skin while nipping at your nipple.

Your muscles clench from that small sensation of pain and another moan is released without any consideration of how loud it might be this time, arching your body towards his. You hear his breathing getting heavier and the noises he is making because he is slowly losing control over himself.

His mouth touches yours and a hard bite is administered on your bottom lip while tongues fight, his hands find your chin and trace your cheeks as he continues thrusting into you with ever more desperation.

Every time there is a snap of his hip against yours, every time he thrusts deeper into you, moans and whimpers are being squeezed out from your throat. You grasp at his back as tight as possible, your nails biting into his flesh harder than intended.

"Not gonna...last," he grinds out, and the sentence gets your heart racing. You whine, tugging at him, begging for him, and your entire body is shaking.

"I don't care," you rasp out.

"You close too?" he pants out, his hips moving inside you ever faster until his entire steady rhythm disintegrates. You breathe in a gasping moan, utterly incoherent.

"Yes, yes, so close - god, please- " you cry out, your legs shaking and your back bowing in pleasure. Another thrust from him leaves you seeing stars and sends you tumbling over the edge. He follows not long after, stilling inside you as he mutters curses under his breath, and somewhere along the line you realize that his cock is inside you in the deepest way possible and that this is one of your favorite things in the entire world.

He collapses atop you, both of you sweaty and panting for breath. He buries his face in your shoulder, nuzzling at your neck, and you can feel his erratic chest against yours.

With whatever strength you have left, you find the capacity to hold onto him, and for several seconds there, you merely remain like that, catching your breaths.

You feel like a rag doll; like your muscles have utterly deserted you, and you cling to him as if your body physically cannot move. Ryland makes a heavy sigh against your flesh, and you hear a soft chuckle resonate in his chest - a laugh that you know means that he's being far too smug about everything, but you simply cannot be bothered.

"Shut up," you murmur.

"I never said anything," he says back, and he’s still holding you close to his body, his voice sounding muffled against your skin.

"But you’re smiling. I know that for a fact."

Then he laughs, and then he pulls away to look down at you, with an amused expression in those light eyes of his.

"You love it."

You exhale, but then you can’t deny that either, and you know that he could see it in your face. He’s still deep inside of you, but he’s relaxing, and even when things are messy, you simply don’t want to let him go.

Your hand reaches to stroke away the wet hair from his forehead, your hand sliding across his face until it stops at the side of his cheek.

"...Will things be alright between us?"

It seems to surprise him a little; you can see by the way he looks at you, not having expected you to change your mind in such a way. But he gets over it quickly enough, shifting slightly, so that he’s no longer leaning on you. Instead, he draws you in closer, and you let him without a second thought, your head pressed into his chest.

He leans his head onto yours, tracing his hand down your back.

"Yeah,” he whispers. “I think it will be.”

His answer fills your heart, warming and comforting you, and as you allow yourself to melt against him, you catch a sigh escape from him, like he had been holding it in as long as you did.

“I love you,” you murmur against his skin, feeling his arms wrap around you.

“I love you too.”

You pull back far enough to look up at him, seeing the guilt that is written all over his face, regret that you have seen etched into him for months.

You take your hand and run your thumb along his cheekbone gently.

"Hey," you whisper softly, looking at him with gentle eyes. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?" He replies in his own defense, as if trying to hide that he is feeling guilty.

"Blaming yourself for everything.”.

"I don’t blame myself.”

Your brow arches skeptically, making him roll his eyes in return.

Ryland huffs and falls backwards, hitting the pillow with a dull thud.

"Okay, maybe I blame myself a little bit."

You roll your eyes, and one corner of your mouth twitches up. "Sometimes you’re an idiot, we both are. But…we’re okay now."

"Yeah," he agrees, and a smile tugs at his lips, and you see it, and it tightens your chest for some reason.

His eyes flutter open again, and he leans down to look at you, his hand reaching out to cup the side of your neck. He runs his thumb over your lower lip, doing nothing to diminish the heat that’s pooled in your stomach ever since he had done what he did just moments before, but this was new.

He trails his fingers down your neck and along your collarbone, and his eyes follow suit.

You follow his movements, fingers tracing his neck, feeling the stubble on the skin. He closes his eyes once again, leaning into your touch, enjoying it.

You move closer to Ryland, and he sighs, wrapping his arms tighter around you.

There’s nothing but you two right now, and it feels right.

____________________________

You don’t usually notice men like Ryland Grace.

That's the first lie you told yourself, standing in your brother’s too-warm living room with a drink you won't finish, watching him from across the clutter of half-empty glasses and loud, forgettable people.

He didn’t belong to your usual orbit. No sharp edges, no practiced charm. Not a womanizer.

You had spent years learning how to read people, find the men that take, the ones that trip over themselves to please you.

He wasn’t one of them. Shouldn’t have been, anyway. Awkward posture, careful smile, hands wrapped around a bottle of beer like he was unsure of where else to put them.

He looks like the kind of man who would cry if you so much as glanced at him, with his cozy sweater and wire frame glasses.

Maybe that’s what drew you in. You chew most men up, but you could eat this one alive.

You approach him in the kitchen, deciding you need something stronger than the rum punch in your hand. He’s getting water.

“You look like you don’t want to be here,” you say, immediately opening up the alcohol cupboard.

He turns to you, startled.

“Um, hi… I don’t, not really,” he tells you, smiling sheepishly. “These things… they aren’t my kind of scene, y’know? House parties. I feel a bit too old for them. But Marcus is a good friend, and I felt kind of rude saying no.”

“He wouldn’t have found it rude if you did,” you respond, finding the vodka easily. “He might have jokingly called you boring, but he’s chill like that.”

“How do you know Marcus?”

“He’s my brother.”

“Oh, you’re uh- you’re the sister that’s been travelling for the last few years, right? He said you only came back to San Francisco a few months ago.”

“That’s me, yes,” you pour yourself a generous solo cup of vodka and lemonade, and grab a straw.

“Where did you go? Like, where did you, um, travel?”

“Oh, all over,” you wave your hand casually, like it’s nothing. “Europe, Asia, Africa. Wherever the wind took me.”

“Why did you, well, do it? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“There’s more to life than boring, meaningless work and the day-to-day grind. I wanted to experience the world before settling down more, see what the universe has to offer.”

“And what did you find- like, uh, what did the universe offer you?”

“What didn’t it? Culture, people, odd jobs that I enjoyed more than the dead-end office job I had before dropping everything and leaving on a whim.”

“Sounds fun. You’re an impulsive person, then?”

“I guess. I don’t really see it as impulsivity, more of a hunger for more than what life placed in front of me,” you sip your vodka, hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter.

“That actually sounds… pretty great. Out of everywhere you went, did you have a favourite?” He asks, taking a swig of his water.

“Oh, gosh. I went to so many places, but I absolutely loved Namibia. I don’t think enough people give Africa a chance,” you shake your head. “I really enjoyed my time in Singapore and Estonia, too.”

“Woah, so you’ve been all over. I wish I had the guts to drop everything and do the same, but I’m pretty comfortable where I am.”

“What do you do, uh….?” You tilt your head, not bothering to hide the way your gaze drags over him slowly and deliberately, like you’re deciding something.

“Ryland,” he says quickly, then winces like he said something wrong. “I’m, um- I teach middle school science.”

“Ryland,” you repeat, testing the weight of it on your tongue.

You watch it land, the way it does something to him, subtle but unmistakable.

You love doing that to men. Something small. Something simple. And suddenly they’re yours to study.

Most of them are easy after that. Easy to wind up, easy to take apart. Like dolls with predictable seams.

Fun, for a while.

Disposable, eventually.

Your gaze lingers on him a second longer than necessary.

Something about this one feels… different.

Softer, maybe. Not weaker, just… unguarded in a way you’re not used to. Like he hasn’t learned to expect anything from someone like you.

He’ll definitely be fun.

You almost feel bad about it.

Almost.

“That’s a pretty admirable job,” you say, letting a note of approval slip in, like a reward he didn’t realise he was waiting for. “I don’t think I could handle working with kids.”

“Sometimes I don’t think I can handle it either,” he admits with a small laugh. “But I do like my job.”

You tilt your head, studying him again, more openly this time.

That’s what catches you. Not the words, not the awkwardness. The sincerity. He really means it.

“Mm, it’s pretty special. You’re in charge of imparting knowledge onto the next generation. Making our future scientists.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” he says, shaking his head, a small, self-conscious smile tugging at his mouth. “Sure, they enjoy my lessons, but I don’t think I’m the one that’s inspiring them to be scientists.”

“Do you always sell yourself short like that?” You raise an eyebrow.

He blinks, caught. “Like what?”

“Like, denying you have any impact,” you shift your weight, angling yourself toward him fully now. “Passion always starts somewhere. More often than not, it’s with good teachers. You seem like a great one.”

“Oh- well… I…,” he ducks his head, the tips of his ears turning a pretty shade of pink. “Thank you.”

You watch it happen.

God.

Most men preen when you compliment them. Straighten, sharpen, take up more space like they’ve earned it.

He does the opposite. Like he doesn’t quite know what to do with being seen.

“So, Ryland,” you say, idly stirring your drink with your straw. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“A girl- girlfriend? I- no- um,” he clears his throat, composure slipping through his fingers. “No, I don’t. Dating isn’t really… I haven’t for a while.”

There it is. Open space.

Easy.

Amazing.

You hum thoughtfully. “Mmm, that seems like a shame. You’re cute.”

The effect is immediate.

Colour floods his face, quick and helpless, like he doesn’t have the defenses for this kind of thing. His mouth opens, closes, opens again.

“Um- I- uh… tha… thank you?” His voice cracks just a little.

God.

You almost smile.

“Do you want my number?” You ask, biting your lip and catching his gaze, holding it there just long enough to mean something.

“I- uh! Wh- oh… yes! Uhh, of course… yeah, totally,” he stammers, already fumbling his phone out of his pocket.

You watch his hands as he unlocks it. Steady enough, but careful. Like he’s concentrating harder than the task requires.

His fingers brush yours lightly as he hands it over, and he pulls back quickly.

You enter your number, then hand the phone back to him.

“There,” you say lightly. “Now you can decide later if I’m a good idea or not.”

“I feel like I should’ve figured that out before giving you my phone,” he laughs breathlessly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You tilt your head, studying him again.

He looks down at the screen, then back at you, still a little dazed, like this entire interaction hasn't quite settled into reality yet.

"I mean... I don't usually do this," he admits.

"Do what?" you ask, even though you know.

"This," he gestures vaguely between you, flustered all over again. "Talking to someone like- like you."

You raise a brow, a slow smile curling at your lips. “Someone like me?"

He immediately regrets it. You can see it happen.

"I just mean- you seem very... confident," he rushes to clarify. "And I'm not, so- this is new."

“New can be good,” you say, softer this time.

He nods, a little uncertain, but smiling anyway.

“Anyway, I’m gonna mingle. See you around, Ryland.” You push yourself off the kitchen island as you speak, already halfway gone before the moment can settle.

“Y-yeah! See you around!” He says quickly, nodding a little too hard.

You don’t look back.

You don’t need to. You know he’s watching you leave.

You smile to yourself as you slip back into the noise of the party.

Hook, line, and sinker.

It’s easy.

It’s always easy.

Truth is, you do this because you’re bored. Because stillness has never suited you, and neither have people who come too neatly, too predictably. You’ve chased cities, moments, stories. Anything that feels like more.

Men just happen to be the most convenient way to find it.

They fall into place quickly. A glance, a smile, a well-placed word, and suddenly they’re leaning in, offering themselves up without realising it.

You draw them in, have your fun, but drop them before it gets too deep and will hurt too badly.

Chew them up, spit them out.

That’s the way it goes.

Annoyingly, your attention drifts back to the cute blonde in the kitchen.

The sincerity in which he told you he likes his job. The way he flushed when you called him cute, like it meant something to him instead of just being part of a script.

You frown, tapping your fingers against the side of your glass.

Strange.

He should already be filed away. Another pleasant distraction. Another easy win that will inevitably reach out and practically beg to be used.

Instead, he lingers.

You exhale through your nose.

You might have found yourself a problem.

That’s confirmed later that night, when you’re alone in your tiny apartment with thin walls and water damaged ceilings.

You’re sprawled across your couch, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram when you receive a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hi, it’s Ryland from the party. Would you like to go out sometime?

You smile, fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment.

There’s something about the text. No performance. No attempt to impress you.

Just a question, set down gently. Your move.

You: Hey! Yeah, I’d like that. When were you thinking?

A date. Maybe two.

Enough to satisfy your curiosity.

Then you leave before it gets complicated.

Though, deep down, you know something.

Ryland Grace is the kind of person that sticks around.

The bar he chose is dim in an intentional way, all warm light and soft noise. The kind of place that isn’t trying too hard.

You are.

Not obviously. Never obviously.

But two weeks of flirty, teasing texts back and forth with Ryland have made you actually excited for today.

Your outfit is chosen, not thrown on. Your hair sits exactly how you want it to. Every detail curated down to the lacy bra and panties beneath your cute clothes.

You wouldn’t call it hopeful, you know how dates like this usually end. You’d call it efficient planning.

Control, as always.

He’s already there, seated at a small table near the window, looking like he’s trying to relax but heading in the opposite direction towards mild panic. He’s dressed… nicer than before. Not flashy. But he’s clearly put effort into how he looks. Like he stood in front of his closet for longer than he’d care to admit.

It’s endearing, in a way.

You take your time walking over.

Let him notice you.

He does when you’re halfway there, eyes flicking up, and then widening just a fraction when he realises it’s you.

You watch the moment it hits him.

God, you think, amused, he’s hopeless.

“Hey,” you say, sliding into the seat across from him like you’ve done this a hundred times before. You have.

“Hi- hey. You look… wow… really pretty. Yeah,” he replies quickly, then laughs at himself, shaking his head. “Sorry. I had something smoother planned in my head.”

“I’m sure it was very impressive,” you say lightly. “But thank you. You look nice, I like the cardigan .”

You gesture to his fox cardigan, wondering for a moment what’s hidden beneath it.

“It really wasn’t,” he admits, smiling crookedly. “Thank you, it’s my favourite.”

You let your gaze linger on his lips for a moment.

He notices. Of course he notices.

He blushes lightly and looks away, drumming his fingers against the table.

You throw him off balance so easily.

Oh, you could eat this man whole.

The thought settles in, familiar. Comfortable. That’s more like it.

But instead of acting on it right away, you let the silence stretch. Just long enough to feel it.

“Something wrong?” You ask, lightly, like you haven’t just caught him off guard.

He glances back up, clearly debating how honest to be.

“No,” he eventually responds. Then, softer. “Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you murmur, the tiniest smile tugging at your lips.

That earns you a small laugh, though he still looks a little flustered. Not uncomfortable, just… aware. Of you. Of the space between you.

It’s different from the party. There, everything was noise and motion. You were both fuzzy from drinking. Here, it’s quieter. Focused. He can see you more clearly.

You lean back slightly in your chair, studying him again- not like prey this time, not exactly.

More like a puzzle.

“What about?”

He hesitates, then exhales a quiet breath, like he’s decided to just go for it.

“You,” he admits.

That catches you.

Not the word itself. Men say things like that all the time. Usually wrapped in something smoother, a hint of desire beneath it.

But he doesn’t dress it up.

Just leaves it there.

You blink, smiling properly now. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little more steady this time. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

Your smile sharpens.

“Careful,” you purr. “That’s a challenge most people don’t take lightly. I am not easily defined.”

“I don’t- I don’t mean it like that,” he shakes his head quickly, then pauses. “Or… maybe I do a little. You’re hard to pin down.”

Oh. That’s new.

For a second, you just look at him.

Then you lean forward again, propping an elbow on the table and resting your chin on your hand. Closing the distance just slightly.

“Good luck, Ryland,” you say softly. “Most people don’t get very far.”

He meets your gaze this time and doesn’t look away.

“I don’t mind taking my time.”

The words settle between you. Not rushed, not flustered.

Most men trip over themselves at this point. Rush forward, fill the space, try to prove something. Try to win.

He doesn’t. He just… stays in place.

Watching you. Waiting.

Like this actually means something to him.

You shift in your seat, eyes narrowing slightly. Just enough to break the stillness, but not enough to create distance.

“That doesn’t usually end well for people,” you say. “Waiting around, trying to learn something they don’t fully understand.”

A beat. He considers that.

“I’m not really waiting,” he replies after a moment. “I like to learn, and I never do anything halfway. It’s just a matter of breaking the learning down into smaller chunks.”

“You think you could figure me out, huh?”

“Yes,” he nods. “I do. Nobody’s unreadable, I just have to learn the language.”

There it is again. That sincerity.

It lands somewhere unexpected, and you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself.

It’s disarming.

Annoyingly so.

“Okay…” you say, a little slower than you mean to, pushing past the moment before it can settle too deeply. “Well, should we get drinks?”

The slight unsteadiness in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed. At least not by you.

He doesn’t comment on it. Just nods, easy, like nothing’s shifted at all.

“Of course. What do you want?” He’s already standing, pulling his wallet out.

You tilt your head up at him.

“Hmm… a pornstar martini, please.”

He pauses briefly and then smiles, amused.

“Got it. Very difficult order, that,” he says. “I’ll try not to mess it up.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” you reply lightly, watching him turn toward the bar.

Your gaze lingers as he walks away. Less certain.

You rest your chin back on your hand, fingers brushing over your lips absently.

This isn’t how it usually goes.

You’re supposed to be in control of the pace, the tone, the outcome.

And yet…

You exhale softly, almost laughing at yourself.

Maybe this is a different kind of game.

Your eyes flick back to him at the bar, where he’s waiting to order.

You’ll have to learn the rules on the fly, but Ryland Grace is more than you chalked him up to be.

You consider for a moment that he might be playing you right back. He doesn’t seem like the type, but people have layers to them. Maybe underneath the comfortable cardigans and awkward flirting, he’s got his own dangerous streak.

Cat and mouse, but now you’re not sure who’s who.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by his return.

A pornstar martini for you, a beer for him.

Conversation flows easily with drinks in front of you.

One drink turns into three, and suddenly you’ve both had five and you feel dizzy.

Not drunk. You’re still in control of yourself. But you’ve loosened up considerably.

You tell him more about your travels. About cities that never sleep, long flights, spontaneous adventures with people you barely knew.

He tells you about his teaching. His students. The small victories, the things he does to keep them listening. About how teaching was never his first choice, but he thinks he was always meant to do it.

You learn he has a PhD. Molecular Biology.

This doesn’t really surprise you, but it does intrigue you.

“Dr. Grace,” you say, letting the title roll off your tongue, smooth and deliberate. “I like that. It suits you.”

He reacts instantly.

A small, involuntary shiver, colour rising to his cheeks like you’ve struck something you weren’t supposed to find.

There it is.

A weakness, a tell.

Something you could use.

Your lips curve, slow and knowing, the familiar feeling settling back into place.

Control.

“Dr. Grace,” you repeat, tone more sultry this time, just to watch it happen again.

It does.

Bingo.

You’ve found your edge, a card to play however you want.

“What do you say we get out of here?” You murmur. “I don’t live too far.”

The words come easily, they always do.

But this time you’re paying attention to how they land.

He blinks, caught off guard, clearly not expecting the shift. He meets your eyes, searching for something that he doesn’t seem to find.

What you’re offering. Why you’re offering it.

You let him keep guessing. That’s half of the fun.

“Okay,” he responds, measured. “Lead the way.”

You stand, offering him your hand, and he takes it.

The walk to your apartment building isn’t long. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Twenty because you’re tipsy.

It feels longer.

Silences feel charged, so he fills them with chatter.

“Have you ever been to Rome?” He asks. “Sorry, stupid question. You’ve been, like, everywhere.”

“Yes,” you laugh. “I’ve been to Rome. I went for three weeks, it was wonderful.”

“What was the best part?” He slows down to match your pace. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Oh, don’t make me choose.”

“Come on, if you had to pick one thing.”

“Okay, okay. I did go to the colosseum four times, just to walk around. Palatine Hill is included in that.”

“Was that so hard?” He grins. “I like it when my questions get answered.”

“Is this part of you reading me?”

“Maybe. I know that you like historical architecture now, so that probably means you like history.”

“You’re… right, actually. Well done,” you say, coming to a stop in front of your apartment building.

“Here we are,” you punch in the entry code and open the door, stepping aside to let him in first.

The elevator ride up to the third floor is tense. Not in a bad way, but whatever’s been building up between you is starting to show signs of snapping.

You walk down the hall to your apartment, heels clicking against the floor.

“This is me,” you dig your key out of your purse and struggle for a second before unlocking the door. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

He steps in after you this time, glancing around after you flick the light on.

“Nice place,” he says, studying a photo on the entryway wall.

It is. The bones may not be the greatest, but you’ve made it feel like home in the short time you’ve been back in the states.

“Thank you,” you kick your heels off, lifting one foot up to rub at it. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”

He follows you through into the tiny living room, eyes wandering over the other photos hung along the walls.

“You have a lot of friends,” he notes. “They look fun.”

“Yeah, that’s sort of what happens when you travel for years. I’ve met so many people,” you turn to him. “What do you want to do?”

It’s a redundant question. You know what’s coming.

He stares at you for a long moment, the air between you thick enough to choke on. The usual sharp edges in your eyes have softened, and for once, you’re not hiding it.

Ryland closes the distance in two strides, one hand already reaching for you. His mouth crashes into yours with weeks of pent-up want, catalysed by one evening of what if. The kiss is hot and demanding, there’s nothing careful about it.

You stumble back from the force of it, but his hands are already there, gripping your hips and steadying you as he pulls you flush against him. The solid heat of his body anchors you, and a small, involuntary sound escapes your throat.

Instead of pulling away, you surge up onto your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him back just as fiercely.

Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging lightly, and the low groan he makes against your mouth sends heat licking down your spine.

The two of you move in a clumsy, hungry tangle toward the couch. He turns at the last second so he falls first, pulling you down on top of him. Your knees bracket his hips, skirt riding up your thighs as you settle over his lap, mouths never parting.

The kiss deepens, turning messy and urgent- tongues sliding, teeth nipping, soft gasps swallowed between you.

His hands roam greedily over your back, then lower, gripping your ass and rocking you against the growing hardness in your jeans.

You moan into his mouth and start moving with him, grinding down in unhurried rolls that have you both breathing harder.

The friction is maddening through your clothes, not nearly enough, but so good it makes your toes curl.

“God,” he groans against your lips, hips bucking up to meet yours. “You feel so damn good.”

You answer by kissing him harder, rolling your hips harder, chasing the building pressure between your legs.His hands squeeze your thighs, encouraging every desperate movement until you’re both panting, flushed, and aching.

He finally breaks the kiss, breathing ragged, forehead pressed to yours.

“Bedroom,” he rasps. “Where’s your bedroom?”

You barely manage to point toward the hall. “First door on the left.”

He doesn’t waste a second. In one smooth motion he stands, lifting you with him as your legs wrap around his waist. His mouth finds yours again as he carries you down the hall, kicking the bedroom door open.

He sets you on your feet only long enough to strip you- hands urgent but careful as he peels your clothes away, letting them drop to the floor until you’re left in nothing but the cute lingerie you’d carefully chosen hours earlier.

“Mmm, you were planning this, huh?” He says, eyes raking over you with a dark hunger.

Then he’s shedding his own clothes, revealing the toned, gorgeous body beneath the thick cardigan. You’d only imagined it until now. Real life is better.

Your gaze drifts down to his hard cock, the tip already red and leaking. He’s big, which is delightful.

He guides you onto the bed, crawling over you, and he doesn’t go straight for your mouth again. Instead, he kisses a hot trail down your body- collarbone, breasts, stomach, stopping a few times to suck marks into your skin- until he settles between your thighs.

He pulls your panties off your hips and down your legs in an unhurried motion, until they’re dangling off one ankle, then grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders.

“Look at you,” he breathes against your pussy. “So wet for me.”

He doesn’t waste any more time and leans in to drag his tongue slowly up your folds, groaning at the taste.

“Been thinking about this all evening,” he murmurs, then dives in properly.

He eats you out like a man possessed, tongue circling your clit, then flattening to lick broad stripes.

Two thick fingers push inside you, curling just right and pumping steadily while his mouth works you higher and higher.

You’re right on the edge, thighs trembling, when he suddenly slows down, pulling his fingers almost all the way out and softening his tongue to lazy strokes before moving away.

“Ryland-“ you gasp, hips chasing his mouth.

“Not yet,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. He keeps you there, teetering, until you whine and thread your fingers into his hair, tugging him back toward your cunt.

He huffs a laugh and obliges, sealing his lips around your clit and pressing his fingers inside you again, immediately curling them hard against your g-spot.

He builds you up faster this time, his free hand coming up and splaying across your stomach to hold you down. The noises he’s making are mostly drowned out by your moans, but it sends a little thrill through you to know that he’s getting off to this.

“Fuck, Ry- gonna cum,” you whine, tugging his hair harder.

He keeps up the pace and you cum with a sharp cry, back arching off the bed as pleasure crashes through you.

He works you through every pulse, tongue and fingers relentless until you’re shaking.

But he’s not done.

As you’re still catching your breath, he slides his fingers back in, deeper this time, and starts a steady rhythm again. His mouth returns, gentler now, licking you through the aftershocks while his fingers stroke that perfect spot inside you.

“Give me another,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “I want to feel you cum on my fingers again.”

It doesn’t take long. Your second orgasm builds fast and hard, ripping through you even more intensely than the first. You moan his name as you clench around his fingers, hips jerking against his mouth while he keeps going until you’re boneless and gasping.

Only then does he crawl back up your body, kissing you deeply so you can taste yourself on his tongue. You moan into his mouth, still trembling from the aftershocks, and slide your hand down between you to wrap around his cock.

He’s hard, thick, and twitching against your palm.

Ryland hisses through his teeth, hips jerking forward instinctively. You stroke him slowly, savoring the way his breath stutters.

“Dr. Grace,” you purr against his lips, voice teasing, deliberately using his title to see him shiver. “Let me taste you.”

His cock jumps in your hand at the words, and a low, ragged groan escapes him. You smile wickedly, pressing soft kisses along his jaw as you whisper again, “Please… I want you in my mouth. Let me taste you, Dr. Grace.”

Ryland’s breath hitches hard. His hips twitch forward involuntarily, pressing his heavy length against your palm. The way his eyes darken tells you everything. That title does things to him, for whatever reason.

“Holy fudge,” he breathes, voice rough. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Holy fudge?” you giggle.

“Teacher habit,” he snorts. “I know, it makes me sound stupid.”

“You’re adorable,” you say, pushing gently at his chest. He lets you roll him onto his back without much resistance.

You slide down his body slowly, trailing kisses over his chest and stomach, savouring the way his muscles tense under your lips.

When you settle between his thighs, you wrap your hand around the base of his cock and look up at him through your lashes.

“You have such a pretty dick, Dr Grace,” you whisper, lips brushing teasingly against the flushed head. “So perfect.”

A broken sound leaves him. His hand comes down to cup the back of your head, not pushing, just resting there like he needs the contact to stay grounded.

You don’t make him wait any longer.

You lick a slow, broad stripe from base to tip, then swirl your tongue around the head, tasting the salty bead of precum already waiting for you.

Ryland’s groan is deep and filthy as you take him into your mouth, sinking down as far as you can. You hollow your cheeks and start to bob, taking him deeper with every pass while your hand strokes what your mouth can’t reach.

“Shit- just like that,” he rasps, fingers tightening in your hair. His hips buck up slightly before he catches himself, clearly fighting for control. “You look so fucking good with my cock in your mouth.”

Woah. So he does have a filthy mouth.

You revel in that and moan around him, the vibration making him curse again. You pick up the pace, sucking harder and letting your tongue press against a prominent vein on the underside as you work him.

He’s already getting close, you can feel it in the way his cock throbs against your tongue and the way his grip on your hair tightens, tugging it in a way that makes you moan blissfully.

“Stop- baby, stop,” he gasps suddenly, voice strained. He tugs you gently but firmly off his cock with a wet pop, a string of saliva keeping you connected.

His chest is heaving, eyes wild as he stares you down. “I’m too close. I don’t want to cum yet.”

You lick your swollen lips, looking up at him with dark, hungry eyes, still stroking him slowly. “But I want it…”

“Not like this,” he says, voice rough. He sits up and pulls you into a desperate, messy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. “Not yet.”

He kisses you until you’re both breathless again, then rests his forehead against yours.

“Condom?” he asks, low and urgent.

You nod and reach over to your nightstand, pulling one out of the top drawer.

He reaches for it but you pull your hand away and lift it toward your mouth, tearing the packet open with your teeth, not breaking eye contact.

You roll it over his cock with slightly shaky hands, watching the way his head tilts back slightly.

The moment it’s on, he moves fast to be on top of you.

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one large hand, pressing them firmly into the mattress.

His body covers yours completely as he slots between your spread thighs, his hard cock resting hot and heavy against your slick folds.

“Your brother told me you like to play games,” he murmurs against your ear. “I hope this one has been fun for you.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. You’ve deeply underestimated this man and his capabilities.

He rocks his hips slowly, sliding his cock along your slit, teasing your clit with the head on every pass but never pushing inside.

The friction is driving you crazy. You try to arch up, desperate for more, but his weight keeps you exactly where he wants you.

“Ry, please-“

He kisses your jaw, then trails hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of your neck. He nips and sucks at your skin tenderly at first, then harder.

You feel the sharp sting as he marks you, pulling the skin between his teeth and sucking until a dark hickey blooms. The possessive act makes you clench around nothing, a needy whimper escaping.

He lifts his head to admire the mark, eyes twinkling with satisfaction.

“Been wanting to do that,” he says huskily. He nudges the head of his cock against your entrance, pressing just the tip inside before pulling back out.

He does it again, teasing, shallow little thrusts that stretch you but never give you what you need.

You squirm beneath him, wrists straining against his hold, but he doesn’t let you move.

“Stay still,” he orders softly, lips ghosting over your throat. “I’m going to fuck you the way I’ve been imagining.”

He pushes in another inch, then stills, letting you feel the stretch before pulling out again. Over and over, he does this- sinking deeper each time, only to retreat, until you’re both breathing hard and trembling with restraint.

When he finally pushes all the way in, it’s with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

You both moan loudly, melting into the sensation.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he groans.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust.

He starts fucking you hard. Deep, punishing strokes that rock the bed. The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, mixed with your pitchy gasps and his low grunts.

He keeps your wrists pinned above your head the entire time, his other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise as he drives into you.

“Fuck,” you whine, back arching off the bed. “So- ah- so good!”

Every thrust hits deliciously, the angle perfect, making stars burst behind your eyes. He leans down to kiss and bite at your neck again, adding another mark right below the first as he fucks you mercilessly.

You try to roll your hips up and he pushes you down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Stay still,” he breathes. “You’re going to listen to me and take every inch like a good girl, okay?”

You narrow your eyes at him, letting a bratty little smile spread across your face.

“What if I don’t want to be a good girl, Dr. Grace?”

He chuckles darkly, his hand leaving your hip to come up and grip your jaw.

“I’ll just have to make you, won’t I?”

“How- ah- how do you plan on doing that?”

His hand leaves your jaw and meets your cheek, not hard enough to hurt, not yet, but hard enough for you to feel it. Experimental, not fully committing in case this isn’t okay.

You moan brokenly, your cunt clenching hard around him.

“Oh, so you like that, do you?” He grins and slaps you again. Harder this time.

The sting spreads across your cheek, mixing intoxicatingly with the way he’s fucking into you. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, and you can’t remember the last time you were fucked this good.

“Look at you,” he pants, eyes raking over your body before settling back on your face. “Taking my cock so well, like you were made for it.”

Your moans grow louder, strained and needy. The pressure builds fast, your walls fluttering around him.

“Ry, I’m- fuck- I’m close!”

He immediately slows down, grinding deep and slow instead of the punishing pace, keeping you right on the edge instead of letting you tip over.

You whine in frustration, trying to chase the friction, but he just smirks down at you.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss you roughly. “I’m nowhere near done with you.”

He keeps you there for what feels like forever, maintaining the same slow pace, then suddenly switches to hard, fast thrusts that make the headboard slam against the wall.

Every time your moans turn desperate and your thighs start shaking, he slows down again, kissing along your jaw and neck, whispering filthy praise.

“You’re doing so well for me, taking my cock so beautifully, fuck, could do this all night.”

After the third time he edges you, you’re nearly sobbing with need, wrists still pinned above your head, trembling beneath him.

“Please, Ry,,” you beg, completely wrecked. “Please let me cum. I need it- need you- please.”

His control finally snaps.

He releases your wrists, grabs your thighs, and folds you nearly in half, pressing your knees toward your chest. The new angle lets him drive in even deeper.

“Then cum,” he grunts, fucking you roughly. “Cum on my cock like a good girl.”

You moan loudly, babbling nonsensically as you finally reach the edge.

The orgasm crashes into you violently. You cry out his name as your walls clench around him, pulsing hard through wave after wave of all-consuming pleasure. He fucks you through it without mercy, prolonging it until you’re shaking and oversensitive.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps pounding into you, chasing his own release now. The noises filling the room now are obscene.

“Think you can take one more?” He says, voice strained. “You gotta let- let me know if you can’t, pretty girl. I’ll stop.”

You open your eyes, catching his intense gaze.

“I- yeah- mmh, I can take one more.”

“Good.”

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles while he rails you. The overstimulation borders on pain, but the pleasure overtakes it.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he grunts, thrusts becoming sloppier with every passing second. “Let go, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You shatter again, harder this time, vision whiting out as you scream. Ryland follows right after with a deep, guttural groan, hips stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt and cums hard, pulsing inside the condom as your walls flutter around him.

He collapses on top of you, both of you panting, sweat-slicked and trembling.

For a long moment he just stays there, still buried inside you, grazing his lips against your neck.

“You were so perfect for me,” he smiles against your skin. “Took it all so well.”

His grip on your thighs carefully loosens, letting your legs fall down. He’s left faint bruises from where his fingers dug into your soft skin.

“You okay?” He mutters, lifting his head to look at you. “I wasn’t too rough?”

You shake your head, still catching your breath as a small, satisfied smile tugs at your lips. “No, it was incredible. I loved it.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, then pulls out slowly with a low groan.

“Bathroom?” He asks, pushing himself off the bed.

“Just across the hall,” you sit up slowly, still recovering from the aftershocks. “There’s a little sign on the door. You can’t miss it.”

He nods and leaves the room on shaky legs, disposing of the condom and returning with a warm, damp cloth.

You expect him to hand it to you, but instead he gently spreads your legs again and cleans you with careful, tender strokes.

“Easy, pretty girl,” he soothes when you switch from oversensitivity. “Just let me take care of you.”

Once he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside and climbs back into bed, pulling you into his arms.

You curl against his chest immediately, throwing one leg over his and tucking your head under his chin. His fingers trace lazy patterns up and down your bare back.

You stay quiet, contemplating what just happened. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

Sure, you’ve cuddled briefly with the men you’ve slept with, but not like this.

They’ve never taken care of you. Never taken you apart so meticulously, chased more than just quick release and fleeting pleasure.

The more you’ve been searching for has never hit quite as deep.

“You’re shaking,” he notes, breaking the silence. “Come here.” He pulls one of your soft blankets over both of you, cocooning you in warmth.

“Where did you learn… all of that?” You ask.

He chuckles. “I haven’t dated in a while, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to please a woman.”

“Clearly.”

You let silence fall again, and for a while you just lie there- hearts slowing, breaths syncing.

He presses occasional kisses against your forehead and cheeks, so gentle compared to how he was just a few moments earlier.

Soft kisses turn into lazily making out. It starts slow; his lips brushing yours, then deepening gradually. Tongues sliding gently, hands roaming without urgency.

You explore each other with a new tenderness, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest, his palm smoothing over your hip, then cupping your breast softly.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers between kisses, thumb brushing your nipple until it pebbles. “I’m so lucky.”

The heat builds again, but it’s different this time. Slower, warmer in a new way. When you shift restlessly against him, he rolls you onto your back, settling between your legs once more.

This time there’s no pinning, no bruising grip. He holds himself up on his forearms, caging you gently as he kisses down your neck.

“Still want me?” He asks, voice husky.

“Yes,” you breathe, running your fingers through his hair. “Please, Ry…”

He kisses down your body slowly, finding his place between your thighs again, and you look at him with slight confusion.

“It’ll hurt if I fuck you again too soon,” he says, kissing your inner thigh. “And I don’t want to hurt you.”

“What about you, though?”

“Hey, I get just as much enjoyment from this as you,” he drags his tongue up your slit and groans, as if to prove his point. “I could stay here for hours.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, but it’s hot, so you just angle your hips so he can reach your pussy better.

He leans in and begins with tiny kitten licks, making you squirm. This time there’s no rush, no punishing pace. He eats you out like he’s savouring a fine meal, flattening his tongue against you in long, unhurried movements.

“Look at this pretty pussy,” he purrs against your folds, voice vibrating through you. “Still so wet and sensitive for me.”

He focuses back on your clit, pressing two fingers against your entrance but withdrawing them when you flinch. He apologises by rubbing your hip and pulling you harder against his face.

“Shit, Ry,” you whimper. “God, that- ngh- feels so good.”

He hums in approval, guiding you higher with patient devotion and rocking his hips against the mattress to chase his own release.

Despite the slowness of it all, your orgasm hits you like a freight train, knocking the air out of your lungs as you gasp his name like a prayer. Your fingers thread through his hair, gripping it tightly.

He keeps licking you through it, drawing out every last pulse until you start trembling.

When he finally crawls back up, he gives you one fleeting kiss before pulling you back into his chest, wrapping you in his arms.

“You feeling alright?”

“Mhm… tired, kinda sticky…”

“I’ll get you some water and another cloth in a moment, baby,” he says. “Let’s just… stay like this for a minute. It’s nice.”

You stay silent, staring at nothing.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, rubbing a big hand over your side.

“You.”

He laughs, slightly taken aback. “Hm, dangerous. What about me?”

“Trying to figure you out.”

“That might take a while. You’re not the only one who isn’t easily defined.”

“I figured that much.”

“You gonna let me stick around so you can try?”

“I’ll think about it.”

tag list:

Autism, for Ryland Grace, had never felt like the defining thing about him.

It’s just… there. In the way he always avoided tight clothing, in how much he disliked sudden changes, in the quiet understanding that he’s always been a little “weird.”

But compared to his all-consuming love for space and science, it barely registered.

He knows he had a lot of meltdowns as a kid, and that paying attention in class was always more of a suggestion to him than a rule- he was usually too caught up in his own head.

He knows autism is a spectrum. It looks different for everyone.

What he hadn’t really thought about was how differently it can present in girls.

For you, it was different.

Nobody ever looked at you as a child and thought “autistic.” You were just… quirky. A little strange. Intensely passionate about the things you loved.

Nobody ever thought “autism” when you cried before school every morning, or when you came home in tears because the other girls didn’t want to play with you- didn’t want to be your friend.

No, autism never even crossed their minds.

Not when you rambled for hours about your interests, not when you shut down in new situations, not when you avoided eye contact like it might hurt.

Even as you got older, nobody in your life looked at you and considered that you might not be neurotypical.

When you struggled to socialise, you were just awkward. When you missed social cues, you weren’t paying attention. When loud environments overwhelmed you, you were being dramatic and difficult.

And when it all became too much, when you finally broke and started hitting your legs as a way to self-soothe, you were reckless. You were told to grow up.

You didn’t get a diagnosis until your twenties.

When it happened, everything finally made sense for the first time.

Ryland doesn’t remember being diagnosed.

When you told him you cried after receiving your diagnosis- tears of bittersweet joy, grief and anger- he had to stop and think for a moment.

Something that barely registers in his memory was something that changed your life.

So he makes it his mission to understand you.

When you don’t want to talk, he just says okay and sits with you in the quiet.

When a social setting gets too much, he gently guides you outside, or into somewhere calmer.

And when you want to drown out your thoughts with music loud enough to ruin your hearing, he finds something to do with you, like a mundane task to keep your hands busy too.

Today is no different. You’re attending a friend's wedding, and so far, you’ve been managing.

Your hands fidget throughout the ceremony, restless in your lap, and when you start biting your nails, he quietly intervenes- gently guiding your hand away from your mouth. It’s a bad habit that you’re trying hard to break.

During photos, you stand slightly off to the side and absently beep to yourself. It’s your favourite vocal stim, something you fall into without noticing.

When the wedding party moves to the reception hall, your mind catches on the word newlyweds, repeating it quietly under your breath.

When food arrives, you stare at the steak you’d ordered months ago and decide you don’t actually like steak right now.

Ryland leans in, voice low. “I’ll make mac and cheese at home later,” he says. A reliable, consistent safe food, which you always have the ingredients for.

During the father-daughter dance, he notices you getting restless, hands starting to fidget again, and excuses you both from the table, leading you outside.

“Are you okay?” He murmurs. “We can leave early.”

“No, I’m having a nice time,” you say. “It’s just loud.”

“Alright. Shall we take a walk?”

You walk the grounds of the manor, the early dusk air a welcome change from the noise and heat inside.

The grounds have a butterfly garden, which you wander through- but it’s the ladybug you spot that makes your face light up.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” You whisper to Ryland.

“She is,” he hums. “What type is she?”

“Looks like a convergent lady beetle,” you grin. “But I could be wrong. There’s about six thousand different species of ladybug worldwide, and hundreds of those live in America.”

“That’s interesting,” he leans in to get a closer look. “Are ladybugs a new thing for you?”

You nod enthusiastically.

“I think they’re amazing. Did you know they don’t have lungs? They have spiracles. That’s like, a thing across all insects, but it’s pretty cool.”

“I didn’t,” he chuckles. “But now I do.”

He did know, but he likes to humour you.

“Ry?” You sound serious all of a sudden.

“Yeah, baby?” He turns his attention to your face.

“Was I weird today? Like, did I say anything stupid? Miss a social cue?”

“You were fine,” he says, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Nothing you do is weird. You’re just you.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise,” he holds his pinky out. You hook your own around it. “Do you want to go back to the party now?”

“Mmm… can we stay for another half hour maybe, then say goodbye and go home? ’m sleepy and I think if we stay too long I’ll start crying.”

“Of course, baby,” he smiles, turning back towards the manor. “Let’s go.”

“Can we get Ben and Jerry’s on the way home?”

“Absolutely. Anything you want.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

A butterfly flutters past his face, and he watches it quietly.

You aren’t difficult at all.

"...Fine. But from what I've read it's this genetic marker, peoples bodies recognize each other on a biological level or something. I think a blood test can reveal it? I'm an engineer I don't know. But only after they've met," you pause to look at Ryland, but he looks as invested as ever in what you're saying, "Once the meet they feel this "connection", which is how most people realize something is up. Get the blood work done or whatever."

Ryland looks interested, though maybe mostly confused, "What does that even mean, a connection? And DNA that only shows when you meet? That sounds like a bunch of pseudoscience."

You find yourself agreeing, and normally you'd be fully on his side, but... something is making you second guess.

You shake your head, "I don't know, we both know as much as the other does. Maybe we had soulmates down there?"

That seems to peak Ryland's interest a bit more.

"Do you think we can check? So I can confirm this is some silly wives tale. And if it's not it'll be cool to know, I've been wondering if I had a partner."

You don't really have another response but yes, it's not like you and Ryland have anything better to do while you approach Tau Ceti.

So, you sit while Ryland takes your blood from you to run through some weird high tech scanner, having already done his own.

You don’t really think anything of it as you go on about your duties around the ship that day. Well, that’s what you tell yourself.

The truth is: it sits in the back of your mind like a low-grade hum you can’t shut off. Not anxiety, nothing about this is stressful, but a persistent curiosity that keeps tugging your attention away from whatever you’re doing. Every time you pass the lab, you glance in. Every time Mary speaks, your head snaps up just a little too fast.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid.

Ryland Grace’s right. It sounds like pseudoscience. DNA that only “activates” after meeting someone? That’s not how biology works. That’s not how anything works. You might not remember who you are but you remember that.

And yet.

You find yourself replaying the conversation. The way he leaned in, genuinely curious. The way you didn’t immediately dismiss it like you normally would. And you normally would, something tells you that.

The way something in your chest tightened just slightly when he said, “I’ve been wondering if I had a partner.” The way you feel connected to him in a way that is definitely just you both being the only people on this ship and for no other reason.

You busy yourself with a maintenance check that absolutely does not need to be done right now.

Time passes way too slowly, around the third time you “accidentally” walk past the lab, the door slides open before you even reach it.

And there’s Ryland Grace.

He looks… strange.

Not scared or confused. Not even excited, really. Just… still. Like someone hit pause on a remote.

“That was awhile,” you say, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

He doesn’t respond right away. Just looks at you.

You frown. “Okay, you’re weird. Did I die? Is this a ghost situation? Because I feel like you’d be more panicked if I were a ghost.”

“That’s not funny,” he says automatically, but there’s no heat in it.

You enter the lab. “So what did you do? Blow up your machine? Seems like soulmates are just… high cholesterol counts, or something-”

“It worked.”

This stops you cold.

“Really?”

Ryland swallows. He looks like he’s clenching his fists.

“It picked up a match,” he tells you. “The scanner.”

You stare. “Right… cool. So it must be messed up? Give a false match? Like we figured, right?”

Ryland shakes his head again.

“No… it was more than that.”

And then he motions towards the screen in front of him.

It shows a basic set of results, two lines next to each other. Certain genetic codes highlighted in little glowing lights. Even if you’re not entirely sure about how the system works, the meaning should be quite obvious.

MATCH CONFIRMED.

Below, two names.

“GRACE, RYLAND.”

But the other name on the screen…

You look at it.

What. The. Fuck.

Your mind strains for some alternative explanation, any other way to interpret what’s on the screen. There isn’t one.

“That’s not funny,” you say.

“I didn’t do anything,” Ryland says quickly. “I mean- I ran it three times. Calibrated the system. Cross-checked with different parameters. I even used a blind input just to make sure I wasn’t biasing it somehow-”

“Ryland.”

He stops.

You turn back to him.

“This is a joke, right?”

“I don’t joke about genetic testing,” he says, which is such a him answer that under any other circumstance you’d laugh.

You feel that hum in the back of your mind spike into something sharper.

“That’s not possible,” you say. “That doesn’t make any sense. We just met. And not even, like, under normal circumstances. We were literally thrown together because humanity is dying. We don’t even remember each other. Wouldn’t we remember each other?”

“I know,” he says.

“And the whole thing about ‘only after they meet’? That’s- there’s no mechanism for that. There’s no biological pathway-”

“I know,” he repeats, a little more firmly this time.

Silence stretches between you.

You cross your arms, more for something to do than anything else. “So the machine is wrong.”

“Maybe,” he says.

“...But you don’t think so.”

“…No,” he admits.

You exhale sharply, pacing once across the small space before stopping again.

“Okay. Fine. Let’s say, hypothetically, this is real. Hypothetically. That this incredibly questionable science somehow checks out.” You gesture vaguely at the screen. “Then what? What is that supposed to mean? We’re soulmates? We’re- we’re soulmates and we don’t remember it? Did we know it?”

Ryland doesn’t answer immediately, and when he does, his voice is quieter.

“I don’t know.”

You sigh, looking around before down at your shoes. “Soulmates”, what does that even mean? You suppose it does make sense for soulmates to end up together in this way. Like the worlds shittiest fucking book. What do you even do here?

“...We could test it?”

Ryland looks up at you, though mostly confused, “I already told you, I ran it like- three different times.”

“Not what I mean.”

That makes him pause, looking at you straight on, “...What do you mean?”

What do you have to lose?

“We could- y’know, do the dating thing. See if we… click or something. If we get any memories back of us on Earth. It’s the… obvious scientific answer. Need to… test the data.”

Ryland looks like he’s been shellshocked, before, slowly, he nods.

"We... we could test the data. Scientifically."

"Scientifically," Ryland echoes, as though he'll wear out its meaning if he just says it enough times. He's desperate.

You nod once, sharply, because there is nothing else to do if it is going to stay that way. "Controlled variables. Observations. Data collection."

"Right, yeah. That's... That's science."

He grabs at it eagerly, like a life raft. "We'd have to establish a baseline."

"A baseline," you echo. "Yes. Good. Baseline of... normal interaction?"

He waves vaguely between both of you. "This? This is a baseline."

"You... yeah."

"We talk, we work, we occasionally argue about whether something is pseudoscience-"

"It is pseudoscience."

"Yeah, sorry, right, but our baseline behavior would include you being wrong sometimes-"

You snort before you can stop yourself, and you can see the surprised look on his face before you turn your head away. And then he smiles. It's a shy smile, but a genuine one.

"...Right," he says. "That's our baseline."

"I guess," you say shortly, glancing away again.

A pause.

"And what changes, then?"

"Such as," you prompt.

He pauses. "Dating variables."

You arch an eyebrow at him. "A term you just made up."

"I'm stressed here," he retorts. "Come on."

"Alright."

He rubs his hand through his hair, walking a little. "So, traditionally, dating includes... spending time, getting to know each other, bonding-"

"We already spend time together. We spend all our time together."

"Intentional time," he repeats.

You tip your head at him. "Are you telling me that all the time we've spent together hasn't been intentional?"

"Well, most of it has been 'the only two remaining humans on a spaceship where cooperation is key in order for us to stay alive,' and that's-"

"Different," you say slowly.

"Yes, we simulate non-mission critical scenarios," he elaborates. "More normal circumstances. Talking about things not related to astrophage or survival. Doing things- activities- that maybe people on earth would do."

You fold your arms but this time it's with contemplation, not defensiveness. "You're saying we should... go on dates."

“What changes, then?”

“Like,” you suggest.

He pauses. “Variables in the dating process.”

You tilt your head. “I’ve never heard that before.”

“You’re putting me on the spot here,” he retorts. “Cut me some slack.”

“Sure.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, fidgeting a bit. “Alright, well- normally, the dating process includes… spending quality time together, getting to know one another, emotional connection-”

“We spend all our time together already. We always do.”

“InteWhen you put it like that, it’s strange.”

“You’re right. Ryland. I told you that already.”

“I know,” he says hastily. “I know you did. But don’t forget that you came up with it too- it’s the natural scientific approach. We’ve got a theory, we try it out.”

You glance at the screen momentarily.

MATCH CONFIRMED.

Your name beside his.

That buzzing sensation at the base of your skull grows more pronounced, but not necessarily unpleasant, just… there. Consistent.

“…Alright,” you say softly. “Sure. Let’s do the experiment.”

Ryland stops moving. “Really?”

“Really.” You wave a hand casually. “For science.”

“For science,” he echoes.

The hum isn’t as faint as you recall.

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