pairing: ryland grace x afab!reader
description: ryland’s been gone for almost 22 years. From saving earth to saving Erid, he felt as if it was time to finally go back home. Back to you.
warning: ANGST. A LOt OF ANGST.
authors note: HIHIHI!! i’m in love with phm. i’ve been looking for an imagine like this..but have not seen one. So im writing it myself! I have spent HOURS on this and love it…but it will definitely need a part 2. Also in this we’re gonna say Ryland is around 25 when he got sent to space. okay? okay.
Years had passed since Ryland left for space. I never found anyone else; I still wore my ring. I stayed in our home, his things untouched, like a ghost of the life we had. For a long time, I held onto the hope that one day he’d come barreling back across the stars. But that hope was starting to fade.
I was 46 now. Most of my life had been spent mourning my husband. Then, two years ago, everything changed. Multiple rockets returned, carrying dozens of videos.
And somehow… I was granted access to watch them.
I didn’t open them right away. The files sat on the screen for hours, each one labeled with timestamps I didn’t understand. Numbers too large, too distant. My hands hovered over the keyboard, trembling in a way they hadn’t in years.
For so long, I had lived with silence.
And now, suddenly, there were dozens of him. I clicked the first video.
Static flickered across the screen before it stabilized. A dim, metallic room came into focus—walls I didn’t recognize, panels of strange instruments glowing softly in colors I couldn’t name. Then— Him.
He looked about the same. However, he had deep lines under his eyes, and eye bags heavily drooping. But it was him. Undeniably him.
He stared into the camera for a moment, like he was gathering himself.
“Okay… if anyone’s seeing this,” he said, his voice rough, unfamiliar and yet exactly the same, “then I guess this worked.” A shaky laugh escaped him.
“Wow. I really didn’t think it would.” I pressed a hand to my mouth.
“Um… hi. My name is Ryland Grace. I’m a middle school science teacher from Earth- well, I was..and if this got back, then… then we might actually have a chance.” He glanced off to the side, like he was checking something; no, like he wasn’t alone.
“I’ve been out here for… I don’t even know how long anymore. Long enough that I started talking to myself and thinking that was normal.” He smiled faintly. “Good news is, I’m not alone anymore. Which..is a sentence I never thought I’d say.”
The room seemed to hum around him, a low, steady vibration.
“I found… someone. Something. And I know how insane that sounds, but..” There was a sound then, a series of soft, musical tones—almost like notes being played on glass.
Ryland’s expression changed instantly.
He turned, eyes lighting up in a way I hadn’t seen in years. “Hey, buddy,” he said gently. “I’m almost done.” The sound came again, more deliberate this time. I leaned closer to the screen, my pulse roaring in my ears. Ryland looked back at the camera.
“I don’t know who’s going to see this,” he said quietly. “But if it’s you—” He stopped.
For the first time, his composure cracked.
“I’m sorry I never got to say goodbye.” Then the video ended.
For a second, I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. It felt like if I stayed perfectly still, maybe it wouldn’t be real..maybe I hadn’t just seen him, hadn’t just heard his voice after all these years.
But the silence in the room was too loud.
My hand slipped from my mouth, falling uselessly into my lap.
“No…” I whispered, though I didn’t even know what I was denying. The years? The video? The apology? A sharp breath hitched in my chest, and suddenly it was too much. I doubled over, a sound tearing out of me before I could stop it—raw, broken, nothing like the quiet grief I’d learned to live with. That grief had been dull, distant. Manageable.
This wasn’t. This was fresh. Open. Bleeding.
“You don’t get to do that,” I choked, my voice shaking. “You don’t get to just..appear like that and say sorry.”
Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t wipe them away. I couldn’t. My whole body felt like it was unraveling, like every piece I’d carefully held together for years was finally giving out all at once. “I waited,” I said, louder now, the words breaking apart as they came. “I waited for you. Do you know how long I waited?”
The empty room didn’t answer.
His things were still there. Everywhere. The jacket slung over the back of the chair. The book he never finished on the nightstand. The stupid mug with the chipped handle he refused to throw away. All of it hit me at once.
“You said you’d come home,” I whispered, my voice collapsing. “You said..” But he hadn’t. Not really.
Not in words. Just in the way he’d looked at me before he left. Like he believed it. Like he needed me to believe it too.
Another sob ripped through me, harsher this time, and I pressed my hands to my face, as if I could hold myself together by force.
“I didn’t move on,” I admitted, the truth spilling out in pieces. “I couldn’t. I tried, I- God, I tried, but I couldn’t—” My breath stuttered, uneven, painful.
“I’m still yours.” The words hung there, fragile and devastating. Years of loneliness, of birthdays spent alone, of nights reaching across an empty bed, it all crashed over me at once, suffocating.
He was alive. He had been alive this whole time. Somewhere out there, breathing, speaking, existing.,while I stayed here, stuck in the space he left behind.
A broken laugh slipped out through my tears.
“Not alone,” I murmured, the words from the video cutting deeper now. “You’re not alone.”
“Of course you’re not.” I dragged in a shaky breath, lifting my head just enough to look at the dark screen again. My reflection stared back at me; older, worn down, eyes red and shining.
For a long moment, I just stared.
Then, with trembling fingers, I reached for the keyboard again. “I hate you,” I whispered, even as my hand hovered over the next file.
But my voice cracked on the last word.
And I clicked play anyway.
The next video flickered on almost immediately.
Ryland was closer this time—too close, like he hadn’t bothered setting anything up properly. The angle was slightly off, his shoulder half in frame.
He looked… tired. Not just physically. Something deeper. Worn down in a way that made my chest ache.
“Uh,” he started, then stopped, dragging a hand over his face. “Okay. Right. This is..this is for you. My sweet girl. Or… it would be. If this ever gets back.” He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly.
“I don’t actually know how much of this you know,” he admitted. “About how I got here, I mean.” His eyes lifted to the camera again, more serious now.
The words were steady, but there was something tight underneath them.
“They didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye. One minute I was arguing,” he huffed a small, disbelieving breath, “and the next thing I knew, I was waking up out here. I didn’t even remember your face at first.”
“I got it back,” he added quickly, like he couldn’t stand leaving it like that. “The memories, I mean. They came back. You came back.” His voice softened on that.
“But for a while there… you were just this feeling. Like something important was missing and I couldn’t figure out what it was.” He swallowed hard, looking away for a second before forcing himself back.
“I don’t know if that makes it better or worse,” he muttered.
“I would’ve said goodbye,” he said quietly. “If they’d let me. I would’ve told you everything. Or- okay, not everything, because I probably wouldn’t have been allowed to, but I would’ve tried.” A faint, sad smile. “You would’ve figured it out anyway. You always do.” His hand tightened slightly where it rested out of frame.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get that,” he continued. “I’m sorry the last thing you got from me was just… me disappearing.” His voice wavered, just a little.
“You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to be left wondering if I just, what, changed my mind? Ran off? God.” He shook his head. “I hate that. I hate that that might’ve been what it looked like.”He leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose.
“I didn’t leave you,” he said, more firmly now. “Not by choice. Not ever.” Silence settled for a moment, heavy and full.
“But I still left you alone,” he added, quieter.
That one landed differently.
“I think about that a lot,” he went on. “About what it must’ve been like for you. Not knowing. Not having anything to hold onto except… what we had before.” His eyes softened. “Which, for the record, was pretty great.” A weak attempt at a smile.
It didn’t last. “I hope you found out the truth,” he said after a moment. “At least some version of it. You deserve that much.” His gaze drifted, then came back sharper; focused, like he’d made a decision.
“And I hope you didn’t let this stop your life.”
There it was again, but different now. Heavier. More conflicted.
“Not because I don’t want you to wait,” he admitted, voice low. “God, part of me really does. That part of me is selfish and stubborn and very, very attached to you.” A breath, uneven.
“But I don’t want what they did to me to take anything else from you, too.” He leaned forward slightly, closer to the camera.
“They already took my choice,” he said quietly. “I don’t want them to take yours.” My chest tightened painfully.
“So if you moved on… if you built a life, if you found someone who’s actually there for you,” his voice caught, but he pushed through it, “then I’m glad. I mean it.”
He looked like he didn’t even believe himself. “I just…” He shook his head a little, eyes dropping before lifting again. “I hope you’re happy. That’s..yeah. That’s the important part.” His hand lifted again, hovering like before, like he wanted to reach through the screen. “I remember you,” he said softly. “All of it. And I..”
His voice broke this time. He looked away, jaw tightening, then forced himself back.
“I love you,” he finished, quieter now. A breath.
“And I didn’t choose to leave you.” He held the camera’s gaze for a second longer..
“I didn’t choose to leave you.”
The words didn’t fade when the screen went black.
And somehow, that hurt even more. black.
They stayed, echoing, repeating, embedding themselves somewhere deep in my chest where they hurt the most. For a second, I just sat there, staring at my reflection again.
Then my head shook..once, twice, harder each time. “No,” I whispered. My voice cracked on it.“No, no-“
I pushed back from the desk so suddenly the chair scraped harshly against the floor. My hands went to my head, fingers tangling in my hair like I could pull the thoughts out before they settled.“He didn’t leave,” I said, louder now. “He didn’t—he didn’t leave me.”
The room felt too small. Too tight. Like the walls were closing in with every breath I tried to take.“They took him.” The words came out shaking.
“They took him and I just..what? I just sat here?”My chest heaved, breaths coming too fast, too uneven. “I thought you left,” I choked, pacing now, back and forth like I couldn’t stop moving. “I thought.. you didn’t fight for me, you didn’t try to come back, you just..” My voice broke completely.
“But you didn’t even get a choice.” That realization hit like a physical blow. All those nights. All those thoughts I tried to bury; why wasn’t I enough? why didn’t he come back? why didn’t he choose me?
They twisted into something else entirely.
“I was mad at you,” I whispered, horrified. “I was-” A sob tore through me, sudden and violent. “I was angry at you for leaving me when you didn’t even-” I couldn’t finish it, my voice collapsing under the weight of it. “You didn’t even get to stay.” My knees gave out, and I sank to the floor, barely catching myself with shaking hands.
“They just took you,” I said again, quieter now, but no less broken. “They just took you away from me like you were nothing.” My hands curled into fists against the floor.
“That’s not fair,” I said, the words trembling. “That’s not.. you don’t get to just decide that for someone. You don’t get to decide that for us. Anger flared, hot and sudden, cutting through the grief.
“They didn’t ask me,” I said, voice rising again. “They didn’t ask you, they didn’t ask either of us..they just- what, decided you were expendable? That your life was theirs to take?” I laughed, sharp and bitter.
“Early coma,” I muttered, the phrase tasting wrong in my mouth. “Like that makes it better. Like that makes it okay.”
“They stole years,” I said, tears falling freely now. “From you. From me. From us.” My gaze dragged back up to the dark screen, as if I could force it to come back on, force him to keep talking.
“You didn’t leave me,” I whispered. The anger cracked again, breaking open into something softer. More fragile.
“I thought you did,” I admitted, voice barely there. “For so long, I thought you did.” My hand lifted, pressing flat against the screen.
Like I could reach him now that I knew.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed. Another sob hit, quieter this time, but deeper.
“I’m so sorry I thought that about you.” Silence filled the room again, heavy and suffocating. But it felt different now. Because the space he left behind..
It wasn’t empty anymore. It was taken.
And somehow, that hurt even more.
My fingers trembled as they hovered over the next file. I hesitated.
After everything—after what I’d just seen, just learned..I wasn’t sure I could take another video. Not if it was more apologies. More distance. More reminders of everything we’d lost.
But it was him. And for the first time in years… he wasn’t gone.
So I clicked play, and the video opened brighter. Not dark and heavy like the others—this one had more light, softer somehow. Ryland was already in frame, but this time he wasn’t sitting still.
He was laughing. Actually laughing. I froze.
It wasn’t strained or quiet or forced like before, it was full, surprised, the kind of laugh that slipped out before you could stop it.
“Oh my god, you did that on purpose,” he said, looking off to the side. A series of soft, musical tones answered him—playful, almost teasing. My breath caught.
Ryland shook his head, still smiling in a way that made him look younger, like the years hadn’t worn him down quite so much in this moment.
“That is not fair,” he continued, pointing accusingly at whatever, or whoever, was off camera. “You can’t just drop that on me without warning.” The tones came again, a little faster this time. He huffed out another laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, very funny,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. Only warmth.
He turned back toward the camera then, like he’d just remembered it was recording. “Oh! uh, hi,” he said, a little sheepish now. “Didn’t realize this was still on.” He glanced back again, softer this time.“It’s okay,” he said gently, like he was reassuring someone. “I’m just talking.”
Something about the way he said it.. my chest tightened, but not the same way as before.
This didn’t hurt. Not entirely. It ached. Because he wasn’t alone. And somehow… that mattered.
Ryland looked back at the camera, a small smile still lingering. “So, uh,” he started, shifting slightly. “Update, I guess. I didn’t completely lose my mind out here, which..honestly, feels like a win.” Another soft series of tones.He grinned.
“Okay, mostly didn’t lose my mind,” he corrected.
I let out a shaky breath—something dangerously close to a laugh slipping through it.
God, I hadn’t heard him like this in so long.
“I made a friend,” he said after a moment. The words were simple, but they landed gently, instead of breaking me apart.
“He’s…” Ryland paused, like he was trying to find the right way to explain something impossible. “Different. Very different. But he’s—he’s good. Really good.” The tones came again, softer now.
Ryland’s expression softened with them. “He saved my life,” he added quietly. “More than once, actually.”
My eyes burned again, but this time it wasn’t just grief..It was something else.
“He’s kind of terrible at personal space,” Ryland went on, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “And communication is… a whole process. But we’re figuring it out.” Another pause.
Then, more quietly, “I think you’d like him.” That did it. A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. Not sharp. Not breaking.
Just… there. Because for the first time since opening the videos.. I wasn’t picturing him alone.
Ryland leaned back slightly, more relaxed than I’d seen him yet. “It’s weird,” he admitted. “I spent so long thinking I was completely by myself out here. And now…” He shook his head a little, smiling. “Now it’s not so bad.” The tones chimed again, softer, almost fond.
He glanced over, and the look on his face, It wasn’t just survival anymore.
It was connection. Real, genuine connection. And somehow, that made the distance between us feel just a little smaller.
Ryland looked back at the camera one last time.
Two simple words. But they settled into my chest like something warm.
I didn’t move right away.
But this time.. I wasn’t breaking. I wiped at my face, letting out a slow, unsteady breath.
“Good,” I whispered to the empty room. My voice still shook. But there was something new in it now.
Something that hadn’t been there before.
“Good… I’m glad you’re not alone.” My gaze drifted back to the list of videos.
There were still so many. And for the first time..
I wasn’t afraid to press play.
I didn’t hesitate. I clicked the next video before i could second guess it.
Ryland appeared almost immediately, pacing this time. Not nervous pacing, focused. Restless in a way that meant his brain was moving faster than his body could keep up.
“Okay, okay, this might actually work,” he was saying, half to himself, half to the camera. “Like, I’m not saying it will, but it’s not completely impossible anymore, which is..honestly that’s huge.”
He ran a hand through his hair, turning sharply and pointing off-screen. “No, seriously, your part of this? Genius. Absolute genius,” he said, a grin breaking through. “I’m still mad about how long it took me to catch up, but I’ll admit it. You were right.” A series of soft tones answered him.
He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get smug about it.” Then he stopped pacing.
Actually stopped. And looked straight at the camera.
Something shifted in his expression. “This… isn’t just about fixing the problem anymore,” he said, quieter now. “I mean, it is. That’s still the priority. But..” He hesitated. Like he wasn’t sure he should say the next part out loud.
“But there’s a way back,” he admitted.
The words hit me all at once. Not a theory. Not a dream.
“I don’t know how long it would take,” he continued quickly. “Years, probably. A lot of things would have to go right. Like… a lot. And I’m very aware that my track record with ‘things going right’ is not exactly stellar.” A faint, self-aware smile. It didn’t quite hide the hope underneath.
“But it’s possible,” he said again, softer this time. “We’ve been running the numbers, going over it again and again, and it’s not just wishful thinking. It’s..” he exhaled, almost disbelieving, “..it’s real.” Another quiet series of tones. Ryland glanced over, nodding slightly.
“I know, I know,” he said. “I’m trying not to get ahead of myself.” But he already was.
The way his shoulders had straightened. The way his eyes kept flicking back to the camera, like he couldn’t quite stop himself from imagining who might be watching.
“If I try this,” he said slowly, “there’s a chance I don’t make it back at all. The margin for error is… not great.” My chest tightened. “But if I don’t try…” He shook his head. “Then this is it.”
“I don’t want this to be it.” His voice was quieter now. More honest. “I don’t want the last version of me you ever knew to be the one who just… disappeared.”
“I didn’t get to choose leaving,” he continued, eyes steady on the camera. “But I can choose this.” That landed differently.
“I can choose to try to come back.”
The room felt impossibly still.
“I don’t know if you’re still there,” he said after a moment. “I don’t know what your life looks like now, or if there’s even a place for me in it anymore.” His voice softened, but didn’t break.
“But I want the chance to find out.”
Then, quieter, “I want the chance to see you again.”
Everything in my chest twisted at once.
Ryland let out a slow breath, some of that tension easing just slightly. “So yeah,” he said, a small, almost nervous smile forming. “That’s the plan. Or… the potential plan. Still working out some details. Still a lot that could go wrong.” A soft series of tones. “But it’s worth it.” No hesitation this time. No doubt.
“Even if it doesn’t work,” he added, “I’d rather try than spend the rest of my life wondering if I could’ve made it back to you.” His gaze held steady, like he was speaking to someone he could almost see. “I think you’d understand that.” The corners of his mouth lifted just slightly. “I hope you would.” Another quiet beat.
Then, softer, “I’m coming home,” he said.
I hadn’t realized I was crying again until a tear hit my hand. But this time…
I was smiling. Just barely. Shaking, uneven, terrified of what it meant to believe it.
“You better,” I whispered to the empty room. My voice cracked, but it held.
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