^_^

As odd and terrifying as it initially was, Ryland was beyond grateful to have found Rocky. With the death of his two initial crew mates, he had not been looking forward to spending the rest of his days alone. Luckily, Rocky quickly filled that emptiness and they became quick companions amongst the chaos. As mildly annoying as it was to have Rocky move all of his things into the Hail Mary, take up much of the limited space and knock all of his precious, expensive science equipment over as he moved around in his xenonite ball, Ryland loved the guy.

As the Hail Mary cruised through the Tau Ceti system, they had a lot of time to talk. Both astronauts naturally had a lot of questions about the other so they used the time to describe their biologies, cultures and home worlds. 

At the current moment, the two were relaxed in the LED room part of the ship, Ryland leaning back against Rocky’s geometric ball as they looked out over the screens that were depicting a foggy, tranquil beach. Rocky had his texture monitor pointing towards the screens so he could see it too.

Ryland couldn’t see the alien, as he had his back to him, but he could hear the silent pause after he’d asked his question. The gentle scraping of rock had him wondering if Rocky was lightly running his front claws against each other like he usually did when he was feeling a negative emotion. 

The soft tune of his voice transferred over to the microphones in the crudely duct taped computer contraption he’d invented so they could communicate, translating the notes into a response Ryland could understand. His words were quieter, a little sad.

“My mate.”

Ryland shot to sit upright, turning to look at his companion. Indeed, Rocky was running his claws against each other, brushing a spot on one of his arms that had a little turquoise gem embedded into the stone.

“You have a mate?!”

This was a subject they had yet to breach in their many talks; the people they’d left behind. While he figured it would probably come up eventually, it was a painful topic. Their families, their friends. His students, his- 

Ryland never brought it up. It hurt too much to think about.

Rocky tilted his carapace to the side like Ryland’s shock at the question was surprising. “Yes.”

“Huh. That’s awesome. How long have you been together?”

“186.3 years.”

Woah. “Oh wow, that’s a long time.”

Rocky contemplated Rylands words for some time, continuing to lightly brush over that turquoise gem on his arm. He seemed to deflate. “Is not enough.”

Well darn, if that wasn’t enough to tug on Ryland’s heartstrings. Even through the slightly robotic tone of the translator, the genuine emotion Rocky expressed was clear. Rocky cared for his mate very much and had been away from them for some time. Longer than Ryland had been alive. He couldn’t fathom how he’d done it.

“Tell me about them, Rock.”

That had him trilling. Rocky told all sorts of stories about his mate, who had a beautiful and elaborate name Ryland couldn’t even begin to pronounce, but Rocky talked about his mate like they’d put the stars in the sky. Ryland listened intently, learning about their story and interesting tidbits about Eridian culture when it came to choosing someone to spend their long lives with. 

He wasn’t sure how long they talked, but by the end Ryland felt like he knew about Rocky’s mate more than Rocky himself. Then, Rocky did what Rocky does and began pressing Ryland with his own question.

“Grace have mate, question?” Rocky’s voice perked up in interest, as it always did when he asked about the scientific mystery to him that was Earth.

It was Ryland’s turn to be silent- hesitant to answer.

The gold band around his ring finger felt heavy. 

After several seconds, he nodded. “Yeah. I did- er, I do.”

Rocky’s carapace raised even more, an indication that he was very excited at what he’d just learned. “Grace has mate! Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Ryland couldn’t help but laugh at his friend. “Well… we worked together. Before I became a teacher. When I was a scientist. That’s how we met.” He smiled at the memory. How he’d completely embarrassed himself when he’d met her. 

At the time, he hadn’t known what she did for work- didn’t know that she was a well known (to everyone except him, apparently) scientist in her field, a Doctor in the same regard as him in every way. His equal, if not even better.

But no, he didn’t know her and had been startled when he’d come into the lab he regularly worked at and found her conducting some experiment with his equipment (it wasn’t his, it was the labs, but it was his regular spot he had an unsaid claim over. Had she ruined the experiment he had been painfully conducting for months??). 

‘Excuse me, sorry, students aren’t allowed in this lab.’ He’d said. He wasn’t usually so forward and firm, but he was protective of his experiments- his attempts at finding proof water wasn’t always needed to sustain life and thus proving life on other planets could be possible. It was his life’s work, he didn’t want some grad student destroying it.

She had been surprised at his appearance, gently setting down the pipette she was holding to look at him through her safety glasses. She’d looked him up and down, no doubt taking in the street clothes he still wore (his cream cardigan with foxes on it) and quirked a brow.

The next several minutes of his life were some of his most humiliating. The embroidered name on her pristine white lab coat, a name with a very definitive Dr. listed before it, had him left standing with his foot in his mouth. He’d stammered over an apology, accidentally dropping his coffee all over the sterile white floor in the process.

Most other scientists he crossed paths with were very picky about how they were addressed, finding it very offensive when you left off the Doctor before their name, much less mistaking them for a student. Rightfully so, Ryland supposed. He knew firsthand how much time and effort it took to get to where he and the other professionals in his field were so it made sense that some wanted that respect. 

Ryland didn’t care too much about it, and thankfully the new face in his lab didn’t seem to care either.

She handled his bumbling apology with grace and assured him all was well, even helping him clean up his coffee spill. He’d learned she was a published scientist, specializing in microbial genetics and the evolution of microorganisms. They were scientists in the same vein. She knew him, he didn’t know her. 

While most people laughed and berated him for his theory that water wasn’t always needed for life, something that was proven time and time again in the scientific world, she was very interested in his work which was what brought her to him in the first place. 

Ryland was wrapped around her finger from that moment on. 

They rarely went a day without seeing each other after that, usually running experiments together but occasionally meeting up for lunch on the weekends to discuss the latest scientific findings in the world. Those conversations eventually turned into less science focused, more personal ones. Then they started meeting up outside of weekends.

Ryland was too hesitant to call them dates, out of fear of getting his hopes up. 

He didn’t dare put a label on what they had together. He didn’t want to ruin anything.

The fleeting touches between experiments, the shy smiles, his regular coffee order that she’d memorized. None of it felt casual, but what did he know?

When he published his theory and got shunned by the scientific community (they didn’t take his wording about the professionals in the community very kindly), losing his job and all of his funding, she was the only thing that kept him afloat. She didn’t turn her back, she saw the passion in his work. Whether she believed his theory or not, she supported him.

When she’d appeared on his doorstep one night as he tried to work out his finances- how to pay the next month's rent- takeout in hand, he knew right then that he loved her and would until the day he died.

It only solidified in his mind when she’d kissed him as they sat side by side on his couch. It was slow, gentle, full of understanding and warmth, an attempt at comfort when he was so low. It worked too- he didn’t feel nearly as down about his situation after that because now he had something else to work towards.

Things worked rather quickly from there. He moved into her apartment the next month and she helped him hunt for jobs. A friend of her friend got him an interview at Grover Cleveland Middle and thus began his teaching career. He found himself loving it much more than he’d expected, quickly finding his groove in the classroom and earning the ‘Favorite Teacher’ title from the students.

They teased him constantly about his girlfriend, always asking when she’d be coming to visit next. She’d bring him lunch sometimes, or just pop in to say hi, leaving him with a kiss on the cheek that had his students ooo-ing and aaa-ing, much to his chagrin.

A couple of years down the road, when they’d married and life seemed perfect, everything went to hell. 

The sun was dying and there was no solution in sight. 

She spent hours upon hours scouring the internet for more information, trying to understand why it was happening. She didn’t specialize in astronomy or heliology, didn’t understand it like she did genetics and DNA, but she tried anyway. 

It took him shutting her laptop himself, gently taking her hands and pulling her away from her desk to get her to stop, forcing her to come back to the bed and sleep.

Ryland wasn’t as passionate, figuring there were more qualified people in the world working on a solution, and that it would blow over.

It didn’t.

When he was approached by Eva Stratt and suddenly thrust into the Astrophage madness, he started to worry that maybe this was a bigger deal than he’d thought. Maybe he should’ve been studying like her.

She was excited for him to be a part of this, as scary as it was. To be the first person on earth to come in contact with whatever was killing the sun, with what they would learn is the first form of alien life. 

As much as he begged Stratt, his wife wasn’t allowed to come along with him. Something about it being top secret to the public for now. When he tried to reason with her that she wasn’t just some random person- that she was smart and an expert with microorganisms even more so then he was, that she could help- Stratt would hear none of it. They wanted him because he believed in life that could survive without water; an alien lifeform that lived on the sun sounded just like what he’d spent years trying to prove.

So as Ryland was whisked away to study the new life, she was stuck at home to wait. The couple years between initially being found by Stratt and the launch of the Hail Mary, Ryland only saw her in person a handful of times, otherwise too busy or too restricted by those in charge to take trips home. He could tell she was hurting, missing him immensely, the sad strain in her voice prominent even over the static of his phone, but she never complained, all too aware how important he seemingly was to the mission.

And then…

Rocky was listening intently, at one point folding his arms underneath him and resting on them like a cat to get more comfortable. When Ryland got to the point that was still too painful to even think about, Rocky finally chimed in.

“She sound good.”

Ryland laughed but it was painful. “Yeah. She is good. I miss her.”

Rocky tapped a claw on the ground. “You miss her but you see her soon.”

Right… he’d never told Rocky that this was a suicide mission. That Ryland wasn’t going back to Earth.

Rocky would see his people again- his mate again. His people had planned for his and his crew’s return back to Erid.

Ryland wasn’t so lucky.

This certainly didn’t feel like the time to bring that little fact up to Rocky. Not while they were talking about the people they loved so dearly. So Ryland just nodded.

“What Grace mate name, question?”

The scientist thought about her face, her smile, her everything. “(Y/n). There’s no real word for her name in your language, not like mine. It’s just a name.”

Rocky was able to ‘say’ Ryland’s last name, Grace, because grace was also a noun their languages shared. His companion shifted slightly as he thought before perking up. “I call Grace mate, ♪♪♪♪.”

The translator didn’t pick up the word he said, meaning it was a new word he’d never used before. “What does that mean?”

“Someone who cares about others. Special word on Erid.”

Ryland smiled. (Y/n) deserved a special name. “I like the sound of that.” He pulled out their communication laptop and had Rocky say her name again, logging the new sound. While (Y/n)’s name in Rocky’s language wasn’t as long and intricate as Rocky’s mate’s name was, it sure beat his own name in Eridian, which was a singular note (not fair). 

Setting the computer aside, Ryland dug into the pants pocket of his red jumpsuit, carefully slipping free the polaroid he’d found in his bag of belongings when he’d first woken up. 

(Y/n) was one of the first things he remembered amidst his amnesia scrambled brain. In fact, he’d remembered her before he’d remembered his own name. The ring on his finger helped, but he couldn’t forget her. Not in a million years, not if he’d been in a coma for another decade. 

The polaroid was grainy, not at all perfect, but it was the only thing he had in his belongings that had her face on it. 

They had been dating at the time, pretty new to the relationship to the point where Ryland still had butterflies any time she gave him any kind of affection. 

She’d taken a whole day off to be with him and help in his classroom on one of his students favorite and most rowdy days of the year- Halloween. 

Obviously, they had matching costumes and of course they had to be science related. His class had been in the space unit of the curriculum, so naturally she was an astronaut and he was an alien. A little ironic, considering where he was now.

The costume she wore was a generic astronaut costume from the local pop-up Halloween shop, a bright orange jumpsuit with a little patch over the chest that was supposed to say “Save Our Planet” circling around a little Earth but apparently had a manufacturing issue because it said “Save Our Plant” instead. She loved it so much, they didn’t bother taking it back to swap it out for a new one.

Ryland had a green morph suit underneath his regular teaching getup, only wearing the face covering for a couple minutes at the beginning of class to appease the masses before unzipping the head because it was way too stuffy and nearly impossible to teach in. His students complained about his costume, claiming it “wasn’t Halloweeny enough” now. (Y/n) was quick to find a solution with the help of some craft supplies, making up an antenna headband and gluing a googly eye to his forehead. This was enough for his students who giggled every time he moved now, the puffball antennae and googly eye swaying wildly with any movement.

Very little teaching was accomplished that day, 

By 3pm when all of his kids were headed home in their costumes, Ryland was sweating through his morph suit and (Y/n) was exhausted from wrangling pre-teens. Once everything was straightened up and bags were packed, (Y/n) whipped out her polaroid camera for a picture to remember the day. 

Ryland ran his thumb over the smooth plastic, taking in her bright smile as she leant back into his torso. Ryland’s cheeks were pink but he'd had enough of a mind to throw up a neon green clad peace sign before she snapped the picture in an attempt not to look completely infatuated by the woman who pressed herself against him. It took several months of dating before that initial “honeymoon phase” wore off and he stopped blushing furiously at just the sight of her. 

“That (Y/n), question? Rocky see, question?”

Rocky pointed his texture monitor at the polaroid to get a better view and started bouncing. “Pretty pretty pretty! Prettier human than Grace!”

“Can’t argue with that,” Ryland smiled. “She would’ve loved to meet you, Rock. She loves evolution and would be chomping at the bit to find all of the similarities Earth and Erid life have with each other, if our hypothesis of stemming from the same common ancestor has any merit. She would’ve loved to see Eridian families too, the whole egg process you told me about. Genes and stuff are her thing. She’d ask you all about how traits are passed from generation to generation.”

Rocky’s claws clacked together. “No understand half of what you said.”

Ryland sighed and moved to lay on his back, holding the polaroid above his head. “That’s ok. Basically, I just think you guys would get along really well.”

A trill emanated from Rocky. “Yes yes yes! She friend! I send her message!”

Propping himself up on his arms, Ryland looked quizzically at the rock. “You want to record something for (Y/n)?”

All he got in return was an excited dance. 

-

Ryland had yet to record any video log to send home specifically for (Y/n). He had plans to… eventually. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was terrified that recording something for her would feel like the final nail in the coffin- it would finally settle in that those would be his last words to her and he would never get an answer back.

Was she angry at him for leaving? Proud? Was she even still alive? For all he knew, humanity had already been wiped out and he was the only person left. He had no way of knowing. No way to know if it was already too late or if any information he sent on the beetles would make it to Earth.

Has she moved on? Found someone else to spend the end of the world with?

These sorts of thoughts plagued him at night when his mind wasn’t focused on the mission. It made him sick to think about but he couldn’t say he really blamed her.

He had yet to remember how they’d parted ways. If he got to hold her in a crushing hug and tell her he loved her, that he was sorry that they didn’t have more time. That he’s sorry he was picked for this important mission. Were their final words exchanged over the phone? A faceless, painful goodbye? Did they even get to say goodbye at all?

He wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer. His brain couldn’t remember but every time he thought about it, his heart squeezed in his chest, like it was a horrible memory that wanted to stay hidden. Maybe that was enough of an answer for him.

Rocky was swaying his ball back and forth, waiting impatiently for Ryland to start recording. If Rocky noticed his hesitation, he didn’t acknowledge it, which meant he probably didn’t notice because he absolutely was the kind of guy to point it out.

Making sure the two of them were within view on the screen, Ryland sucked in a quiet breath. The hand holding the camera was shaking as he pressed the button.

“Uh-“ How do you even start a video that could be the final words the person you love more than anything hears from you? “Hey, how’s it going?” Not like that.

“This video is for (Y/n) Grace… if whoever gets this could get this to her that would be super cool? If you’re not her then stop watching I guess.” 

He’d never wanted to be sucked into space more than at that moment. How embarrassing. Rocky nudged his ball against Ryland’s leg.

“Ah- anyways (Y/n), I have someone who wants to say hi.”

He angled the camera so Rocky took up all of the screen this time. The alien stood proud and opened a claw in greeting. “Hello, Grace mate!”

Ryland chuckled. “This is Rocky, the weird alien I happened across while on my galaxial excursion. Messy guy, takes up a lot of my precious space with his hamster tunnels.”

“Me messy, question? You are messy!” Rocky stomped his claw and rolled closer to the camera. “Grace have garbage everywhere when I move in. You have messy mate. Was Grace like this on earth, question?”

Shoving his ball back a bit (as much as the scientist could manage anyway, Rocky did weigh like 300 pounds), Ryland shook his head furiously at the camera like (Y/n) was on a video call. “Not true, I’m a clean guy. The journey through space has been bumpy, it’s impossible to keep anything in its place these days. Space turbulence.” Ryland couldn’t have (Y/n) thinking he’d turned into some kind of slob (even if it was sort of true). He couldn’t believe Rocky was trying to rile up his own wife against him. Worst of all, he knew she would take Rocky’s side, if just to tease him.

The two bickered for several minutes, Rocky commenting on every little thing he could think of to tattle about, then switching to talking about himself and his mate, remembering what Ryland had told him about (Y/n)’s expertise, and going into detail about Erid reproduction just as Ryland said she’d want to learn about. 

“Lay egg next to each other, they combine and then baby Eridian! You and Grace have egg soon, question?”

Ryland sprung to his feet and pulled the camera to his chest like it could muffle the alien’s voice. “Alright! I think it’s time you go fix something while I talk to (Y/n) by myself. Mate talk.”

“Mate talk?”

“Yeah, important stuff. It’s a human thing. Try not to eavesdrop, it’s rude.”

Rocky made a noise that sounded like a humph. “It’s rude. Fine. I talk later.”

Pulling the camera from his chest, Ryland allowed Rocky to say goodbye. He didn’t know if he’d get another chance to ‘talk’ to her. “Later friend (Y/n)! Grace is good friend to Rocky. You have very brave mate. He very excited to see you again.”

And with that, he rolled off to do whatever he deemed worthy of his time. Ryland had trouble swallowing the lump in his throat, glancing down at the camera before walking towards the opposite of the ship. It was probably no use, Rocky could hear everything in the ship no matter how far apart they were but hopefully he’d keep to himself and not listen to the very private conversation he was about to have. 

Finding a tiny alcove amongst boxes of storage, Ryland settled down in the dim light and sniffed. Moving to nestle his glasses in his hair, he rubbed a hand down his face with a sigh. “He’s something, isn’t he?” He talked softly, like he was indeed having a private conversation. “Pain in my ass sometimes but… I’m glad he’s here.”

Ryland stared blankly at the box of equipment that sat opposite of him, brushing the flat of his shoes over the surface as a distraction. His heart began to race as he scrambled to put together the words he so desperately wanted to tell her since he woke up.

“Uh… I’m sorry I haven't made you any video logs yet, we’ve been a little busy. That and… I was in a coma for 4 years, give or take, so recording time has been sparse.” He forced a smile and chuckle, trying to throw humor into his words when there was none. A coping mechanism he’d had as long as he could remember.

“That and… I didn't think I had the courage to do it at the time. Still don't actually.”

The thrum of the ship underneath him started to feel too loud in the silence between his words.

“The coma really did a number on my brain. I don’t know how much the Hail Mary team on Earth has told you, if anything. At least, I sure hope they gave you an explanation on why I’m here and not back home. I don’t remember anything from the days leading up to the launch. To be honest, I'm not even sure how I ended up on this mission. Everything that I've remembered this far has pointed to me not being a part of the crew. It's weird and I don't understand it but I'm sure it’ll make sense eventually. Something must’ve happened and I volunteered to go. Rocky says I’m brave for being here. I should be honored for being picked to come here, to be a hero. But…”

He choked. Choked on his words and the burning in his eyes told him enough of how he truly felt.

“I miss you,” he stuttered. “So much.” A sob escaped him. “So much it hurts. I wish I was home with you, in bed, worrying about the next parent-teacher conference. Worrying about my students passing their final tests. Worried about the old lunchlady, Ms. Ruth, in the cafeteria who’d flirt with me any time I had to eat school lunch.” He laughed at the memory, a small genuine laugh this time amidst the tears that were now streaming down his face. How simple his life had been, the worries that seemed so trivial now.

“I miss our late night talks about your work. What you experimented on that day. I miss your smile. I miss when you’d steal my glasses so you could read your book, claiming they helped you see better. I still think that’s baloney by the way, I think you just liked wearing them.” 

Moment after moment flitted through his mind, things he could remember about their shared lives. He wanted to list all of them, to let her know how much he thought about her, but it would take 13 years more to say it all. There was just one thought- one thought that truly plagued him, that squeezed his heart so tightly he could barely breathe. One he was terrified to learn the answer to.

“Did we even get to say goodbye?” He couldn’t manage to say it louder than a minuscule whisper. He wasn’t even sure the recorder would pick up the sound. 

“Are you even still alive out there? Am I already too late? Has the Earth turned into an icy tundra and there’s no one left to save?” He wiped at his eyes, hands furiously shaking now. “It kills me that I'll never know. That I'll never get to say goodbye.”

Rocky hadn’t learned the word goodbye- they hadn’t exchanged the word yet so he wouldn’t understand it if he was indeed listening through the walls.

“I'm sorry for leaving you behind. I hope you’re safe, wherever you are and you know that any decision I made, I made for you. To keep the Earth safe and give you and humanity a slim chance for survival.”

At least, he hoped that’s why he was stuck on this ship until he died. That he’d chosen this. He had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t remembering quite right but if (Y/n) was alive, he wanted to give her some comfort. Let her believe he’d gone into this with the courage to be a hero. 

“Anyways…”

Wiping his cheeks of tears, he tried to compose himself. He didn’t want her last real memory of him to be such a downer.

“Well, we’ve got a lot of brainstorming to do before we reach the planet the Astrophage are flocking to like they are to Venus. Hopefully we find something that solves this mystery so I can actually send this video to you… Fingers crossed.”

He crosses his fingers for the camera and moves his glasses back to his nose. “ I love you. No matter how far apart we are, that’ll never change.” A small, genuine smile creeped over him. “Bye…”

After stopping the recording, Ryland gently set the camera down in his lap and rested his head back against the boxes. If Rocky and himself didn’t find a solution to send home, there was no rhyme or reason to send the beetles back with their video logs. What was Earth going to do with the information besides confirming aliens are indeed real? It wouldn’t matter in the long run, it wouldn’t save their sun.

He supposed, if it meant giving her a message one last time, that could be worth it. 

As hard as it was to find the words, Ryland felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Coming to terms with his new reality, exposing the feelings he’d kept bottled up since he woke up. As time went on, he hoped more memories would return, that his hunch was wrong. But he’d cross that bridge when it came. For now? Find a solution to give her a fighting chance.

You don’t even know where Colt is right now. Probably taking a nap in his trailer, or grabbing a bite to eat off-set. You can’t think about that now, because you need to focus on talking over Ryder. “That’s insane,” you counter. “It’s too expensive to reshoot the stunt, and it’s already perfect as-is. It doesn’t take a whole lot of work to recreate the scene you just did.” It’s really not. All he has to do is wave his stupid prop-gun around and run his mouth.

“Pain in the fuckin’ ass,” Ryder mutters indiscreetly. You can only scribble away on your script, unamused. The makeup artist that comes to touch up the highlighter on his cheeks looks half-scared to death. You can tell that she’s in a quick rush to dab the brush at his face and scurry away as fast as possible.

“Tom, bear with us for a minute. We’ve got this scene left, and then it’s press time. You love the press,” the director exclaims, all too sporadically. “We’ll redo the scene really quick, bud. Just go with the flow.”

—

You’ve been keeping your eye on Colt for the last week and a half of production. It’s not that you can control it. Whenever he’s substituting in for Ryder for the fight scenes or the pyro or the vehicular stunts, he’s always front and center. You’ve got to keep your eye on the script and Colt simultaneously; it’s your job—tracking the consistency. In any case, you’d have to do just the same for Ryder. Except, when Colt’s not needed for the shot, you, on occasion, still keep your eye on him.

So, you might have an inkling of a crush on the senior stunt double on your set. The reason, you’ve tried to deduce, is that he’s relatively much nicer than Ryder, which means you’re so much more likely to like him. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t attracted to him, with his blonde highlights and all the movie quotes he spews out between takes.

Usually, you’ll find him at the catering table, on his third cup of your shared fourteen-hour day. It’s under these usual circumstances that he comes to thank you. You feel a tap on your shoulder—and Colt’s there, right beside you, mug in hand. You give him a nod and a smile, trying not to come off too jumpy. He still has his costume on, grayish blue suit and a slightly darker tie to match—topped with a brimmed cowboy hat. It’s the same as Ryder’s. You drop your thermos down on the folding table, trying to figure out what pastry might tie you over for the rest of the day.

“So, I heard you did me a big favor,” Colt murmurs. Word travels fast on-set, clearly. He takes the white little espresso mug up to his lips, taking a sip of the hot brew as he leans back against the catering table. He lowers it just a little to say, “You should’ve just let him make us reshoot.”

You shake your head, picking a scone off one of the trays and placing it onto your flimsy styrofoam tray. “It’s good to get him worked up early during production, so he might ease off the bitching later. It’s like an advanced payment.”

Colt snorts. “Nice,” he says, “I’m pretty sure he’s trying to get Gail to get you fired. Obviously, you didn’t hear it from me.” It barely fazes you. Ryder’s always dying to get somebody fired, and it alternates based on his particular moods. His targeting you is no different than usual.

“She can’t fire me,” you chuckle. After four blockbuster films of you on script with the bigwigs, you’re convinced that you’re invincible. It’s naive, maybe, but you’re good at what you do. You’re credible. And, on this particular contemporary Western at least—with crunch time now, in the middle of spring—you’re safe. You digress, “I know the film inside out, and it’d be a killer to replace me at this point in production.” 

“Right,” Colt nods. He doesn’t seem to believe you too much, but it is what it is. He seems to lower his voice as crew, largely lighting and sound in all-black, whizz past you to set up for the next scene. Intently, he tells you, “I wouldn’t mind reshooting if it means Ryder won’t give you as hard of a time.”

Your eyebrows crease. It’s not that you don’t appreciate his efforts to make your life easier. It’s just so simple the way Colt thinks he can be tossed around; you wish he’d be more careful with himself. “Kind offer. Thanks.” You’re brushing him off; he can tell.

“Even if you won’t take me up on it,” Colt tilts his head, “I’m around whenever you need me. What is this, our third film together?” He’s flashing you a grin, back to the table. He must think he’s real cool; you hate that it’s working on you.

“Fourth,” you correct. You’re not sure if it comes out short or timid; regrettably, it feels more like the latter. Colt lowers his mug down onto the table, faltering just slightly.

Briskly, he repeats, “Fourth.” Colt makes an extended effort to turn around and pick your thermos up off the table. You have to suppress a yelped “hey.” Despite your protests, thermos his hand, Colt practically bodyguards the whole setup—the Keurig and the metal basket of espresso pods adjacent to it. Your hip bumps against his as he puts his forearm to fend you off. You’d try to grab for it if you weren’t at work, PAs and DPs flitting around you both. “You don’t have to—”

And, like a flash, Colt tosses your thermos onto the bottom plate, whips the pod into the canister, punches the lid down, and clicks double-shot. “My first installment for you screwing over Ryder on my behalf.” While you’re both waiting for the machine to pour down coffee, he’s humming something like ABBA. “How pissed was he to reshoot?”

“Practically frothing at the mouth,” you tell him, “I’m surprised they didn’t prep a bib.” Colt’s perfectly satisfied with this answer, nodding curtly. Respect. Not many people are capable of talking down on Ryder so openly.

The thermos gets filled halfway, and Colt offers it back up to you, “Here.” You take the thermos back, in steady avoidance of his callused fingertips. He admits, “I don’t know how you like your coffee yet.” Yet? You narrow your eyes. You’re not sure that Colt has ever been so attentive talking to you, and you’re trying not to feel the way your breath hitches in your chest in response.

If there’s anything you’re able to bond about with Colt, it’s the damn on-set coffee. He’s practically running on the stuff, probably ten times worse than you are. His little mug finds its way back into his hands again. Colt fails to speak for a moment, too occupied by… something on your face. You’re trying not to crumple beneath his observation, but Colt’s smiling and he’s searching over your features for something.

Finally, after a few seconds, he lets up. “I’ll get your order down sometime this week. I’m, uh, quick to learn,” he tells you. Then, he raises up his little cup toward you. “Cheers. To you disturbing the peace.” You raise your thermos, and Colt’s ceramic clinks against your metal. A little victory.

—

You could care less about Ryder’s peace, really; but, you’re partially grateful in the fact that it’s allowed you to catch Colt’s attention. Colt sticks to his word about the coffee, because he seems to keep his attention fixed whenever you’re at that catering table with him. And when you’re not at the catering table, he’s still somehow around, holding open doors for you and keeping spare pencils tucked on his person for you to use to mark scripts. You don’t want to mistake it for anything that it’s not, but it feels almost vaguely like Colt Seavers is trying to court you.

All the fuss that he’s been making to please you culminates into a really unnecessary scene on-set. You’re right off camera, next to the director, camera op, Gail, and… Colt. It’s one of those classic getaway car scenes, set in a downtown street; they’ve got Ryder in the motions of hopping into a great Oldsmobile Toronado, while two security guards are trying to hop and skip after him in the facade of a nameless bank. All the action—Ryder yelling “Really, it ain’t personal,” in a vaguely East Coast accent—culminates into him jumping down a set of stairs and whipping the door open. He clambers in, slams the door shut, and throws a big duffel into the backseat. The open zipper of the bag makes for a great effect of bills being scattered all in the closed containment of the car.

The director yells cut and the crew runs round to reset. Ryder runs his nails into his scalp, pushing back his curls; it all comes very easily to him, these things. As terrible as he is a person, he still can’t help but be great at his craft. It’s insufferable. One of the PAs guides him out of the car and off-camera to a tall chair with a glass of water and a tray of fruit. He pops a green grape into his mouth, before staring off in your direction, bored. “Can somebody tell Colt to stop eye-fucking the scripty?”

The notes that you’re taking down in red ink have to wait. You slap your script down onto your lap. “He’s not,” you spit out, gawking most of all at the choice of words. In front of the entire set—oh, you want to kill Ryder; there’s nothing in the world you’d want more.

“I’m not—” Colt scoffs. “I’m trying to gauge if the camera needs to get pulled back. It’s gonna be a killer if I crack the lens.” You look over your shoulder to check Colt’s conviction. There’s zero of it. He’s looking down at you and back at Ryder, hands propped on his hips. You can see his chest rise and fall. Colt wants to look tough, and his composure is doing absolutely to help you.

Ryder laughs, really guffaws. He makes sure to crunch down another green grape, before he shoos the whole arrangement away with a “Thanks, honey.” The PA by Ryder’s side makes sure to make themselves sparse, taking away the fruit and leaving him with the water. Ryder keeps his eye locked on Colt, already quite entertained. “You’re a shitty liar, dude.”

“There’s a reason why one’s the lead and the other’s the double,” Gail says heartily, smacking her gum with a shrug. When she finds that you haven’t agreed with her, or at least laughed alongside the two of them, she gives you an eyeroll under her wide glasses. It’s all wide and clear: Gail thinks you’re no fun. She should really adjust her priorities.

The director groans, “Jesus, Colt, just go get in the car.” The talk is getting you all further behind schedule. Colt’s meant to crash into a storefront window. Amidst the arguing, everything’s all in place—an Oldsmobile replica driven up in place of the real deal, door open for Colt to jump in. You can feel him hand tap the back of your chair as he straightens out his costume and grabs for his crash helmet. A wordless sorry. You try not to jump at the feeling of Colt’s suit brushing against your shoulder as he passes by you.

“You got it, boss,” Colt calls out, exclamation muffled. He throws out a big thumbs up as he makes it over to the car. You have a feeling that Colt is going to grovel later about Ryder making a scene of the two of you, but really, it isn’t the worst thing in the world—at least, until Colt slams the car door shut and Ryder decides to speak up again.

Leaned over in his tall chair, he asks slovenly, “Seriously, are you sleeping with Seavers? If it’s because he’s my stuntman and it’s a power thing—” 

“No! No, I’m not sleeping with Colt and even if I was, you would have absolutely nothing to do with you,” you hiss. The ego on Ryder makes your head thrum. You try to keep to your script—taking up the clipboard in your lap to write notes down on your log on the last couple of shots.

“It would make sense ‘cause he looks like me, you hate my guts. It’s like that psychosexual shit that Freud talks about… uh…” Ryder taps his fingers on the armrest of his chair, then clicks his fingers: “Displacement.” Smartass. He probably only knows the term having prepped it for an interview on one of his psychological thrillers. Ryder is about to continue harping on about how flattered he is, but the 1st AD calls quiet on set; he shuts it.

—

You’re stationed at your new spot on the opposite side of the backlot, five feet behind the secondary camera setup—where Colt is meant to swing the car through a large glass window. Luckily, Ryder and Gail have decided amongst themselves to depart elsewhere to talk about the next big film. This way, you’ll be able to worry about this stunt in peace.

At action, the Oldsmobile revs. Colt is making sure to kick up some smoke. You can tell now that this is going to be a good take—just from the way he’s handling the car. If you’re not mistaken, you think that he might even be driving with a bit of extra force. The car starts barreling down the set raucously. You’re trying not to grip your script too hard at the sight of him speeding down the road. As Colt’s car approaches, you’re unable to see his expression past the tinted helmet. The flash that you do catch is of his gloved hands gripping the wheel—and the most that you can do is cross your fingers.

The collision is hard. You can’t help but flinch at the sight of him tearing the car through the pane. It shatters loudly, and you can see the motion of the Oldsmobile hitting the crash pad. The director makes sure to hold, so SFX can machine-pump a bit of fog out of the fictitious storefront and make the scene look a little prettier. Then, they call “Cut.” There’s a whole lot of movement towards the car—first, with brooms to sweep away the stray glass, and second, to check on Colt.

The door of the Oldsmobile whips open, and Colt shoots out a thumbs up. You sigh. He’s fine. As soon as he gets out of the car, though, you can’t help but notice that he’s gripping his shoulder and trying to stretch it back. He takes a moment to tug off his helmet and mess with his hair just a bit. The nearest on-set medic tries to approach him with a “If it hurts, I can take a look at it,” but you hear him deny it with an insistent “All good. Don’t worry about it.” The director runs up to give Colt praises—“The shot was perfect, man. Good job.”—calls a thirty-minute break to the crew, and then rushes away.

By the time Colt gets over to you, you’re still locked into your seat trying to look busy. Your fingers are clasping around your script and logs, trying to straighten out the stack as you tap it atop your knee a few times. He comes up and leans one hand on your armrest. As casual as he tries to make it look, Colt’s trying to keep himself steady. You suck in a breath and look straight up at him. “You screwed your shoulder up, didn’t you?”

His brows furrow. “No. I stepped on the gas harder than I should’ve so it’s just a residual, you know, body reaction,” Colt says, coming off your armrest. For once, Ryder’s right: Colt is a shitty liar. “I would know if I screwed my shoulder up,” he says dismissively.

“You,” you say, index fingers pointed up and towards Colt’s chest, “are going to let me take a look at it, and if it’s bad, I’m going to tell them to send you home early.”

He scoffs. “I still have two more stunts tonight.” But somehow, he’s still bending to your whim—because as soon as you hop off your chair and begin to walk off in the opposite direction, Colt’s right on your tail. “It’s my job to get dinged up,” he says, eyes still tracking your expression. He’s trying to tell whether or not you’re mad at him. You aren’t mad, per say—but you’re not very pleased, either.

His trailer is in sight pretty quickly, tucked away in a corner of the exterior set. It’s really just a giant metal box, identical to the rest. “Okay, yes, you’re supposed to get dinged up, but not recklessly,” you tell him, approaching the front door of the trailer. “Or more than you have to. Quality over quantity, Colt.” When you look over, Colt is trying not to wince. You can’t help but frown at him.

“I’m used to it,” he tells you, shaking his head, “I have Extra Strength Advil in there. It’ll work like a miracle—just watch.”

—

You already know that Colt screwed up his shoulder, because he can’t even take the suit jacket off himself. You have to come up behind him and help him shrug it off, trying to pay no mind to the shaky breaths and heavy groans that come with the movement. The pale blue dress shirt he has on is tight around the arms; it’s not your first time seeing how much muscle Colt has on him, but it’s still just as jarring. So, you’ve got to ignore that, too. The tie is easy for Colt to pull off and toss away. Though, he’s having trouble with the buttons on the shirt—too much pull on his shoulder. You swat his hand aside and begin the motions of unbuttoning it for him.

“Okay. I shouldn’t have driven as fast as I did,” Colt admits to you, “It’s on me, obviously—but it’s also on Ryder.” You get to the bottom button slowly but surely, trying to pay close attention to his words. This feels… close. Considering you’d offered the check-up purely out of worry, this is all more intimate than you’d expected.

You tilt your head. “Because he was saying all that stuff about the…”

“Eyefucking, yeah. And I’m sure it was uncomfortable for both of us to get a load of that in front of all of our coworkers. I didn’t wanna make it a thing, so I just… I was driving angry, which is never a good thing,” Colt says, “He has no class.”

“It’s Ryder, you know? It’s not like his words really ever carry any weight,” you say. Your priority still is to make sure Colt’s shoulder isn’t too screwed up, but it also doesn’t hurt to test the waters. You pop the last button off and try to help him shrug off his dress shirt. It’s difficult not to feel a little shifty in your abdomen when your fingertips slide down against Colt’s bicep; you make sure to fold up the shirt semi-nicely before tossing it down with the tie.

When you turn, Colt in his undershirt and the dress pants looks almost boyishly guilty. You narrow your eyes, “Okay, turn around. Lemme see it.” And Colt does as you say, spinning around to show you his back. His shoulder is splotched purple and green, pigmented all across his shoulder blade. “Fuck, Colt.”

“It always looks worse than it actually is. Stunts 101.” He’s trying to make you laugh, but you’re much too focused on the bruising. He steps away as soon as you ghost your fingers over his skin. Colt’s grabbing an ice pack from his mini fridge and bringing it over his shoulder. “And I should probably use right now as an opportunity to reassure you that I wasn’t trying to eye-fuck you,” Colt says. It’s a contradiction: you can see his eyes flashing down and back up.  “Unless, obviously, you wanted me to. Then, it’d be a whole different story. But—”

You kiss Colt, crashing your lips against his, and he practically hurls the ice pack away to hug his arms around your waist. Given the chance, he would’ve gone through a whole spiel of telling you that he respects maintaining a professional relationship. But, now, you’re really laying it all out on the table. Your hands are coming up greedily to cup his face, and he’s sliding his hands up and down your lower back. He tastes like spearmint gum, and his face is burning up the longer you’re close to him.

Colt pulls back only for a moment to look at you; his pupils are dilated beyond repair. “Okay,” he murmurs, “Ryder caught me staring. Good on him for calling me on it.”

“I figured. You’re so easy to read,” you laugh, unable to stifle your amusement. Colt’s not offended at all—only leaning in closer to you. Everything about him seems a little bit lighter after you’ve kissed; he’s standing up straighter, and his hands are coming up to your head. Colt has his nimble, calloused fingers brushing through your hair. It’s a soothing, gentle motion—possibly a distraction—but it’s also romantic enough to placate you. You have to shuffle away a little bit, still locked into Colt’s grasp. “So, can I put in a word with somebody to see if you can get tonight off?”

He drops his hands back down to your waist—the workaholic he is. “If it pleases you, yes. And if it works out, I’ll nap here while you close out, ice my shoulder, and then I can take you out to dinner very, very far away from set. You choose, I pay,” Colt decides, “And we can make out a bit more after dessert. Does that sound good?” He really doesn’t waste any time.

You hum in agreement, hand flattening against Colt’s abs, just under the white wifebeater he’s got on. You can feel his stomach tighten just slightly. Sensitive. “You have me for ten more minutes, and then I’ve gotta go find an AD.”

And cockily, Colt replies, “I’m pretty sure you and I can get a lot done in ten. Don’t you?”

  looking over at him, you finally notice how blue his eyes are behind his glasses. you weren’t familiar with the way he looks like there’s something new for him to learn in every room he walks in. his eyebrows slightly furrowed, shoulders dropping as he takes in every factor he can. he’s perplexing, interesting.

  “my students have my been begging for a new whiteboard drawing and the last art teacher gave us a pretty good mitochondria drawing. and i was just wondering if you could do one of our solar system. they’ve been asking about the petrova line and i think illustrating it would help me explain it better,” he steps into the classroom, stuffing his hands into his jean’s pockets.

  “do i look like the last art teacher?” you question, stepping back from the desks to rinse your rag off, fingers massaging the fabric to remove any additional paint.

  glancing back at him, you can see the way he brain short circuits for a second, not expecting that response from you. however, before he can say anything else, you’re already rolling your eyes. “i’m messing with you doctor grace. do you have any working expo markers? because i’m not doing this if all you have are those streaky ones,” you rest the rag on the side of the sink, smiling back at ryland.

  as soon as he sees a smile cross your lips, he parrots it back, freeing his hands from his pockets to rest them on the back of a student’s chair. “trust me, i make swaps for the good ones during our lunch period,” ryland nods triumphantly, raising his finger to tap his temple.

  “you do? well, you’ll have to let me know your dealer. these kids haven’t quite learned the return part of the policy yet,” you give him a quick wink, walking across your room to grab a large compass, “and sorry we haven’t had a formal introduction before now. it’s been crazy trying to get everything set up and establish myself with the students..”

  turning back around, you catch ryland staring over at him, gaze quickly shifting when you catch him. “well everything i’ve heard from the students has been good,” he waits for you to walk over to him, stepping towards your door frame slowly as he leads you towards his classroom.

  pieces of artwork your students started line the walls near your classroom. carried out through different mediums, charcoals, pastels, markers, all adding a unique touch to the school’s walls. before starting at the school, it all felt so empty, so dull. so you urged your students to hang up their most recent projects, the ones they really enjoyed making. and it brought an exciting feeling to the school’s halls.

  “they’ve talked about my class before? that’s- i’m just happy it’s having a good effect on them,” you shrug your shoulders, slowly making your way over to his classroom, both of you taking your time like he’s dropping you off at your parent’s house after a date.

  walking up to his classroom, scientific illustrations and photographs decorate his door. his name is plastered across the top, followed by ‘laboratory’ to really finish off the mad scientist feel. peering into his classroom, you can see the desks lining up to the front of the room. equipment sits off to the side of every desk, with posters filling any empty space on the walls. “if i reveal my marker guy, you’ll have to teach me a thing or two about art. i do not need the next grade to join and be so far on my art skills behind that a sedimentary rock looks like a house,” ryland steps into his classroom, giving you a soft smile.

  “you got yourself a deal,” you follow him into the classroom, catching a glance at paper mache planets hanging from the ceiling. there’s a certain passion to teaching that ryland isn’t well at hiding, a passion that shines through clearly to you, “this is a very impressive classroom, someone’s clearly very engaged with his students.”

  you follow him up to the whiteboard, only stopping when he backs into a student’s chair that was sill pulled out. stumbling a few feet, he steadies himself, face becoming red at the action. “yeah- oh yeah i try to be,” ryland attempts to play it off, brushing off his blazer before turning to the whiteboard.

  there’s smears on different parts of the board, instructions and plans doodled in the corners. his handwriting is somehow both neat and sloppy, the perfect mixture between scientist and teacher. tilting your head slightly, you turn to look at him, “so, how do you want to do this? we can make it more scientifically accurate or more cartoonish. whatever you’d prefer doctor.”

  “you can just call me ryland, feels more fitting,” he shrugs his shoulders, pressing his heel into the flooring, gaze meeting everything besides your own.

  “alright, ryland, which would you prefer?” 

  his jaw clenches as he glances between the whiteboard and you, attempting to decide which would be better. “cartoonish is better, i think. the students would probably love it, and it’d give you a chance to be as creative as you’d like, ms. l/n,” ryland fixes his gaze on you, hands shoved back into his pockets.

  “well then let’s get to work,” you grab one of his black markers, fitting it into your compass to help figure out each of the planet’s sizes, “and it’s y/n. feels more fitting.”

  ryland smiles to himself when you repeat his words, rocking back and forth on the heels of his shoes. you were quick to begin working, showing him how you use the compass to give a rough shape to every planet before you roughen up the line with more rocky movements. it doesn’t take you long to begin picking up all of his markers, using different colors to fill in the respective planets. 

  leaning back against his desk, he watched you diligently, answering any of your questions about the planets and their descriptions. “should i add an alien to mars? like one of those stereotypical green aliens?” you rest on hand on your hip, the other fiddling with the bright green marker.

  laughing, ryland nods his head, “i mean, i’m sure the kids would get a kick out of it.”

  “now that we know of the petrova line, whatever it is, do you think there’s alien life out there? like intelligent alien life?” you start sketching the alien popping out behind a rock on mars, glancing back at him every so often as you wait for an answer. 

  “i think there’s a possibility. i mean, we can’t be the only planet with intelligent life forms. surely there are other beings out there, what do you think?” he shrugs his shoulders, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he peers over at you.

  looking back at him, your eyebrows furrow, hand fiddling with the marker again. it’s not something you considered much until the petrova line showed up, with the possibility of life. “life is full of possibilities, so i think it’s very possible. plus, i think aliens would like me, you know? art transcends species,” you turn back to your artwork, only turning back your head to look at him, “and biology of course.”

  “right, you’re doing a phenomenal job, thank you for this.”

  “of course, us teachers have to stick together. and it was much more fun hanging out with you, actually doing art, than grading required worksheets,” you finish off the alien with black outlining, stepping back while looking around your finish product.

  taking off his glasses, ryland holds them up, looking at you through them before he notices a few smudges, “grading mandated worksheets is a really low bar through.”

  “i think you’re forgetting the ‘much more’ part of that sentence. besides, i would hate for you to think i’m turning down any future opportunities to sketch on your whiteboard. it was a nice refresher,” you set his markers back down, one hand grabbing for your compass from one of the student’s desks.

  “well, then i will have to ask you to come back when we’re focusing on a new subject. and this is an invitation to return whenever you’re curious about my marker dealer,” ryland stands up straight, putting his glasses back on, making note to clean them later.

  pulling his glasses off, he sets them down on the desk, a small shake in his hand. “stratt, what brings you here? figured i’d never see you again.” a thick wool sweater is wrapped around him, the cool air of the atmosphere making it past the school’s brick walls. 

  “you can keep blaming me all you want, doctor grace, but i do have something you’ll want to see. from the mission,” she walks towards the front of the classroom, holding her hand out with the small flash drive in it, her classic relaxed expression throwing him off.

  his gaze flickers between her eyes and the flash drive in her hand. grabbing his glasses from his desk and putting them on, he finally notices what she has and what she’s brought. a small smile somehow still makes its way to his face, “they’re back, you got the probes back?”

  “a couple seem to either be behind or never made the trip, but yes, paul and ringo made it. l/n sent a detailed list of instructions, and made sure we had what we needed to stop the astrophage. they also included video diaries, that we were instructed to share with you,” eva leans forward, pressing the flash drive down on his desk, “they really want you to see them.”

  she watches as his jaw clenches, eyes becoming glossy. grabbing a pencil, he taps it against the desk, staring off at the flash drive. “okay, yeah, yeah i really want to see it,” ryland uncovers the flash drive, “you’re not bugging my computer or something, right?”

  “no, i am not bugging your computer, you’re no longer needed for any government projects. i am simply here to pass along a message,” eva rests her hands in her coat pockets, looking down at her shoes as he inserts the flash drive.

  rolling his eyes at her response, he clicks on the file  labeled ‘for ryland’. most of the members of project hail mary simply called him ‘grace’ or ‘doctor grace’, you were one of the few that referred to him by his first name. it takes him a second to click on the first video file, hands starting to become clammy as he stares at the small icon. tapping his foot against the flooring, he finally gains the courage to open it, instantly being met with a picture of you on the ship.

  you look tired, a little confused. pressing play, he can feel his heart start to quicken. “okay, this is my first video diary or whatever it’s called, and i’m nearing tau ceti. yao li-jie and olesya ilyukhina did not make the journey,” you stop talking for a moment, hand rubbing against your forehead, dried tear streaks suddenly visible to ryland.

  “i held funerals for them.. and truthfully most of the vodka is gone. it’s been hard. god, stratt it’s been so damn hard. they didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye, didn’t even get a chance to see all of this. i’m just so exhausted, stratt please, i am asking you, don’t show ryland this part. i already know it’ll be hard enough on him,” you stare off at one of the ship’s windows, taking in a deep breath. 

  ryland glances up at eva, watching as she avoids eye contact with him. he shakes his head slightly, turning his attention back to the computer as you start back up again. “uh, as i get closer i will try to send whatever i can find. but, stratt, if you could share a portion of these videos with ryland, i would be as in debt to you as a dead person can be. so… ryland, if you see this, i hope you’re doing well. i hope you’re still teaching and loving teaching. i hope your students understand how detrimental you are to helping save their planet, our planet,” you stop for a moment again, pursing your lips.

  “i miss you. i think you would’ve thought this was beautiful, no matter how terrifying it really all is. uh, i also have that stupid bean bag earth thing that you sent with me. wow, this is hard.”

  the video abruptly ends soon thereafter, ryland taking in a deep breath. he stares at the screen, promptly clicking on the next video. you’re wearing one of his science shirts, one of the jumpsuits pulled up with the arms tied around your waist. there’s more of a look of contentment in the way you peer into the camera.

  “hello ryland, this’ll be the second video i am instructing stratt to share with you. it does get a little lonely up here, but having all of the videos and books on hand is a lifesaver. sometimes i’ll sit and listen to birds chirping, because it reminds me of when you would sit with me during my astronomy courses, using that crappy telescope to chart the stars,” a smile breaks through your dulled facade, hands resting on your hips.

  ryland watches as the happiness slowly crumbles back into what you’ve always been feeling, dread. “ryland, i need you to know that you’re not to blame for any of this. i made this choice so you didn’t have to, so please don’t live life regretting anything. what i wouldn’t give to show you all of this in real time, the tau ceti system, the stars, it really is so interesting.”

  his shoulders drop as the second video ends, stopped on a shot of your face. there’s a small smile hiding at the corners of your lips, thinking of every beautiful thing you’re experiencing, no longer all of the daunting things. ryland looks back up at eva who is finally looking back at him, and what looks like an ounce of real, human regret in her eyes.

  her hands move slightly in her pockets, leaning back to rest on one the student’s desks, “you should keep watching. you’ll want to see the rest.”

  “i don’t know if i can..” ryland runs his hand through his hair, the wrinkles around his eyes forming as he forces them shut.

  “you’ll want to see them grace.”

  opening his eyes again, he clenches his jaw, mouse slowly moving to click play on the next video. as the video pops up, he can immediately see how ecstatic you are, your eyes wide in the video. “ryland, you will not believe what i’ve found. so, as scientists, we’ve always theorized about other life forms, intelligent life forms. this is phenomenal, i’ve met an alien. an actual alien who uses a whole different time scale and is made of some rock form.. you would love him,” you lean towards the camera, nearly smiling ear to ear.

  ryland can’t help but smile back, like he was still standing in front of you, “i named him rocky, it only felt fitting. really, it just felt like something you’d do. but he came in search of the same information we’re after. meaning, we could help each other, now that i’ve discovered he is not going to do the whole alien chest bursting thing.”

  “he’s incredibly smart and we’re slowly trying to understand each other. but while we typically work in fives, attributed to our five fingers, they work in threes. and rocky is a very skilled engineer, so he makes little figurines to help explain things, here’s one,” you grab a small figurine of the hail mary ship, holding it up for the camera with pride, “and it’s made of solid xenon, i mean it’s just incredible ryland.”

  the video comes to a close, stopped on a close up of you smiling in front of the camera, the first real ounce of joy he’s seen so far. he stops for a second, breathing it all in. he knows for you it hasn’t been long since you last saw each other, but for him it’s been decades. decades of waiting and wondering, decades of never really knowing. he fiddles with his glasses for a second, his free hand moving the mouse to play the next video.

  “okay, we’ve found a fix to the astrophage. it took some.. very dangerous stunts that you would absolutely have killed me for doing, but on one of the planets near tau ceti there were amoeba that were essentially eating the astrophage. not quite sure what name we’re going with but we named the planet ryland,” you shrug your shoulders, “not sure if it’s corny but your name is now the equivalent of rocky’s mate’s name in english.” 

  ryland pauses the video, looking up at the ceiling as he takes his glasses off. his eyes have grown glossy again, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “keep watching,” eva stands up straight, taking a step towards his desk, her typically straight expression staring down at him.

  “easy for you to say, you didn’t just have a planet named after you.”

  “you’ll regret it if you don’t watch the rest. and i don’t feel like being the one to paraphrase what happened to you,” she reaches her hand out, pressing the play button as he continues to stare up at her.

  you move in the corner of his eyes, explaining how living with rocky has been, how his hearing is superior due to his lack of sight. in the distance he can hear a musical voice carry through the ship, quickly followed by you responding. “sorry, i gotta cut it short, he’s demanding that i get some rest. which he really appreciates watching.”

  the video ends again, followed by ryland reluctantly clicking on the next video. his lip quivers a little as he sees you with a stitched up gash on your head. you’re carrying the camera around with you, walking around what looks like a trashed hail mary. “a meteoroid hit some of the astrophage storage spots, so we’re trying to fix those currently. and luckily we contained the amoeba because the accident almost caused us to lose them. and i don’t think the hail mary would’ve survived another trip into ryland’s atmosphere to retrieve more,” you walk up to one of rocky’s bubbles, showing off the area and rocky. 

  “who is l/n talking to?” an automated voice comes from somewhere, played soon thereafter rocky’s musical muses.

  “i’m recording a video for ryland, named the same as your mate. just to let him know how i’m doing. and to let him know that rocky has some extra astrophage. enough to get me home,” you stare into the camera, smiling at the thought of making your way back to him. 

  “yes yes rocky is very happy!”

  “yes, and rocky will make his way back to erid, the place he calls home. i wish he could’ve come to earth with me, you would’ve loved each other,” you bite your lip, running your hand across the back of your neck.

  “l/n speaks sweetly of ryland. like ryland and i, mates.”

  “yeah, you could call it something like that.”

  giving a small wave to the camera, the video comes to a succinct end. tears begin to fall from his face, fear, love, anger all start to bubble up within him. “i can’t watch anymore, stratt, i can’t do this,” he shakes his head, pushing his chair back away from his desk, foot tapping off to the side. 

  “i will duct tape you to that chair if i have to. l/n sacrificed themself to help save humanity. the least you can do is listen to their final words to you. because it’s not about you, grace, it’s about them,” she crosses her arms in front of her chest, recognizing the one flaw in every human’s programming, fear. 

  his head drops, hands fiddling with the hem of his sweater. “so this was all you came to do? force me to watch some videos and then you’ll go on your merry way?” 

  “i am simply l/n’s messenger. if you want to honor their wishes, you’ll watch the last video,” eva raises her eyebrows, waiting patiently for him to sit back in his seat, hand resting on the computer’s mouse.

  taking in a deep breath, ryland presses play, heart beating rapidly. you’re sitting back in your usual spot this time, chin resting in the palm of your hand. there isn’t as much joy in your expression as the last couple of videos. instead, you hold a somber look, biting your lip in worry. 

  “ryland, i will not be making it back. this’ll be my last video before sending the probes. because i am going back to save rocky. as i was returning to earth, i discovered that the amoeba can eat through xenon. which rocky’s entire ship is made up of. honestly, i don’t even know how it happened,” you try to keep looking into the camera, but your eyes start to wander, like you know he’s someday staring back at you.

  swallowing phlegm, you continue, “and i know he would save me. he would help save earth, so i have to save erid. this wasn’t an easy choice, by any means. i can’t imagine not seeing you again ryland. you’re such a light in my life, and i will forever love you deeply and i’m just sorry i never had the chance to express that before.”

  tears are streaming down both of your faces, tiny droplets of tears even forming in eva’s eyes as she watches. you bring up a hand to wipe away your tears, failing miserably to do so. “and i know, i know there’s a part of you that hates me for this, but i won’t be coming back. because it’s not about just us anymore. which i hope you’ll understand someday. i just, hope there’s still some love in you for me, as there is for me with you. this is so hard… i- i need to start planning my trip back to find rocky. um, i love you,” your lip quivers as you reach forward to turn the camera off, shaking your head slightly.

  ryland, brings his fists up to his forehead, pressing his palms against his temples. licking his lips, he shakes his head, trying to stay upright in his chair. even when you chose to take his spot on the hail mary, he knew you were never coming back. but the minutes of hope he had upon seeing your videos, brought everything coming back to him.

  “am i allowed to keep this? the, uh, flash drive?”

  “yes, those are all that are on there. destroy it, keep it, whatever you want to do. they’re yours now,” she nods, turning around to exit the classroom, trying to maintain her composure.

  “and you’re working towards saving the sun?” he scratches the back of his neck, watching as she stops by the door to his classroom.

In fact, your whole body felt that heaviness. Completely dead weight and useless. The most movement you could manage was a twitch of your fingers. Was this what sleep paralysis felt like? You’d never experienced it before but you figured it probably felt an awful lot like this.

When you swallowed, your throat ached- dry and sore- thanks to whatever was shoved down it. 

You managed a whimper, barely audible around the thing in your mouth, and tried to pull your arms up to remove it. They didn’t respond like they were supposed to but you did manage to lift your hand this time. Progress.

Behind the seal of your eyelids, an alternating flashing light of blue and red seared your retinas and a low thrum whirred around you.

You were laying down in a bed of sorts, that much you did know, you could feel the softness of a mattress against your back, but you seemed to be covered in a plastic sheet from your head to your toes.

What was happening?

The loud sound of a zipper followed and you were blasted by the frigid air of a room and bright, bright lights. Squeezing your eyes shut, you wiggled your body some more. You were starting to regain some feeling.

“Body movement detected. What is two plus two?”

A woman’s voice? Except it sounded wrong, too perfect. A computer?

You hummed behind the thing in your mouth.

“Incorrect. What is two plus two?”

You ignored the voice. A whir sounded, followed by a tug on the thing in your throat. The slow drag of the silicone against your esophagus had you gagging, choking around the intrusion. When it fell free, you were racked with violent coughs. For the first time in what felt like ages, you willed your lungs to work on their own without the help of a machine. Chest heavy, choking and still regaining the feeling in your body, you really tried not to spiral. What had happened? Where were you? Who were you?

Your eyes slowly, painfully, began adjusting to the fluorescent lights enough to lift your heavy eyelids.

Shapes were a blur, and all you saw for several seconds was white. After a couple of blinks, a dark blob took form above your head, followed by a web of lines. Tile? A ceiling? It must’ve been. 

“Eye movement detected. What is two plus two?”

Blinking your eyes again, you tried to clear them of the layer of film that coated the surface while a soft tune met your ears. It sort of sounded like a hum, a song maybe but there were no words and no distinct rhythm to it. Some clicking followed. Ever so gradually, your vision cleared.

You could see that what you’d thought was the oddly patterned tile of a ceiling was actually some kind of barrier above you. Clear like glass but held together with some sort of darker adhesive that created a geometric hodgepodge of triangles. Beyond the clear barrier, a normal looking white wall could be seen, along with the source of the annoyingly bright lights. You weren’t focused on the lights or walls for long. 

On the other side of the glass right above where your chest lay, was a pile of… rocks?

Rough in texture, a mixture of browns with teal green spots and some leathery bands. It was unlike any pile of rocks you’d ever seen. But when the rock moved, tilting this way and that, tapping part of itself against the clear barrier in three distinct taps with something that looked an awful lot like a finger, you realized that the pile of rocks was alive.

You tried to scream; tried to back away. Unfortunately, your raw and scratchy throat was barely able to make a squeak and your body remained prone.

The creature stood from where it had apparently been sitting down, revealing 5 rocky appendages attached to a larger rocky body. A stream of musical sounds erupted from it- somewhat whale like and mixed with trills like a bird. It was dancing around, spinning in circles above you and waving its arms in the air. It didn’t have a face, not one that you could see anyway, so you weren’t sure what emotion it was conveying.

You’d been abducted by aliens?! Oh, God… had you been probed? Experimented on? You couldn’t remember. Hopefully you were unconscious for all of it if you were. In fact, you couldn’t remember much of anything- just your name and basic facts about yourself.

Your tormentor seemed to be talking to you; gesturing to you, to itself, to the room. Your chest heaved in fear. What was it going to do to you? Were more of its kind going to rush in and start conducting ruthless experiments? You could barely move, unable to defend yourself or run away. You would be completely at their mercy.

You pleaded for your body to move, barely able to find the strength in your arms to press against the mattress and push your body up. Doing so, you were able to get a good look at yourself. Tubes were everywhere. In you, on you- electrodes covered your major muscle groups and you were wearing some kind of skin colored, translucent plastic body suit.

What?!

The alien moved some more, walking back a step so you could see it better. It held up a hand (?) and held up one finger (?), repeating a two-noted sound. You shook your head and frantically moved your heavy head around to look for an escape route.

“I don’ kn’w wh’ y’re sayin’,” you coughed, your throat painfully dry and scratchy. Your words were barely words. “Wh’r ‘m I? G’ ‘way fr’m me.” You tried to look over the side of the bed to see how far of a fall it would be if you tried to roll off. You sort of felt drunk… or high… maybe both.

The rock seemed to get a little frantic, again holding up a finger and repeating the notes with more urgency this time. Was it telling you to wait? Well, you weren’t about to wait for some alien scientists to come in and cut you open.

Your head was pounding as you moved to sit up properly, vision swimming as blood rushed from your head for the first time in what felt like years. It didn’t help when your forehead knocked against the clear barrier that separated you from the rock with a loud thunk.

The alien made a sound of alarm and pawed at the glass next to your head like it was worried. You groaned and pressed a wavering hand to the clear surface to avoid hitting your head again as you tried to get your legs to respond. They stayed limp and useless.

“C’mon,” you cried, pounding at your thighs with a fist. You felt like you were running out of time. If the alien was trying to get you to stay, that meant it probably notified the others that you were up and trying to flee. It did make you feel a little better that, for whatever reason, the creature stayed on its side of the barrier and didn’t venture into yours.

No time to ponder! Blinking rapidly to get rid of the stars that danced in your vision you moved to grasp your calves and physically lift them over the side of the bed but pounding footsteps rang through the room and you knew it was too late.

Tears sprang to your eyes as you looked in the direction of the sound, waiting for a hoard of aliens to charge at you to tie you back onto the bed. Instead, a single figure ran into the room from the depths of whatever facility you were in. And it was a man.

A normal looking, human man.

You instantly felt like you recognized him but couldn’t remember how or where. He was tall, wearing a tight t-shirt and what looked like the bottom half of a jumpsuit with the arms tied around his hips. Glasses sat over the bridge of his nose and his hair was damp and wild, like he’d just gotten out of a shower and ran a towel through it. If you weren’t terrified for your life, you would’ve ogled at him.

“You’re awake!” He smiled, a cheesy excited grin that had you momentarily forgetting why you were even scared of him in the first place. He approached your bedside in quick strides and gripped the edge. “I thought you were brain dead in there and the system was malfunctioning thinking you were still alive. I would’ve tried to wake you up earlier but I didn’t want to risk any complications of pulling you out of your coma prematurely so I just held out hope that you were ok in there and-” A disbelieving laugh. “-you were!”

He seemed so happy to see you, this man you maybe knew but didn’t remember. And… a coma? You’d been in a coma? Were you sick or something? Recovering from some horrible injury?

The guy must’ve noticed your racing mind because he nodded like he could read your thoughts. “It’s a lot in the beginning, but I promise your memories will come back with time. I’ll explain everything but I promise you’re safe here… er- I won’t hurt you at least. If that’s what you’re worried about. We can discuss our situation later but for now you need to take it slow and eat something.”

Now that he’d mentioned it, you did feel hungry. And tired. And gross. He seemed trustworthy enough so maybe it would do you well to listen to his advice. You calmed just the tiniest bit and he seemed to notice that too because he suddenly rushed forward to fold you into a hug.

If your legs weren’t useless piles of mush, you would’ve kicked him. But when you felt him sigh, shaky and relieved, you stopped yourself from shoving him away. The way he held you, gripped at the back of your plastic bodysuit and tucked his face against your dewey shoulder, had you wondering how horribly he needed this hug. From how tightly he was doing so, it was probably a lot.

You let him sit there for a while, let him breathe and feel the warmth of your skin under the plastic while you blinked away his hair that poked at your eye. You felt all sorts of awkward but let the stranger do his thing. Wondering how long this hug would last if you didn’t put an end to it yourself, motion caught the corner of your eye.

The alien- you’d completely forgotten about it. Maybe it was a weird trick of your imagination after you’d been asleep for so long and the alien wasn’t real. It was probably some ceiling fan you’d mistaken for a- nope. It was still there. The rock alien, standing close by and, you supposed, watching this long, intimate hug with interest.

Fear kicking back in, you made a sound that sort of resembled a yelp and gripped at the man’s t-shirt. “There’s n’ alien-” you fell into a coughing fit, feeling as the man finally released you to press a comforting hand to your spine. He asked for water- asked a cluster of robot arms that you hadn’t even noticed in your panic, and a pouch was pressed into your palms.

He didn’t seem near as worried as he should be, looking perfectly at ease in the presence of the creature. While he helped you open the pouch and sip water through the straw, he scowled at the alien.

“I told him not to put his tunnels above your bed like a creep but he didn’t want to hear it- he said I wasn’t watching you well enough so he was going to take over. He’s been pretty concerned about you.”

You couldn’t decide what part of his sentence you wanted to mull over.

The man waved his hand at the alien who chirped something and balled one of its claws into a fist. “Sorry, I left the laptop in the control room. Don’t know what you’re saying.”

The alien spun in a circle and sat down again with a thump, looking agitated at the spectacled man’s words, a stream of chords spilling from him. Some that sounded much harsher than others. Your head was truly spinning now.

“I tried to explain what medical comas are but I don’t think he really understands so he’s been pretty diligent at keeping an eye on you when we’re not busy. Rocky’s been watching you sleep to make sure you’re safe. It’s an Eridian thing, I’ll explain it later. He’s been very excited to meet you, by the way- has been ever since he realized there was another human here besides me. He’s interested to see how other humans compare.”

Eridian? Watching you… while you were unconscious? This man talked about this alien, Rocky apparently, like they were best friends. They bickered like best friends. Or an old married couple. You felt like you were going to puke.

“Enough about that, let me go get you some actual clothes. Can you move your legs?”

Right. You were sort of naked. “I-”

“Here, let me help.” The blonde tucked an arm under your knees and helped turn your body so your legs dangled off the edge. Your grip stayed steadfast on his shoulder. When he moved away from you, you didn’t let him go. He paused to look at you in surprise.

“Don’t leave me with…” You didn’t say his name, but you glanced at the thing in the glass tube.

“Oh-” The man blew out a laugh, “Rocky? He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He might run your toes over but other than that, he’s harmless. Don’t try to have a private conversation around him though, because he can and will eavesdrop. Give me two seconds, be right back!” 

You had no choice but to let go of his shirt, watching helplessly as he hurried out, but not before turning over his shoulder to yell out, “My name’s Ryland by the way! If you don’t already remember!”

You didn’t.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, you warily turned to look at ‘Rocky’ who’d scooted closer to you again, perching right next to your head. He let out a sound, a coo, and rested a little claw against the barrier. 

Tap tap tap. Then a thumbs down.

You had to give it to the guy, he was kind of cute now that you looked at him with a little less fear. Still cautious but… a little less guarded. And the thumbs down was kind of funny.

Rocky perked up and swayed back and forth with a chirp of definite happiness when you hesitantly gave him three taps back.

  “-y/n?” the sound of ryland’s voice pulls up from your thoughts, hands raising to wipe away the streaks of tears on your cheeks.

  taking in a deep breath, you turn your head to look over at his cot. his body is now facing you, the whites of his eyes glowing softly within the darkness. ryland’s elbow is pressed against the bed, his hand balled up into a fist as it presses against his chin. just beyond his hand, you can just barely make out a softened expression.

  “uh- yeah, ryland?” your hands rest on your stomach, the lingering feeling of tears still coating the back of your palms..

  “can’t sleep?” his fist unfurls, chin now resting in the palm of his hand.

  biting your lip, you nod against your pillow. the movement is slow, gentle. “yeah, i’m just used to you guys making so much noise out there, it’s actually kind of relaxing. it’s a little too quiet in here,” you confess, turning your head to look back up the ceiling, trying not to look too long into his compassionate eyes that could make anyone expel their greatest fears. 

  the moment sits there in the everlasting silence, like you’ve already said too much. “i can go if you’d like,” ryland continues to stare over at you, eyebrows slightly raised.

  your head whips around quicker than you had meant for it to. looking back at him, for a second, you hope that your need for human connection can be communicated through your longing eye contact. however, you knew that that would not suffice as an answer. “no- uh, no you’re fine. it’s nice not falling asleep alone for once, you know? in separate beds… of course,” you ramble, stumbling over your words as you talk. 

  ryland’s tired smile doesn’t go unnoticed by you, his cheeks rounding out and his eyes squinting shut a little. even in the darkness, you’re able to tell when he’s smiling in the way his whole face smiles with it. “yeah, it is nice. we should make this a thing more, having like a set sleeping period,” he speaks without thinking, pursing his lips when he sees you smiling back.

  “didn’t take you for a grown man with a bedtime,” it garners a small laugh from you, enough to have him red in the face (or at least you assume so, with the light being too dim to tell). 

  “not necessarily a bedtime, but more like-“ he starts trying to defend himself, only causing you to laugh more, new tears building up at the corner of your eyes.

  shaking your hand at him, you forcibly stop yourself from laughing anymore at him. “i’m messing with you ry, no, i think it’s a great idea. do you think we could have mary play some mechanical noises or something? for the illusion of course,” the nickname comes out of your mouth and neither of you really seem to notice, just slipping into your natural vernacular. 

  “there is something oddly relaxing about the clanging of metal… does the silence bother you much?” ryland’s tone changes, a little more serious now.

  biting your lip, you stare back up at the ceiling, eyes becoming glossy. “yeah. sometimes it sounds too much like earth, you know? like i can still hear the cars driving past my apartment window, rain running down the gutters,” your fingers fiddle together, grounding yourself, “i think i would’ve gone crazy if you didn’t survive. or if we didn’t bump into rocky.”

  “i know what you mean,” you look back at him, watching as he shuffles onto his back as well, head still tilted back towards you. staring into his eyes, you forget for a second that you’re in space, that you’re not just next to someone you’ve grown fond of over the past year. “i miss my bike, and my kids- my students.”

  “it just feels so lonely sometimes.”

  “it doesn’t have to,” he whispers, you’re not quite sure if he had meant to, or if there was just something so vulnerable about the idea that it came out meek.

  you let it ruminate for a second, the silence for once becoming something warm. his gaze peers back at you, waiting for you to say something, do anything. your arm slowly extends out to him, hand opened wide for him to grab. he quickly reciprocates the gesture, holding your hand in his. the back of his hand has a distinct softness that is quickly opposed by the roughness of his palm. 

  your arm starts to cramp in this position, however, you only grip harder to keep a hold of him. his fingers shift slightly within your touch as he massages your knuckles. it’s calming, gentle. you hadn’t meant to fall asleep like this, to fall asleep within his touch. and you didn’t think rocky would wake up to find the two of you still connected. which resulted in many questions about human mating rituals and relationships… 

  it takes you a minute to hear ryland’s voice through the comms, something about waiting for a response. however, the pulsating sensation blocks out any noise coming through your ear piece. standing up, you try to step forward again, only to have to brace yourself against the wall. “y/n!” ryland’s voice is louder this time, almost like he’s only feet away from you. 

  and he is. his glasses are loosely falling down his nose, jumpsuit tied around his waist. he quickly runs up to you, jumping over any of the fallen objects, hands first grabbing your shoulders. finding their way to your face, ryland’s thumb presses back your hair, looking at the small gash by your hairline. you hadn’t noticed the blood dripping down onto your suit, the adrenaline and headache seemingly distracting you enough from it. 

  “why didn’t you tell me you’re bleeding?” he questions, hands framing your face, keeping you tangibly within his sphere.

  “why grace worried, question?” rocky’s translation plays through the ship, body rolling through one of his ducts, arms clicking together in worry. he paces back and forth in his enclosed chamber, skittering noises ringing through the room.

  squinting your eyes, you reach your hands out to stabilize yourself against him. “i- i didn’t realize i was bleeding. i must’ve slipped after the centrifuge turned on..” you bring one hand up to your head, only for it to be moved by ryland’s, clearly worried you may injure yourself further, “is the tau amoeba okay?” 

  ryland’s eyebrows furrow, questioning how you could still even be thinking of them when blood is dripping from your head. “so you don’t remember falling over? what do you last remember?” he was never really trained in medical training, only knowing a few techniques from his anatomy courses. 

  “walking away from the cockpit, finding a place to hold onto so you could turn the centrifuge on.. um i don’t remember much past that,” you keep your hands gripped on him, one against his bicep and the other holding a fistful of his shirt.

  “can rocky do anything, question?” the sound of his arms clattering around in his xenonite tunnel followed quickly behind, “is grace listening, question?”

  ryland looks between the two of you, one of his hands scratching the back of his head. taking in a deep breath, he wraps your arm around his shoulders, wrapping his around your waist to keep you upright. “i am listening buddy, you can meet me by the bunks and med kits. there should be something i can use to stop the bleeding,” he talks as he trudges with you towards the first aid kits, fingers anxiously pressing into your side.

  the walk there is treacherous as he feels some of the blood drip onto his hand. each drop sends an image to his head, one of you slumped over with him having run out of time. biting his lip, he can feel his heartbeat racing at the sight of your sleeping arrangements, knowing that you’re mere feet from some supplies. 

  as ryland steps into the room, rocky is sitting patiently in the xenonite bubble, arm tapping rapidly at the window. cautiously setting you down on one of the beds, he turns around to grab one of the first aid kits. even though this was a suicide mission, stratt made sure there were supplies in case the astronauts needed them, something ryland was very quickly appreciating.

  his thumb trembles as it pops the lid open, eyes staring down at the assortment of supplies. “y/n, i’m going to clean the wound, can- can you sit still?” he grabs antiseptic wipes, tearing one of the little packages open.

  “i think i can sit still,” your eyes squint as you look up at him, tears building in the corners, your typical sarcastic tone hidden within your voice.

  leaning forward, ryland steadies one hand below your chin, keeping it up. his other hand slowly wipes near the wound with an antiseptic wipe. quickly, though, he swipes it across the scrape, causing a groan to escape your lips. your hand immediately reaches up to grab his forearm, squeezing hard. “holy crap, ryland that stings.”

  “i’m sorry, it just needs to be cleaned before i can use the butterfly stitches,” ryland runs his thumb across your chin, massaging gently, almost absentmindedly.

  “grace scared, question? extremity tapping quickly against floor,” rocky observes, his musical chittering bringing ryland back to his senses.

  ryland looks back at rocky with a raised eyebrow, hands starting to feel clammy from his now perceived audience. shaking his head, he sets the antiseptic wipe down in the first aid kit, grabbing out a small gauze pad to stop the bleeding. “i’ve just never been much of a doctor before, rocky.”

  “you’re not giving me a lot of confidence, ry,” you let go of his forearm, raising your hand to block some of the hail mary’s overhead lighting. 

  “sorry- sorry, this’ll be over soon,” ryland uses one hand to keep the gauze in place while grabbing medical tape. his pinkie pushes back your hair as he tapes the gauze down, soaking up any leaking blood. it looks wonky on your forehead, however, he’s just happy he was able to help you without passing out.

  walking to the entrance of the room, he turns off the overhead lights, trying to help the headache blaring through your head. “as soon as you’re feeling better we can perform a rudimentary concussion test, i’m sure i can find a book on it in the system…” he walks back over to you, closing up the first aid kit before setting it off to the side.

  “thank you, ryland, i appreciate it,” you lean back on the bed, letting the cushioning surround you.

  “yeah, i’m going to check on the tau amoeba, letting me know if your headache gets worse,” ryland walks back up to the bed, leaning down before kissing your forehead, not even realizing he did it as he did.

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

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

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

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

Well, he was sitting in your spot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re in my spot.”

The quirked brow he gave you had you seeing red.

“Pardon?”

“You’re in. My spot.”

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

You ground your teeth together. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You thought that would be the end of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey! Why??”

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

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

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

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

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You’d parted ways very angry that day. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have contacts?”

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

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

“No?” He seemed truly flabbergasted.

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

“Wh-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ryland?”

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

Ryland’s ears quickly became tipped in red.

“Oh. Hey.”

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

“Nice glasses.”

“Thanks…”

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

“Yep.”

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

“Thank you.”

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

You stomped off without another word.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we start over?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t know how to feel about it.

-

Being ‘friends’ with Ryland lasted about a week.

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

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

It was just another Wednesday when your relationship shifted.

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

Now you are confused. “Our schedules?”

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

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

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

Ryland Grace glared at you over the rim of his glasses as he righted himself, straightening the papers he'd been grading. His dirty-blond hair was a right mess, sticking up in all directions like he'd just been touched by a static spark.

"Have you ever heard of knocking?"

You grinned, crossing your arms as you leaned against his desk. "I don't think you wouldn't heard me with the way you were snoring."

Grace made a face, offended. "I wasn't snoring."

He wasn't. But you liked to make fun of him.

You made a show of checking your nails (which weren't manicured, but you had nothing else to make a show of), frowning. "You were late, so I came looking for you."

Grace's deep blue eyes widened. "Late?" He checked his watch and shot to his feet like a man possessed, shuffling to collect his papers and shove them in his briefcase. "Oh no. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll go with you right now. Is now okay? I know it's late--"

Your mischievous giggle gave him pause. You flashed him a cheeky grin over your shoulder. "The release is tomorrow, Grace."

His shoulders fell. "Y/N, what..." He fell back into his chair with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. Tomorrow was the release of a new book in a series you'd been reading together, and he'd promised to go with you to the signing. With the deadline of the broadcast for the Petrova Line's probe getting nearer and nearer, everyone was acting like it was their last day on Earth. Since it was a Saturday, he'd promised to come with you early to get a signed copy-- which might take several hours, if people weren't chaotic enough to just storm the venue. "What am I gonna do with you?"

You pulled a bright yellow beanbag out of your hoodie pocket. It fit perfect in your palm. "Take me to the movies. Go get ice cream. Go for a walk in the park. Anything you do that involves me is going to be awesome." You tossed him the beanbag. "Here. A sun for your Earth."

He snatched it out of the air. "Oh, that's cool. Thank you." He turned it over in his hands a couple of times, thinking. "How about... ice cream, then my place? We can watch a movie on the TV? I'm really sorry, I'm just so exhuast--"

"If you apologize one more time," You warned, "I'm gonna dump water on your head." You waved his water bottle at him pointedly. You both held a hard, cold stare for as long as you could; he cracked first, smirking slightly. You widened your eyes suddenly and he fully broke with a soft laugh.

"Okay, fine. I won't apologize again. Today."

You and Grace had known each other a very, very long time. You grew up in the same town, were bullied at the same school, attended the same college, and now lived in the same city-- and not wholly by intent. But you're glad for it, because if you had to go a day without seeing Grace, then you might as well go a day without breathing.

You'd been raised in very different lives. While his was a science household, yours was very strict Catholic. You escaped through science and were punished severely for it, which pushed you into a career as a doctor that you didn't want but were extremely good at. You'd won a couple of awards. It just felt... hollow. It wasn't what you wanted.

You lived in an apartment chock full of biology books, projects, and knick knacks that you'd collected over the years, and it just made you sad. It was like a memory of the life you could have had if you hadn't listened to your parents-- parents you didn't speak to anymore, but you were so deep in medical school debt that going back to school was just unattainable. You didn't have any friends; maybe some friendly coworkers, but never anyone close.

No pets, no boyfriend, no kids, no plants. Just you, yourself, and Grace.

No one was like Grace.

When you were kids, he'd help you with your science projects. In college, he supported you when you cut off your parents when they were trying to set you up with guys your age and trying to get you to get married-- the final straw that broke the camel's back with them. You guys moved to different cities briefly after that, but kept in touch. When he was fired, he moved to your city and got a job as an 8th grade science teacher.

Just like you supported him; when his parents died after college, when the rest of his family cut him off because of his "crazy" theories that got him fired in the first place. You helped him find an apartment in your city, cosigned for him, and since he only has his bike, you let him use your car, and you ferried him around wherever he needed to go.

You two were close, to say the least. And you loved him with all of your heart. The dorky way he wore his glasses, his stupid science shirts, his perpetually messy hair, his passion for science and his kids and biology, his theories, the little things he'd do...

It's a shame he doesn't know any of that.

Somehow, you knew each other better than you knew yourselves, and you couldn't bring yourself to admit that you were in love with him; that you've been in love with him since you were young. Ninety percent of the pictures in your house were of you and him. The pictures and the gifts from Grace were really your only pops of color against the plain backdrop of whites and grays in your apartment. You weren't going to risk ruining the only good thing in your life. At least, not any time soon.

Grace had tried to date around awhile back, which hurt your heart, but you said nothing. When his college girlfriend Linda left him for a geology professor, Grace essentially swore off dating because he was scared of getting hurt again-- which left him with only you.

Not intentionally. You both did try, separately and together, to have friends and go out. Nothing ever seemed to work out. It felt like it was you and Grace against the world.

Wordlessly, you admired him as he collected his things and threw on his jacket. He noticed you watching him only as he started toward the light switches. He slowed down halfway there, pausing to look over his shoulder at you. "...What? Do I have something on my face?"

Heat crept up your neck as you averted your gaze. You shook your head minutely and hurried to catch up with him. "Nope."

He waited for you to reach him and put his free arm around your shoulder with a smile, leading you out of the classroom. You flipped off the switch as you left. "How was school today?"

"Long," He sighed. "The kids are worried about the Petrova line, but I can't tell them anything about it until the probe reaches it." He readjusted his coat hung over his arm. "What about you?"

You took a deep breath. You didn't want to tell him about what was going on at work, but you didn't really want to keep anything from him. The only secret you'd ever kept from him was that you were in love with him. "So... I think I might get fired." Grace stopped in his tracks, brow bunching together with worry. "I had a patient the other day who'd been banned from three other practices... He kept starting fights over his care. Wanting us to do specific procedures but not wanting us to perform the needed tests. Dr. Meyer-- you know him--"

"Unfortunately," Grace grumbled, a muscle ticking in his cheek. Dr. Meyer was the office manager and lead doctor of your practice, and very very persistent in getting you to go out with him. Every time you denied, you got repercussions at work-- forced leave, complaints from staff, and every time you reported him nothing was done. He was apparently under investigation, but you saw no evidence of that. The only time Grace had met him was at a plus one work event a few years ago, and despite Grace being right there had kept trying to flirt with you and pull you away.

Needless to say you'd been looking for other options, but you couldn't afford to be without a job and it was very, very difficult to find a position in your town.

You continued with a sigh. "Well, he accepted him, and when he started requesting the procedures, I denied care. He wouldn't accept the pre-admission tests, and we can't do anything without that. He didn't even want me to read his medical history. Nothing is wrong with him physically. It's neurological, but he refuses to see a specialist. He just keeps coming to doctors.

"Yesterday, I found forged papers okaying the procedures with my name on them. Once it leaves our practice to the surgery department, I'm screwed. I never even did a full exam on the guy."

"Y/N," Grace interrupted in warning, his voice soft. "...You won't be able to work in healthcare again. At least, not easily." You shook your head solemnly. The wind blew your hair into your face and you pulled it away. "Maybe that's a blessing in disguise," Grace added, helping to tuck your wild hair behind your ear and wholly unaware of the way your heartbeat quickened. "You'd be able to pursue a science degree like you always wanted."

"I can't afford that, Grace."

He stared at you for a moment, like he was doing calculations in his head. Finally, he took your arm and began leading you to your truck. "We'll figure it out, don't worry. Whatever happens, happens. You know I've got your back."

"I know." You tossed him your keys and turned toward his bike. You didn't have to look to know he caught them. He always did. He didn't have to ask to know you'd already snatched his bike lock keys out of his back pocket. By the time you'd gotten his bike unlocked, he'd already pulled up behind you. He parked by you and started to get out. You rolled your eyes. "I'm fully capable of putting it in the bed."

He shrugged. "It's my bike, though." He tossed it in a bit unceremoniously as you got in the passenger side. He smiled at you when he returned. "Sooooo, Dairy Queen, then my place? What do you want to watch?"

"I dunno." As he pulled out of the school, you added, "To be totally fair I don't even know what kind of ice cream I want. Or if I'm gonna get food while we're there."

Grace chuckled a bit. "You'll figure it out."

"That's your answer to everything."

"Our answer to everything," He specified, and pulled up his right sleeve to reveal a bracelet you hadn't seen in a very, very long time. Just simple brown cord with a couple of beads, it said "We will always..." You'd made that for him in high school.

"You still have that?!"

Grace smiled at your agape jaw. "What? You still wear yours." He laid his arm on the center console, silently asking for you to lay yours by his. You pulled up your own sleeve a bit, dumbfounded, and let your bracelet finish the sentence on his. "...Figure it out." "Your job, ice cream, movie, the Petrova line, doesn't matter what it is. We'll figure it out."

"I guess we will," You were stuck staring at the bracelets in shock for a minute. You were sure it'd been stupid when you made them. You still wore yours out of habit-- you'd never gone without it-- and your half of the sentence kind of made sense by itself, even if it made it singular rather than involving Grace in whatever you were figuring out. Seeing that he still wore it unlocked some kind of giddy well of emotion that you struggled to keep under control as you turned your gaze to admire his profile.

"What?!" He laughed, glancing at you while trying to pay attention to traffic. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Maybe I'm trying to decide what kind of ice cream I want."

"By looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

Grace sighed with exasperation and shook his head as he pulled into Dairy Queen. "Nothing. Nevermind. Drive-thru?" You just nodded, frustration keeping you silent. You wouldn't show it, but sometimes you wished when he caught you staring he'd actually keep going with it. Push you into admitting how you feel.

You kept your hand where it was-- hanging beside his over the center console-- and leaned forward to turn up the news. They were still talking about the Petrova line, speculating on what it could be. You both tensed, anxious at the possibilities that all ended in global catastrophe. Subtly, you slipped your fingertips between his. "Grace..."

"Yeah?"

You couldn't look at him. At some point, you'd have to confess before you both inevitably died terribly, but not yet. "...Will we figure this out, too?" You weren't just talking about the Petrova line. You're sure he must like you too, at least a little bit-- unless you were just wishful thinking. Surely his tender hugs and gentle touches like you were made of glass or long stares meant something more than just friends to him too.

Grace surprised you by shaking your hand away. You were briefly hurt before he repositioned his hand to take yours, entwining your fingers with a gentle squeeze. "Yes." He ran his thumb over the back of your hand and met your gaze meaningfully. "I promise."

Maybe he wasn't just talking about the Petrova line, either.

~~~

"Grace! Grace!" Your hoarse voice cut through mechanical beeping and squealing of the medical systems panicking as you crawled out of your cot. Tubes left every orifice but your mouth, which was raw from the feeding tube that had been removed. Everything hurt worse now. You couldn't stand. Your vision blacked in and out. This was day two of trying to get to him.

Olesya and Yao were dead. They had to be. But Grace's vitals were still working. He was fine, right? What if he died next?

No. You couldn't take it. Not your Grace.

"Grace!"

The computer's mechanical voice cut through the chaos: "Eye movement detected. Preparing Dr. Ryland Grace for wake up procedure."

You felt the anesthesia in your IV again. It was quick-acting. Your vision began to fade as his cot was pulled from the wall. He has eye movement. He's waking up. But is he sound? Did Stratt actually induce amnesia? Please tell me he fought it. Please...

You filled your lungs and yelled his name with everything you had before you were swept away into darkness again.

~~

You and Grace sat on his couch, half asleep as the credits of Return of the Jedi played.

"Good movie," You mumbled, head nodding into the pillow on your lap. Grace didn't answer right away. You smiled warmly at his sleeping form before switching off the TV and bracing yourself for the drive home. It wasn't long, but it was certainly lonely.

"Y/N," He said groggily, making you jump. He didn't seem to notice. "I was thinking."

"Apparently hard enough to knock you out."

He hummed a laugh and cracked his deep blue eyes open, hesitating. "What if we just moved in together?"

Your heart dropped. "What?"

Grace started listing things off on his fingers. "We're literally always together, we're always spending the night at each other's apartments, you're about to lose your job, you have a car we both can use. It's not like we really have any concept of personal space anyway."

"I mean... I have seen you at your worst. You were dying." Grace immediately knew you were talking about when he was sick a few years ago-- just a basic cold. But he'd taken a week off of work because he could barely breathe or move, you stayed at his place to nurse him back to help, and he acted like he was on death's door. You dramatically started mocking him. "Oh my God, I can't feel my face, I'm gonna die--"

Grace raised his voice to speak over you, rolling his eyes. "I was sick, I couldn't even walk--"

"Please, get me a pen so I can write my will I'm not gonna make it--"

"The one time I call for you for help because I'm sick and I could barely breathe--"

"I'm LITERALLY dying I need to go to the hospitaaaaal--"

"I thought I really needed to go!"

You busted out laughing. "To be totally fair, you really were sick enough to have me worried. I just like teasing you."

"So I noticed!" He scoffed, glaring at you from his place on the couch-- still half-asleep. "You're one to talk, anyway. Any time you get the slightest congestion--"

"I'm gonna stop you right there--" You held up a hand in a futile effort to stop him, but he ignored you.

"Graaaace, can I borrow some benadryllll?"

"I do not sound like that!"

"You're a doctor how do you not already have benadryl?!"

"I keep forgetting to buy some and you're always prepared for anything."

Grace made it a point to judge you over the rim of his glasses. "Well? Living together? You'll always have access to Benadryl."

"And you'll always have someone to take care of you when you're sick, you big baby."

"I am not--"

"Can I think about it?" Your tone had shifted into something more serious that Grace could sense. You two hadn't lived together since that one summer you'd both went to your grandparents' house out west when you were teens to run a science experiment on the Great Plains. But living with him now?

The world could end any day now. You're kind of on a deadline here. Living with him might push you to make the leap into confessing. But could you bring yourself to do it?

Grace only nodded. "Take as much time as you need. No pressure if you decide to or not. You know that. You sleeping here tonight?" You answered with a distracted hum. You usually slept over on the weekends, insisting to stay on his pullout couch while he got his bed. He brought you some bedding as you got everything ready and pulled a pair of pajamas out of your purse.

"Y/N?" Grace lingered in the door to his bedroom, the rest of the lights in the house off except for the TV.

"Yeah?" You paused on your way to the bathroom to change, turning to look at him.

He chewed on his bottom lip for a minute and straightened his glasses before clearing his throat. "I don't know if you... have anybody. Romantically, like that. But if they're uncomfortable with it--"

"There's nobody, Ryland." Your voice cracked. You never used his first name unless it was very, very serious. He knew that. He couldn't bring his gaze up to meet yours. Nobody but you. "I don't have anyone." You hesitated, then added with a breezy cough, "But if you--"

"I don't." His eyes flicked up once, almost like he was gauging your reaction. "I-I'm not with anybody. Haven't been in a long time." A heavy silence dragged between you. You were only separated by a hallway, but it felt so much longer than it really was, so much deeper. It was like the vastness of space itself stretched between you. "Do you have anyone you're interested in?"

You froze. Say it now. Say it. Your tongue was like lead in your mouth. "Grace--" You choked, and you inwardly cursed. It sounded like you were only reprimanding him. "Grace uh..." Panic made you change the subject. "Do you?"

Grace met your gaze intently. Your face flushed. "...I don't know yet." The two of you lingered in the hallway a moment before he half-turned away. "'Night."

The door clicking shut behind him was the loudest thing you'd ever heard.

~~~

You choked as you woke up. A tube was in your throat again, hindering your screams as you groggily flailed around, trying to pull out the IV but finding yourself restrained.

You had moved in with Grace. You two had been living together for only a couple of weeks when he told you about getting signed on for the Petrova taskforce against his will, then his discoveries about astrophage. He told you all about his findings-- a mistake, actually, because you woke up in the middle of the night to a couple of FBI-looking guys kidnapping you and whisking you away to the lab, where you were basically put on house arrest unless Grace was with you-- and Stratt, refusing to deal with the loopholes of getting you slowly in the loop, allowed you top security clearance just so you could be with Grace. She called you his security blanket, which wasn't entirely a lie, although he was also yours. Comforting each other from shared panic attacks wasn't easy, though.

Stratt had been nice enough to order some of your things returned to you. Stratt had been nice enough to do quite a lot of things, and you couldn't even blame her for doing what she did to Grace.

From an unbiased perspective, it was the logical thing to do.

To you, she wrestled your love onto a ship bound for a star never to return, against his will, forced him into a coma, and erased his memory for a little while.

"Hey, hey easy!" Grace. Oh my God, he's okay. You weren't thinking straight. All you wanted was off of the damn bed. "Calm down! Let me help you!" It took everything you had to calm down. You were in space. No trees, plains, rain, ever ever again, just endless space and death waiting for you--

--but Grace was here. Grace, who you'd chosen to die for.

"Hold still," He urged, leaning over you. You welled up, tears streaming down your face when you see him. A little more tired, his hair a bit longer and his face hastily-shaven. "I had the robot take everything else out. You were out of it for a couple of days though, so I had them put the feeding tube back in. I didn't want you to starve. Relax." You forced yourself to, watching as he gently began to pull the tube out of your mouth.

You choked and coughed, doubling over; it was over quick, and he undid your restraints hurriedly. "The computer did this. It said you kept throwing yourself out of bed-- oh--!"

You threw your arms around his neck and let out sobs held back by four years of a medical coma. You'd had all of twenty minutes to decide if you were going to die for Grace by the time Stratt got to you. Now that you were awake, and so was he, it was all hitting you at once.

You were going to die. Within the next couple of years.

You weren't ready.

"Grace--"

"I don't remember you," He managed, voice cracking. "I know you're important. I just can't remember why."

Your sobs came heavier. You'd hoped she wouldn't have drugged him. You'd hoped she'd trusted you enough to keep him from sabotaging the mission-- and you both knew he'd never do that. But she had to take precautions. Vaguely, you heard Grace mumble more to himself than anything, "You're shaking... Uh..." He kept his arms wrapped around you, though, supporting you on the bed. "Computer, do we have heated blankets?"

A moment later, a wall of warmth enveloped you. "I take it you remember a lot more than I do," Grace commented, resting his chin on top of your head. "I'm sorry. I don't know how else to comfort you except hold you."

"It works," You choked, eyeing his wrist. Stratt had listened to you. She didn't have his bracelet removed, or yours. You stared at it as your sobs slowed and your vision faded away.

~~~

"This is stupid," Grace grumbled, adjusting the telescope again. Your eyes found the bracelet on his wrist and smiled. "We can't see it. It's too cloudy. We're on the wrong side of the hemisphere anyway."

"Then find a star other than Tau Ceti," You countered softly, "Find a closer one."

Grace huffed and squinted against the telescope. You fought a giggle, despite the seriousness of the circumstances. At the end of a long, difficult, tiring day, Grace had still wanted to come out and stargaze with you, even if he was being grumpy about it. Being on Baikonur, if you got a few miles away from the base, the sky was endless. Of course, a security detail had to follow you, just so you wouldn't decide to bolt. Grace had disguised it as "research."

He froze then, locked on something. You saw him turning the knob to zoom in and excitement fluttered in your chest. "Find one?"

"Um. Yeah?"

"Why do you sound unsure about that?"

He stepped back, frowning. He extended a hand for his notebook, which you happily handed over. You liked watching him when he's doing something science-y. "It's... It's supposed to be Betelguese."

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline. "'Supposed to be'? Does it have on a fake mustache or something?"

Grace shot you a glare and you raised your hands in poor self-defense. "It's really, really dim. Take a look." You did as he asked and the usually bright red, pulsing orb was much fainter than you'd ever seen it. Your stomach dropped as Grace sighed and jotted down a couple of notes.

"Grace..." You tapped on the telescope's metal casing worriedly. "If... Even if the Hail Mary saves our sun... Will there just be a massive star-death? Will our sky be dark?" You couldn't help the crack in your voice. The thought of thousands of stars dying scared you. A dark sky at night felt unnerving to even think about. Ever since you were a child, you'd adored the stars. You and Grace used to take camping trips solely to stargaze, before all of this with building the Hail Mary.

"Probably," Grace breathed as an icy wind blew across the fields, "Yes. Most likely. I'm sorry. If I could save them all, I would."

"I know you would..." You stepped back from the telescope and let him take over again as he pivoted toward another nearby star. Your heart was pounding. It's now or never. Literally. "Grace... I uh... Can I tell you something that might utterly ruin our friendship?"

He glared at you over the edge of the telescope's eyepiece. "Is it worse than the time you called me back in college and told me you drove into my dorm when you were drunk and trying to park? And then I had to come bail you out of jail?"

You weighed the possible outcomes and winced heavily. "In my defense, I wanted to say hello to my best friend ever?"

"You don't sound sure about that." He tried to hide a smirk and sighed deeply as he went back to the telescope. "Nothing's going to ruin our friendship. Not at this point. What is it?"

You turned away from him, heart pounding and breath coming in short, quick bursts. You can do this. You can definitely do this. "...We've known each other a really long time."

"Yeah."

"We're pretty close."

"Well, I didn't invite you to live with me and get you trapped on this mission because we're not close, so."

You started pacing, keeping your back to him. "You didn't get me trapped here."

Grace scoffed. "I did, actually."

"No, you didn't, last I checked you didn't dress up as some FBI guy and bust down the front door to kidnap me--"

"I love you."

You're pretty sure your heart collapsed in on itself. Your lungs just decided to stop working entirely. You whipped around to face him; his hands were shaking as he fiddled with his pen and notebook, unable to look at you. "Always have. I just... Recently, I realized just how much. I invited you to live with me because I hated being away from you. After I moved back... It was like finding out you can poke an astrophage and kill it. It was jarring." A smile spread across your face at his own reference. "I can't stop thinking, dreaming, about you. Every day is just waiting until I see you again. Just..." He kept his head down as he shortened the distance between you slowly, cautiously, like you'd run away if he moved too fast. "Your cooking, your laugh, your smile, your eyes, your humor, your hair, the way you talk, the way you look at me when you think I'm not looking or the way you interrupt every single movie with your own commentary. I love it. All of it. Every part of you. And if I could go up there and save all your stars, I would. I love you." Finally, only a foot away, he looked at you. Really looked at you, his sapphire eyes glistening with a hint of fear. "Is that by any chance what you were going to say, or did I just ruin everything?"

Now that he'd said it, it was less intense. Your hands and knees trembled as you took a few more steps forward, until you were practically up against him. From here you could hear how quickly he was breathing. "Ryland... I wouldn't want you to save my stars." His shoulders dipped ever so slightly. "I need you here. With me. Every day until it's over. Every day until the stars are all gone. I need you more than any star, even our own. You mean everything to me. And to answer your question, yes. I was going to say 'I love you' and make a whole dramatic speech, but you stole my moment. So. I love you."

You'd barely finished your sentence when he kissed you, as gentle as his fingers were ghosting across your face; like he was asking for permission, almost. You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer and he took that as a sign to go ahead, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you flush against him. He pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours, cupping your face in his hand. "When this is all over, we'll move somewhere where you can see the stars every night before they're gone."

"Only if we can get a dog."

Grace smiled, kissing you again. It was softer this time, more passionate as he moved slow, taking his time. He was savoring you like a man starved. "Deal," He said against your lips.

~~~

On shaky, unsteady legs, you left the washroom of the Hail Mary.

After Grace had helped calm you down, he carried you to the washroom since you couldn't walk by yourself. Even not knowing who you were, he was still resoundingly kind. He helped you where he could, and then he left when you decided to clean yourself up. You detangled four years of rats in your hair, washed, and when you smelled decent, you pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top underneath an orange NASA jumpsuit.

Finally, having eaten a tube of surprisingly good-tasting sludge, you made your way to the lab. You couldn't imagine he'd be anywhere else. You turned the corner and there he was, fiddling with a couple of instruments with no particular experiment nearby. Nervous, maybe.

You watched him for a second; he'd cut his hair since he'd helped you out. It had been hours ago, now. Messy, just like it always was. His glasses hung by one ear and he wore one of those stupid science pun tees under a yellow cosmonaut suit. The man who'd promised to save your stars metaphorically. You'd never wanted him to do it physically. Yet here you were.

The love of your life sat only feet away, and your entire lives together had been erased.

A hollow, aching hole opened up in your chest and you hiccuped with the effort of fighting back sobs. "Grace..."

He looked up. Unknowing of who he was to you, of how much you meant to him, about the sacrificed promise of a home to watch the stars and a dog you'd never have. Of a life you'd never have. You weren't sure if the amnesia was permanent, but it hurt. It hurt worse than knowing you were going to die. Grace's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I... I know you're important. I just can't... I can't remember. Did I know you?"

"Yes," You choked out. Forcing memories on someone coming out of a coma was a shockingly bad idea. You would have to suffer alone for however long it took for him to regain his memories. The thought made you hiccup again. "Yes, we knew each other."

"How long?" His eyes pierced through you, vague recognition there. But he didn't know you. Your Grace was gone, even if temporarily. Who knows? Maybe he was gone forever. When you didn't answer, he asked again. "How long did we know each other?"

You wiped tears away. You needed to be professional, like he was your patient, but... It's Grace. It's my Grace. "A long time."

Grace stood up, taking a deep breath. "Who are you?"

"I'm..." Your best friend. Your lover. Your lab partner. "Your doctor," You choked, managing to look him in the eyes. "I'm your doctor."

"What's your name?"

The sentence hurt more than you thought it would. "Y/N."

The silence that dragged between you was as heavy as your uncertain fates.

~~~

Stratt had you sat across from her. It was only a day after the explosion that killed Shapiro and DuBois. Why were they in the lab together? They knew better than to be in one place... And to use that much astrophage... Worryingly, after he'd come to check on you in the chaos, you hadn't seen or heard from Grace.

And you had a sinking feeling as to why.

"I think you know why you're here," Stratt breathed shakily. Tears rimmed her red, puffy eyes. "I didn't want to do it, Y/N. Really, I didn't. But I had to make a choice."

The ragged gasps of your struggling lungs gave way to desperate sobs. I'll never see him again. I'll just know he's out there. My Grace, my Grace-- "Oh, hail Mary," You breathed. A coincidental exclamation leftover from your upbringing, one that didn't come out for anything short of life-changing.

"I'm about to give you a choice," Stratt's voice cracked as she spoke. You couldn't villainize her. However much you hated her right now, you couldn't. She murdered the love of your life, but her reasoning was so legitimate you couldn't blame her for what she did. Grace was the only one who knew anything about the astrophage. The Hail Mary launches in three days. There's no time to train anyone else, and the human race is on the line.

Even if Grace was the sacrifice.

"A choice?!" You shrieked quietly, "Like you gave him?! What's my choice, Stratt? What kind of statue to build in his honor?"

She drummed her fingers on the table, taking a breath like she was trying to hold back the tears. "...Do you want to go with him?"

Your heart dropped.

Stratt continued with little emotion in her voice as she tried to conceal her pain. "You're a capable doctor. They might need one. You know everything about the medical robot, the supplies, everything. If you want to go, I will let you. You can have a few hours to decide."

You'd leave Earth. Forever. No grass. No rain. No wind, no storms, no waterfalls or hiking or camping or going to Dairy Queen. No BBQs or mindless grocery trips or just going for a summer night drive.

But you wouldn't have Grace.

"I'll go." It felt like a bullet to the chest. It might as well be. Stratt didn't even seem surprised. "I'll go," You reiterated, "I don't need to decide. I'm not letting him go alone. I can't."

Respectfully, Stratt nodded. "Whatever you want, within my power, I can give to you."

"Seeds," You said immediately. "Fruits, vegetables, flowers, trees. I want a whole ecosystem. Eggs. Uhhhhh... Any way to get a small population of breedable livestock would be cool. A dog, maybe. Definitely a dog, if nothing else. I want all the kitchen utensils and ingredients and food that you can get. When we're not in zero g, I want everyone to feel at home."

"Done," Stratt whispered. There were still tears in her eyes, but there was also gratitude. A profound, deep gratitude. But also grief, like she was saying goodbye now. "You could die for him so easily. He couldn't do it for the world."

The words stung your heart.

~~~

You stared at the frozen assortment of seeds, plants, and embryonic livestock. At the bottom of the fridge was a puppy, frozen in cryogenic fluids and vacuum-sealed like you and Grace had been. Stratt really had given you everything you'd asked for. It wasn't like you were interstellar colonists, but she'd been happy to give you a couple of chickens and small pigs to work with if you'd wanted to take the time to raise it and make the crew fresh chicken stew.

And the dog. She'd included the dog. Plenty of chicken and dog food, too.

"I named her Laika," Grace mumbled from behind you. "I can't find any logs on why this was included. Everything down to the last piece of dirt was cataloged, except for this. I just can't figure out why."

"I asked for it," You explained softly, closing the fridge. Now wasn't the time to defrost any of it. "You could say I was a very, very last minute addition to the crew."

"Why?" Grace pressed, following you to the control room's ladder. "What aren't you telling me?"

You whipped around, frowning. "What?"

Grace put his hands together, clearly exasperated. "You're hiding something. I don't know why I know that, but I do. You're hiding something and you won't tell me because you're a doctor, and if I freak out from how much you're loading on me then you're gonna blame yourself. I get that, I really do, but you have to tell me why I'm here. I know we're not orbiting our sun, but why?"

You were backed into a corner-- literally and figuratively. If you told Grace everything and left out the parts about you being a couple, or him being forced, he'd feel betrayed later. If you told him now, he might not trust you. Unfortunately for him, letting him remember on his own might be the best way of going about this.

So, start slow. He isn't asking about your personal relationship right now. You took a deep breath, and tried to recall every detail of the Hail Mary mission you could to brace for follow up questions. "Well, Grace..."

His own words under the plains that night came back to you. If I could go up there and save all your stars, I would.

"...We're here to save the stars."

You would never ask your friend to indulge in your longings out of respect for his space, but god did you want to remember what it felt like to wrap your arms around someone gently and give them a squeeze. Or to hear someone’s heartbeat when you placed your head to their chest. Or even running your hands through their hair as they told you all about their day. Those moments were what you thought about most whenever you started to miss home.

It was one of those occasions where there was nothing you wanted more than to return to Earth -- to your friends and family. As you sat gazing mindlessly out at Adrian through Mary's only large window, you felt a presence behind you.

"It never gets old, does it?"

Ryland caught your attention and you smiled up at him. He was in his usual attire. Jumpsuit tied at the waist with one of his science pun t-shirts you'd grown to be quite fond of. A smile graced your face as you patted the space next to you and invited him to sit. With no words exchanged, the two of you sat together watching the green swirls move slowly on the planet's surface. This was a regular occurance between you both. Watching space together was a nice reminder you weren't alone.

The silence was comfortable as you let your mind wander. You looked to Ryland to catch a glimpse of his expression. The bright green reflected through the glass and drenched you both in colour. As always, his glasses were squint on his face in a way that made you question if he even remembered how to wear them half the time. Before you could stop yourself, you reached up to tilt them back into place. Ryland flinched, not expecting your hands so close. Yet he didn't pull away. He let you fix them and sat patiently wile you adjusted them to his nose.

"Sorry, it was bothering me." You muttered before going back to minding your business. He didn't respond, just kept looking at you.

"Do you ever miss the feeling of holding someone?" He broke the silence, causing you to turn to him again. It was almost like he read your mind about what you were feeling so down about.

"All the time." You responded wholeheartedly with the ache of melancholy in your heart.

He didn't say much after that, just glanced down at your hands and then back to your face like he was afraid to ask out loud for what it was that he wanted. You understood completely. For what felt like weeks you had yearned to reach out and hug him or even just lean on him while you, him, and Rocky watched movies and videos in the 'Don't Go Crazy' room.

Holding out your hand towards him, you waited. If you read the situation correctly then you hoped he could reciprocate your action. Without missing a beat, Ryland grabbed your hand in both of his, feeling over every line and crease like he was trying to memorise it. The sensation of someone studying you so intensely was nothing short of intimate. It was evident from how gentle and immersed he was that had wanted to do this for a long time.

His fingertips and palms were calloused from the work you had both been doing on board. Marks and scars from burns and cuts that weren't quite healed littered his skin. While he was captivated with your fingers, you took a moment to appreciate his face.

It would be a lie to say you didn't find joy in the way his eyes lit up as you willingly let him touch you -- not just in passing or by accident, but rather on purpose.

It was amusing to watch as he discovered every detail of your skin. You had been so distracted observing his face, you weren't expecting him to move in closer so you were sat hip to hip, and intertwine his hand with yours. He gave your hand a squeeze and looked away as if he were embarassed.

"Sorry...I just forgot what it felt like to, you know."

Ryland wouldn't meet your eyes so you brought your free hand up and turned his face towards yours. His eyes widened as you carressed his cheek with your thumb lovingly, feeling his stubble rub against your palm. A peaceful expression formed on his features as he melted into your touch.

Not a word was spoken. You just moved closer to share each other's warmth and continue watching Adrian's colours dance. It was comfortable and satisfied the deep craving of another's presence. Having Ryland so willing to fill that void was probably the reason it felt so right. Now it had started, you prayed things would stay this way forever.

Being so caught up in your own world, you failed to hear the sounds of things clattering and the rolling of an asymmetrical ball enter the lab.

"Grace and Y/n finally mates, question?"

it strikes you as intriguing, the way ryland grace is undoubtedly a night owl. his ability to stay up for hours past midnight, pondering over his scientific discoveries is both admirable and incomprehensible to you.

late in the night, you're up for a cup of water, and a quick trip to the bathroom. light radiates from ryland's workspace, constant in the way the earth circles the sun. gentle clinks and clatters echo where he researches deep into the night.

he tries not to wake you. you wake anyway.

you don't mind. not even a little. you like watching him work through your bleary, half-awake eyes. it's silent, and peaceful. therapeutic, even.

he doesn't notice when you peek through the gap, the lights of the hail mary illuminating his silhouette with a golden glow. the blonde strands sit on top of his head, shimmering like a halo.

it becomes something akin to a ritual: you'll pull on a pair of cotton socks so your feet don't snag on the floor. gliding along the surface, the occasional beep from machinery causes your heart to jump.

you do find it hard to make up new excuses for the growing dark circles under your eyes, however, and though you know ryland wouldn't mind having a late-night lab partner, it's obvious that he would usher you to bed immediately, caring for your well-being far more than his own.

sometimes, the sound of ryland's soft snoring drifts into your ears.

you'd grab a blanket, sneaking into the laboratory, skipping past the part of the floor that always creaks, and place a blanket on top of ryland's rising and falling breaths. you'd always take his crooked glasses off of his face, stifling a giggle when you see the trail of transparent drool at the corner of his mouth.

you don't do it every day. not at first, at least.

but these visits become increasingly common, until you spend hours sitting cross-legged outside ryland's door, drowsy and fatigued and still, unable to look away.

you spend half the time thinking about how nicely his glasses frame his face, and the other half wondering how his ears never seem to hurt from the temple tip digging deep into his flesh.

when he glances up, you duck. your presence probably doesn't go unnoticed, though: you can tell by the way he's smiling at the now empty crack of the door.

you feel ashamed, somehow. like you're intruding, cutting through the quiet, cool atmosphere of the ship and the matchless bond between ryland, and his beloved molecular biology.

tonight is no different. you're on one of your late night treks when a shadow hovering in the hallway stops you dead in the tracks.

"i've seen you. watching." it says. scrutinising, but not commenting on the way your throat lumps nervously when you swallow.

"sorry," you say. "did i bother you?"

"no, no." ryland steps forward into the light, and his face is illuminated- he's smiling, like the thought of you having the ability to pester him in the middle of the night is laughable.

"so- um." you fidget with the ends of your hair, messy and tangled from slumber. "i guess i'll go back-"

"wait!" ryland says quickly. too quickly. "do you want to... maybe stay up with me?"

you realise that he's given this some thought, the spark of eagerness in his eyes giving him away. he's scared, nervous. like the thought of you rejecting him and going back to sleep would kill him.

"yeah." you laugh before he's consumed by his own anxious thoughts. "i'd like that."

"okay." he whispers, a promise splashing in the cold air.

"okay." you echo as his hand circles your waist, thumb brushing over your hipbone, guiding you to his seat like a fiery lantern in the darkness.

ryland's lap acts as your seat, his right arm draped over your waist. barely there, but pulling you gently backwards so you ease into him.

you can sense his heart beating at the back of your spine. you're too exhausted to watch whatever he's doing, but your fingers tinker with the small hairs on his arm, trailing where his blueish veins are visible.

you move down to his fingers. they're smooth. heavy. you trace the warm lines of his palms down a path and the the body behind you suddenly goes very still.

you can hear ryland's pulse patter faster, and faster, until his heart is racing. you keep going, painting paths along his hand and he flinches. you feel a shaky inhale travel from his stomach across his torso.

he's ticklish.

suddenly, you're wide awake. but you don't want to inconvenience him any more than you already have, so you muffle a giggle into the soft sleeve of your pajama top.

"what's so funny?" ryland looks at you. you don't miss the traces of pink at the tip of his ears.

"nothing." you attempt to school your facial expressions into neutrality.

he knows that you know. he lands a soft squeeze at the side of your stomach where his hand rests, making you yelp. you're too drained to retaliate, so you let it go, and he lets it go.

you drift off, soon after, to the gentle rhythm of ryland's steady heart, and the incessant growling of the spaceship.

you don't notice when a blanket is wrapped around you, nor when a certain scientist presses a soft kiss on the top of your head.

it's a shame ryland never wakes up in the morning, though.

despite how understanding you are to his tendency to work into the small hours, you can't bear his insistence to stay in bed for "five more minutes". it's gone on for a full hour.

you can't imagine how he finds such comfort in the bumpy mattress, and the endearing silence from the night before has eviscerated in response to his unintelligible grumbles and protests, causing you to descend into a type of indescribable rage.

"ryland." your patience is long gone. "i need help with the centrifuge setting."

he doesn't respond.

you swear under your breath.

and now, the fucker decides to look you dead in the eye, awake and all, and utter the patronizing word.

"language."

"are you- oh my god- you're kidding." it's hard to put into words the kind of aggressive frustration that overcomes you at the moment.

you take his unacceptable behaviour into account when you climb onto the lump of ryland on the bed, perching on his hips.

he blatantly ignores you.

"last chance," you say.

silence from the other end.

you shove your hands into ryland's ribcage through the blanket and he jolts, stuttering giggles bursting out of him. it's so cute, and uncharacteristically ryland, that you can't help but coo at him. he blushes at the sound, writhing under your touch.

his movements are slow and clumsy, and lethargic, and his lack of sleep does nothing to help. he squeezes his eyes shut like he can shut out the feeling, but pries his eyelids open the second your fingers travel to the middle of his stomach.

"noho," he sniffles, a persistent smile tugging at his lips. "nohot thehere, plehease."

"and why should i listen to you?" your fingers dart under the blankets, then under his shirt, stopping for anticipation. a pair of blue eyes widen in response. "you never listen to me."

ryland pouts- pouts and your heart melts at the sight. it only intensifies the need that gnaws at you, though- the need to tickle him within an inch of his life.

you begin to trace patterns over the soft skin of his stomach and his laughter hitches when you hit a particularly sensitive spot. he's giggling now, really giggling, a wheezy, choked sound that erupts out of him.

"yohu arhe soho dehead." the words come out stuttering and slurred through hiccups and it's mean, you know that, but you can't help it- you giggle at his ridiculous state. the redness on ryland's ears migrates to the apple of his cheeks, swirling patches of pink living on the surface of his skin.

"are you gonna get up?"

ryland doesn't respond. wow, he's persistent.

"you really want me to tickle you, don't you?"

ryland stares at the ceiling, an unwilling giggle bubbling up his throat. you take the bottom of his chin between your fingers and tilt his face so he's looking at you.

he flushes a crimson shade, and you pinch his cheek. he's so fucking cute. you press sloppy kisses over the soft skin of his neck, and he shrieks right into your ear.

"ryland!" you scold. "are you trying to make me deaf?"

"sohorry- i'hm sohorry- noho, DOHON'T!" his rambling apologies do nothing to deter you when your thumbs latch onto the crease of his hipbone, rubbing tiny circles and he squeals. he's batting at your fingers uselessly, and his usual strength has somehow evaporated.

"and what have we learnt today?" you smile as you emerge victorious.

"ih'll gehet uhp nehext tihme!" ryland's trying to speak through his broken giggles, and the sight is so amusing to you that you land a few extra pokes on his torso. he twitches at each one, his face crinkling in mirth.

all your effort's gone to waste, though. you're still sleepy from the night before, and when ryland reaches up to hug you, your back tightly pressed against his chest on the bed, you fall into unconsciousness almost immediately. the centrifuge lies on the bench, long forgotten, and it beeps in protest.

this, too, becomes a ritual after your late nights: ryland's refusal to rise, your half-hearted attempts to wake him, and the way you inevitably end up fast asleep with him anyway.

neither of you acknowledge that this is a weak excuse to feel close to each other; nor when you’re pressed up against the warmth of ryland's arms, it finally feels like home.

"I'M SORRY but you haven't really answered my question since you dragged me here," you urgently followed eva stratt— from what you know, is the woman in charge of the whole petrova taskforce— as she lead you to god knows where. "what does a psychiatrist has to do with the petrova line?" you repeated the question you have been asking since eva barged into your clinic earlier that day. you were pretty sure she's so annoyed by your constant pestering for answers that she might drop you from the mission and leave you in a ditch.

eva stopped all of a sudden that you almost bumped into her. she turned around with such stiffness as if her every move is calculated mathematically. "we have already discovered that astrophage is a form of life, alien life," she stated but still left your question unanswered. you shrugged your shoulders, confused. "so? i'm a medical doctor, not a scientist," you said matter-of-factly, but the statement somehow left a sting in your taste buds.

eva stared at you for a good minute, the authority radiating off her made you feel small. it's as if she's showing you that she has power over you, with just her presence. “you study beyond just the human mind. you believe that everything that has life has an explanation for its behavior.” you nod with eva’s explanation. “i think every scientist believes that—“ she quickly cuts you off, dismissing your reply, “you made a bold move, a bold discovery on animal behavior that made ethologists jealous of you.” you felt your breath hitch, the statement triggering unpleasant memories you purposely buried into your unconscious mind. the shame, the scrutiny, the rumors were all coming back.

“we need you to figure out why the astrophages are moving to venus,” eva finished, turning around without another word and continued walking. you quickly followed her, almost tripping on your own foot. “i’m pretty sure the molecular biologist you have will figure that out themself,” you stated, voice slightly louder as she walked further ahead of you. your journey came to a halt as you reached the end of the tunnel, a surprise was waiting for you.

eva stepped aside, giving you full view of the person you least expected to see when the world is ending. “ryland?” you breathed. what are the odds that your high school ex would be the scientist that made the groundbreaking discovery that astrophages are a bunch of cells? and what are the odds that you’re the psychiatrist eva recruited to help the man?

ryland on the other hand, was as surprised as you are. the last time he saw you was when you dumped him during graduation, and boy did he bawl his eyes out that night. why did you dump him? he will never know... or he might ask about it later. not that he's still caught up on you it's just— it's one of those memories that stubbornly comes up when he's trying to sleep at night and haunts him.

"i believe the two of you are already acquainted with each other. so i am expecting this project to be done as soon as possible," eva spoke with such sternness as ever. you looked back at her, eyes subtly pleading to not be a part of this. eva raised a brow at you, like a mother trying to get her daughter to stay put with just a glare. you looked down to the floor in defeat. i guess there's no escaping this.

eva left, leaving the both of you with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. "so..." ryland spoke first, rocking back and forth from his heels to toe like a kid. you finally decided to look up at him, getting a good view of his appearance after decades. blond hair disheveled like a true scientist, glasses crooked like it always did even back then, and his dorky choice of fashion. unbeknownst to you, your staring was starting to fluster him. he was starting to get conscious of himself. did he have something on his face? did an astrophage stick to him without his permission?

"woah, stop staring at me. i might melt," ryland said jokingly, chuckling. you blinked, hiding the embarrassment that he just caught you checking him out staring at him. you could only shake your head in disbelief and invited yourself in his laboratory. you heard him follow suit but you didn't dare look back. "okay, let's start with your findings first," you ordered, fixing your white coat that you didn't get to take off.

"wait, wait, wait." ryland stepped in front of you, his hands up in the air. he looked down at your coat, reading the embroidery located on your upper left chest. it read your name with a "dr." at the beginning, "md" at the end, and "psychiatrist" underneath it. "i didn't know you went to become a medical doctor," he added, brows furrowed in bewilderment. you crossed your arms, huffing, "what's that got to do with all this?"

ryland stared at you, memories of both your high school days flashing by his mind. how you both promised to be scientist, him a molecular biologist and you a chemist. "but... but you've always exceled more in chemistry. that was your whole life," he muttered. you gape at him, surprised he even remembered that part of you. you could only scoff and walk past him, not really sure where to go. "you got time to reminisce when the world is ending, grace?" you sarcastically asked, emphasizing his surname, knowing it annoyed him when you don't address him by his first name.

ryland pursed his lips. you were right, he should save the personal questions for later. "okay then..." the scientist started, leading you to where the astrophages are stored, his hand hovering over the small of your back like it's second nature to him. you winced, not sure what to feel about the gesture. "what's a psychiatrist doing here?" you snapped your head towards him, head tilting upwards since he's taller than you. ryland held his hands up in surrender before saying, "no offense."

you sigh in defeat and answered, "that was my question too at first." ryland backed up a bit after noticing how close he was to you and nodded, signifying that he's listening. "but stratt said you discovered that the astrophage is an alien life form and you needed to know why it's moving to venus," you continued, looking up at him. ryland was looking back at you but you could still see the confusion in his eyes. leaning back to a less clattered table carefully, you stated, "i'm here to help understand why the astrophages are doing what they're doing."

ryland's mouth formed an "o", finally understanding why you're needed there with him. but of course, a scientist is always curious and so he queried once again, "but... you study the human mind and behavior. i'm not following—" knowing this is just going to be followed by never ending follow-up questions, you cut him off. "you know what? it doesn't matter!" you dismissed him and turned towards the screen above the container of the astrophage, trying hard to comprehend the information it contained.

ryland, as if he read your mind, realized something. it may have been decades since you've seen each other and sure, you've changed a lot, but there is one thing that he's sure never disappeared deep within you... and it's your curiosity that goes beyond your field of expertise. while ryland had his sudden epiphany, you were still trying so hard to understand the words and numbers displayed on the screen. it's been so long since you stepped foot into a lab and read equations, and it's giving you cognitive overload.

yes, you admit that what ryland said was true. you're on par with him when it comes to science back in high school. your forte was earth science and chemistry, but the latter was what you really mastered the most. and with how the astrophage information is giving you a headache just shows how rusty you are. you could practically hear the gears in your brain creek and croak, like a machine in need of lubrication.

"you did something, didn't you?" you yelp at ryland's sudden appearance beside you. you quickly held a hand up to your mouth, afraid that the guards assigned to monitor the both of you would kill you at the slightest sound you'd make. "the hell did you do that for?" you hissed at the blond. suddenly, you're overly conscious at how he's leaning too close. "you did!" he shouted, shooting his arms up like he just made a new science discovery. as much as it's good to be working with a familiar face, ryland's antic is starting to piss you off just a little bit.

"ugh, you're so annoying." you pushed ryland away, your whole palm barely covering his face. all of a sudden, you felt something cold and slimy smear your palm that was directly resting on your ex's face. "ryland!" you pulled your hand back immediately, face contorted with disgust. "wipe this off!" you tried to wipe your hands on his shirt but ryland was quick to evade your attack.

the scientist stood there— wide-eyed— probably surprised by his own actions as well as the memories of when the both of you were still together coming back from the depths of his hippocampus. you attempted another attack but ryland backed up quick. you froze, feeling his saliva dry up on your palm... and that's when you saw red. "come here you li'l shit!"

you and ryland where having a marathon inside the laboratory, still careful not to break millions of dollars of equipment, when ryland's walkie-talkie spoke, "stop it, you two." it was carl, one of stratt's bodyguards. he was sitting in the observation room, well, observing you two. as instructed, you and ryland stopped simultaneously, realizing how childish you two probably look right now. you glanced at the other two guards standing by the door, they both shook their heads in disappointment.

you slowly moved your head to face ryland, who was already looking at you. the both of you are huffing and puffing in exhaustion. despite the blond's attempt to suppress his laugh, a snort escaped his mouth. without your will, you felt a laugh bubble up in your throat. after a few seconds of just pure silence and staring, ryland couldn't help it anymore and busted out laughing, to which you followed suit. both your laughs enveloped the seemingly dull box of glass they call a laboratory.

for a moment, it didn't feel like you two are missioned to save the earth. for a moment, it felt like you were back in high school, teasing and playing inside the chemistry lab you both sneaked into. for a moment, it felt like you were back to your old self. and it was so... so refreshing.

this is gonna be one hell of a ride.

You didn’t ask him to do it, of course, but Holland always knew you liked a man who took initiative.

You’d only mentioned in passing that your ex boyfriend wouldn’t leave you alone: late-night phone calls, showing up at your usual spots, refusing to accept it was over. You brushed it off as annoying but harmless; Holland didn’t see it that way.

One evening, a cool night in May, you came home to hear the TV already on and March and Healy chatting from in your living room. You weren’t surprised —sometimes Healy came over to watch the baseball — but you gasped when you walked in: Holland had a cigarette hanging from his freshly split lip and a glass of whisky between his bloody knuckles. Healy was pouring himself another glass of like he lived there, but you didn’t have time to argue about that, right now.

Holland grinned the second he saw you. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, voice warm and unconcerned. “How was your day?”

“Holland… what the hell happened?”

He grinned like a kid who just won a fistfight at recess: boyish, and utterly concerning.

The night before, Holland had kicked your ex’s front door open with full force.

“You’re supposed to knock first, asshole,” Healy had hissed under his breath. “No manners.”

“Yeah, well,” March tapped lightly on the now exposed doorframe. “Happy?”

Healy rolled his eyes but followed behind his colleague, calm and stone-faced, cracking his knuckles as they entered.

Your ex had been on his couch watching TV. He jumped up, eyes wide.

“What the fuck, man? Who the hell are—“

Holland didn’t let him finish. He marched straight over and punched him hard in the face, sending him stumbling back into the fireplace. No sooner than he had regained his balance, he l grabbed a heavy lamp off the mantle and threw it at Holland’s face, ripping it out the plug socket.

“Fuck!” Holland cried out, stumbling backwards. “Jesus Christ!”

Healy muttered something under his breath, but stormed forward nonetheless to land a clean punch on your ex’s chin, sending him sliding down the wall.

“Consider that a message from Y/N,” Healy stated to the man on the floor, nonplussed by his state.

“Yeah, you pathetic piece of shit,” March snarled, still dabbing at his busted lip. He tried not to grin in delight at the sight of the man covered in his own blood, but he couldn’t help himself; he seethed in pain.

Healy sighed, grabbing the guy by the collar and slamming him down into an armchair.

“You’ve got two minutes, March,” Healy said flatly. “Make them count.” Healy retreated to the front door, which now lay on its hinges on the vinyl floor.

Holland crouched in front of the bleeding man, grinning with his bloody teeth.

“Here’s how this is gonna go,” he said cheerfully. “You’re gonna stop calling her. You’re gonna stop showing up at places she likes. Hell, you’re gonna stop thinking about her. Because if you don’t…” He pulled out his revolver and pressed the barrel under the guy’s chin. “I’ve had a really bad week, buddy. And nothing would cheer me up more than painting your ceiling with your brains. You understand me?”

The ex nodded frantically, blood dripping down his chin. “A-alright, you fucking psychopath! Jesus, I got it!”

Holland patted his cheek a little too hard. “Good boy. See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He stood up, then suddenly kicked the guy in the ribs for good measure. “That one’s for making her uncomfortable. And this—” another kick, “—is because I fucking felt like it.” He stormed out the door.

Healy rolled his eyes from the entrance. “We’re done here. You got the message buddy? No calling, no showing up to her work, no…whatever. Have a nice night.”

Healy followed March back to his cruiser.

Telling you the story, Holland shrugged innocently, still smiling at you as though he were telling you about a rude coworker.

“He cried. It was actually kinda pathetic. Healy had to stop me from kicking him while he was down.” He took an easy sip of his drink. “But he got the message, baby. He won’t bother you again.”

“Jesus Christ, Holland!” you exclaimed.

Holland reached up and gently touched your cheek, eyes widening just a fraction.

“You mad?”

He can get past the mustard thing.

"No," comes your answer. "How come you've remembered being a teacher? My brain feels like a void."

He hums. "I'm not sure. It just... came to me."

Your toe bumps his and you tilt your head, arms crossed over your stomach. He mimics you subconsciously, only because he likes you, and you're easy to follow. Comforting, when you smile at him, and his chest feels light.

"Like a vision?"

"Exactly," he laughs. "A vision. That's cool."

The sound of his laughter wanes quick, and everything is quiet and stretched again. Mary hums constant and obstinately. Your smile sticks and it makes him glad. It's something he's familiar with already, the way your lips curl like a petal.

But it's gone quick, too. Your eyes widen, and you sit straight.

"What?" he asks, palms moving to press against the floor, ready to push himself up. "Why do you look like that?"

"I love to read!" you exclaim, blinking owlishly.

"Oh, okay, that's great-"

"Something with books, I was really... involved with them."

Ryland can work with this. He wants to help you, wants to assist in prying your brain and coaxing all of the trapped, sunken parts of you out. Wants to learn more about you, what makes you up, what makes you you.

"You were involved with books. Uh, what books?"

The scrunch is back. Your brows furrow as you contemplate, and then you're snapping your fingers and shifting to sit excitedly on your knees before him. He smiles big at your expression.

"The Count of Monte Cristo! And... The Odyssey, and The Iliad!"

He nods along to your words supportively, eyebrows raised. To him, they're old, old books. Maybe he had read something about Greek gods in school, and was only a little bored. They were cool. Nothing like the cosmos, though, nothing like reading about the mystery of a black hole.

"That's awesome," he says. "A step in the right direction, yeah? This is something."

Your pupils wobble over his face. He almost tells you to sit back and breathe, but remembers that you're rediscovering yourself, and refrains. One of his hands has raised traitorously, however, and hovers near your waist.

He reels it back.

"Yeah," you reply.

"Nothing about... this? The mission?"

You shake your head.

"I... no, I don't think I was really interested in... this stuff."

He adjusts his glasses. "Oh. Not at all?"

Thinking hard again, as you sit back on your thighs and settle criss cross. Your fingertips tap, tap, tap against the stretch of fabric that rounds your knee.

"Not at all. I'm not sure astronomy was really my forte."

If you were somebody else, he might grimace to himself. You don't need to be as interested in the workings of the universe as he is. That's okay, because you're you. Still learning you. Still lovely and lovelier the more he gets to know.

He does wonder, though. This is astronomy. What you're doing, the Hail Mary, the speckled tar maw that's swallowed the both of you completely whole. It's space, it's science.

"Then how... what are you doing here?"

Your head jolts back in a show of mild offense.

"I don't know! That sounded almost rude, Grace."

"No- no! I just mean... you're obviously smart! Book smart. Classic literature smart." He's quick to remedy.

"So? I can still go to space. I'm here."

"I know! I know that, but... why? Wouldn't you rather be in a... library, or something?"

You stare at him for a moment. Any offense had been mostly a faux display he realizes, and relief blooms through his body when your smile returns. Albeit mellow this time, tired. You shrug and sigh and tug at a thread on your sock.

"Maybe," you murmur. "It's still really fuzzy up there."

You gesture loosely to your head. He understands.

"I know," he replies, assuring. "We can figure out the rest later."

He's starting to ache from being sat so long. You should get up together and have some coffee, maybe. It's not the good kind. It's burnt before being poured over and somehow still dry even when mixed with water, but it tastes better when you're drinking from your own mug beside him.

He'll joke, and find out what makes you laugh, and another shining shard will click into the mosaic that is you.

"Later," you repeat.

A small swell in his heart. He can ache a couple more minutes, to sit in comfortable silence with you, and watch out the round window as the stars pass by slow as spreading honey.