—

you feel groggy.

that makes sense. but not groggy enough.

the ship looks nicer than you remember, too.

you're seeing doubles of everything and it's all quite blurry, but it's fine. it'll return to normal in a little bit, you think. where's the nannybot, anyway?

you decide to try to sit up. you use your left hand to test out your movement. opening it, closing it, wiggling individual fingers. huh, okay, that level of control is surprising.

when you try the same with your left, it's pulled back. you try to pull on it again, and look at your hand in confusion when it refuses. there's some sort of clinking sound, you vaguely recognise. your vision starts to merge into one, lines focusing.

it's a metal cuff. one of those handcuffs that police use, you think.

“oh, good.”

is that... stratt?

you move your head over to look. there she is, sitting down next to a table, and setting down her book and coffee on it. she stands up, walking over to you.

you squint your eyes and try to blink a few times to correct whatever your brain thinks you're seeing. it's still stratt. that's concerning.

“sit up.” she tells you casually.

you look back at your hand and figure, fine, maybe something happened and... yeah, there's no real explanation for this. okay, sitting up should still work. you use your right hand as support, and slowly make your way up. you feel a bit woozy, but you can handle it.

you think the room is still spinning. or maybe it's just you.

stratt makes you lean into her stomach, holding you by the shoulders. she mutters, like a scientist figurine out an experiment. “hmm.. okay, better than expected.”

she puts a hand under your chin, tilting your head upwards to look at it. the sudden action makes you a bit dizzy, honestly. you slowly breathe in and out to let it pass. she seems happy, for some reason. if memory serves you right, her being in the same room as you means that she either boarded the hail mary, or that you didn't.

you're really hoping it's the first option, despite it being the unlogical one; stratt never showed signs of suicidality, and she definitely wasn't needed on the mary. you squint at her again. she seems just a little amused, if you're reading her right.

“speak.”

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. it takes you a few long seconds to manually figure out words again. all you can eventually manage is a hoarse “what?”.

she leans down and gives you a kiss on the forehead. huh? “very good. i'll go ahead and order our food. just rest up, honey.”

no, what the fuck is happening? ‘honey’? she kissed you?

you're starting to really panic. “w—what's,” you begin. you have to breathe deeply to keep the energy to speak. “what's going on, stratt?”

she takes your right hand, and brings it up to her lips. she presses a gentle kiss to it. “don't worry. everything's okay.”

that's not an answer. well, definitely not one you want to hear. you try to pull away from her, pushing yourself closer towards the wall. “no, what's going on? i'm supposed to—” you inhale again. “be on the hail mary. not with you.”

she just looks at you like you're some scared animal. you don't like how calm she is. “as i said, don't worry about it. captain yáo will do a great job, i assure you.”

yáo?

that can't be right. he's the secondary captain, who'd only be on the mary if you were suddenly unable to. you're fine, you're sure of it, so why in god's name is he going?

she slowly makes her way closer to you, letting a leg rest on the rather large bed while moving to be on top of you and acting like this is all normal and fine. she brings a hand to your hair and honestly pets you like a cat. she shakes her head disapprovingly, despite. “calm down, darling. you're fine.”

you desperately want to pull away again, but you're not sure she'll take it well. is she having delusions, right now? she thinks you're in a romantic relationship with each other. that's incredibly concerning. and she made a nuclear wasteland out of Antarctica while still in her right mind.

so you sit there and let her treat you like a pet. it's annoying, but definitely not your biggest issue. she seems satisfied at a certain point, stopping, and moves to sit in front of you. she takes out a walkie-talkie. “stratt to kitchen, you can start preparing my order now.”

you hear a short “copy!” before she puts it back into her pocket. so, the situation is... very really bad.

you're not on the hail mary. yáo is, despite you being the primary crew. stratt is delusional, but still has the power to command people. so the mary hasn't launched yet, then? can you convince her that she's being insane, and that you need to be on that ship?

“stratt.”

she nods at you, raising her eyebrows. “i... it's my duty to go on the mary. i'm perfectly fine, like you said, so mr. yáo shouldn't go.”

she shrugs. “he's already on his way to tau ceti. it was your duty, but it's not, anymore. you can just relax, now. with me.”

she brings her hand up to you again, but you catch it, sighing. “stratt, what the fuck is going on with you? you're risking the success of the mission. for what? your crush on me? you're behaving...” you stop to think for a second about your words, biting out the last one while you tighten your grip on her hand. “irrationally.”

your thumb is digging into her wrist, fingers wrapped around her arm tightly. please realize what you're doing, stratt.

she lets her fingers drop to touch your own arm, softly trying to soothe you. she leans her head down again, now kissing you on the lips. your head is already leaning against the wall, so there's not anywhere to escape to. she ignores your little sounds of protest, and holds your face with her free hand.

“don't i deserve this?”

the question catches you off-guard. “...huh?”

she continues, her face a bit too close to yours for comfort. she sounds... vulnerable? but a bit frightening, too.

“i've done everything i possibly can for the world. don't you think i deserve this much, sweetheart? after all of it?”

okay. she's still deep in her delusions, you confirm. before this, stratt wouldn't have even thought of it like that. she accepted the position of director, despite knowing the consequences that would follow. you admired her, for that complete willingness to do anything to save humanity.

you give it a final chance. “it doesn't matter. it doesn't matter whether or not you deserve this, stratt, it's not right.”

she responds quickly, nodding. “that's okay. i don't need to be in the right.” she gives you another kiss, wiggling her trapped hand out of your loosened grip. it doesn't take long. you think you're going to give up on this... whatever this is. this attempt at convincing stratt she's being fucking insane.

you let your hand just fall onto the bed. you could overpower her. you could, but you don't know if she still has armies at her beck and call. you're strong, yes, but nowhere near the level of a trained soldier — let alone a hundred of them. even her bodyguards could probably force you back on their own.

she sighs contently, laying her hand on yours and intertwining your fingers, tracing over the edges of your hand with her thumb. “and anyway, call me eva, won't you? it suits your voice much better.”

when she's leaning almost all of her weight on you, she gently kisses your cheek and whispers, “i really do love you. more than anyone, or anything.” she pauses, looking downward, before tilting her head back up to gaze at you reverently. str—eva is speaking slowly, voice soft and sweet. “ich liebe dich so, so, so sehr, mein schatz.”

she lets herself fall onto you, head coming to rest on your shoulder. her arms wrap around your waist, just a little too tightly for comfort. you think she takes a deep breath through her nose, and tightens her grip on you just a little when she finds the familiar scent of you.

you hate the part of yourself that actually feels bad for her.

she looks utterly exhausted when she glances up at you. dark circles under here eyes that have worsened since you last saw her, and the absence of any of the walls she usually puts up make it easy to see just how tired she is. you deeply want to comfort her, but you can't bring yourself to.

she's breathing you in, slowly, and you can't tell if she's trying to fall asleep on you or stay awake until the food gets here. eva's hair is covering all of her face, or the parts of her that she isn't burrowing into you, at least. it's always been easy to tell with her, but you don't trust your judgement now.

still...

you slowly lift up your hand behind her. you think you feel the flutter of her eyelashes on your shoulder, but she makes no move to force your hand back down. she trusts you, you know, despite her previous vigilance.

there's two knocks on the door.

you nearly slam your hand onto the bed again, just realizing it was creeping towards the back of eva's head. she exhales, giving you a quick peck on the lips before lifting herself off of you and opening the door. three men, all dressed in kitchen uniforms, stand with outside. she nods, steps out of the way, and lets them set the food down onto a table.

they avoid your eyes like their lives depend on it.

once they're stepping away, you recognize some of the dishes they'd brought in. the scent hits your nose gently, like a butterfly landing on a flower. in the center is something you used to beg your parents for, and on stressful or stormy days, they indulged you. you remember sitting at the table and watching the steam rise, waiting impatiently for your mother to fill up your plate.

eva brings the plate to you and sets it down on the bed. she takes a spoon full of food and brings it up to your mouth, which you raise your eyebrows at. “eat up. you're tired, right?”

she smiles when you eat from her spoon. is this a power trip, to her? or does she think this is romantic? you can't quite tell. maybe it's both. you don't think it matters, with food this good, and the gentle hand holding your hair out of the way.

Ryland looked at you like you were trying to hand him a live bomb. It was an attractive mix of flustered surprise and uncertainty. His blue eyes were wide behind his glasses, and his cheeks were tinged pink in the warm light from the museum behind you.

“I couldn’t—“ He stammered out as he shook his head. “I—It’s yours. I couldn’t take it.”

“You can,” You gave him an encouraging nod. “I want you to take it, and if you don’t want to keep it…” You grinned. “Call me. My number’s written on the inside.”

His face turned two shades darker at that, and you had to stop yourself from giggling at the disbelief on his face. “Oh. I’ll…call you.” He huffed out a laugh of his own and turned to leave.

Sure enough, when he opened the umbrella he spotted your phone number, scrawled on the small tag underneath your name.

He stopped and turned right back around, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. “I’m Ryland Grace, just so you know!” He called out to you over the sound of the rain hitting his umbrella, not noticing that his Converse were currently getting soaked.

“Nice to meet you, Ryland!” You called back, and you stood there until he managed to bike away with the umbrella balanced carefully over his messy blond hair.

After your first few dates, you noticed that Ryland wasn’t very good at initiating intimacy.

It started out with small touches, like he was testing the waters to make sure that it was okay with you. 

His pinkie would hook around yours when you walked together instead of the full on hand holding that you were used to in your past relationships. Of course, you’d slide your fingers between his anyway, just to see that goofy grin light up his face.

His foot would tap against yours under the table at restaurants, hesitantly nudging the toe of his Converse against your ankle. At first, you ignored it, but when he did it again? You looked at him with a knowing smile, one eyebrow slowly raised as you firmly pressed your shoe against his. 

He couldn’t even meet your eye for the rest of the meal, barely concealing a small, happy smile as he pressed his foot back against yours.

And when you eventually kissed you swore he could barely stay upright. 

It happened in the orange light of the streetlamp by your apartment building. He was dropping you off after a date, but he couldn’t seem to get himself to leave you. 

Instead his hands were planted on your jaw, his sweaty palms tacky against your cheeks as he waited for you to close the gap.

Unfortunately for him, you’d made him make the first move. You stayed like that, inches apart in the cool night air as his cheeks slowly turned a lovely shade of pink. Your lips couldn’t hold back the smile that was spreading at his endearing demeanor. 

“What?” He laughed shakily, that awkward half smile that you were learning to love appearing on his face. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Nope,” You answered. “I know you’re waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” He raised both of his brows at you, playing dumb when you knew you saw his eyes flick to your lips at least 3 times in the last few seconds.

“You’re gonna have to do it,” You grinned as his eyes flicked away from yours. “Come on. Kiss me.”

Ryland’s breath hitched, caught in his throat like he knew he’d been caught. He stared at you for a minute, and you swore you could see the conflict playing out in his eyes. 

Then he leaned in, slow and steady like he was afraid you’d bolt even though you’d given him explicit permission.

When his lips met yours, they were soft and warm in the chilly evening air, like a cup of hot cocoa on a winter’s day. He tasted like the cool night air and that chocolate milkshake you two shared that night because he insisted it was romantic

Ryland pulled back with a smile that made his eyes crinkle at the edges behind his fogged up glasses. “Can’t believe you made me make the first move for that,” He huffed out a giddy laugh as his thumbs smoothed over your cheeks. “That was mean.”

“It was necessary,” You teased, and laughed when he squished your cheeks in his hands. “You’re allowed to want stuff, Ryland. Especially from me.”

Ryland looked at you in a way that made your chest feel light, like you’d float away if his hands weren’t still on your face. His eyes softened, and his head tilted almost imperceptibly, like he had never heard those words aloud.

He’d never allowed himself to be selfish, never allowed himself to take instead of give. Hell, he’d even had trouble accepting intimacy, so asking for it was unknown territory. Especially when his past relationships were all about moving fast, all fumbling touches and desperate moves in the backseats of cars.

“Yeah, okay,” He answered, though you could tell he didn’t fully believe it. 

You spent most of your time with Ryland trying to make him comfortable enough to ask for the simple, small touches. Sometimes you’d take it easy on him. You’d sit close to him on your couch with your legs thrown across his or you’d pull him close to run your hands through his hair on rough days.

But most days? You’d make him initiate it.

And he hated it. 

Or so he said.

You could see it in his face when he recognized your mischievous expression. His brows would scrunch up, his eyes would briefly close like he was debating his life decisions that had led him here.

“You’re doing it again,” Ryland had said while you stood at the microwave one afternoon. You were making popcorn for your at home movie date in Ryland’s apartment.

“Doing what?” You asked innocently, one brow raised over your shoulder as you pressed the buttons on his microwave. You could see his hands twitch, like they wanted to reach out to you but they couldn’t figure out how.

“You’re making that face.”

“What face?” You suppressed a laugh as you turned back to the popcorn.

“That face, the evil face,” He insisted behind you, and you could hear the exasperation in his voice.

“I’m not making a face!” You grinned to yourself as you heard him sigh dramatically. “You’re going crazy, Ryland Grace.”

He simply hummed in response while you waited for him to make the first move. 

It wasn’t long until you felt his hands slide around your waist, solid and warm from being under the blankets a few minutes ago. He tugged you back against him. The rest of his body was as warm as his hands, and you could feel his heart pounding on your spine.

“There,” Ryland huffed into your ear as his chin rested on your shoulder. “Are you happy now?”

“Are you?” You responded, leaning your cheek against his scratchy stubble. You opened the microwave to fetch the bag of popcorn out, and his hands stayed on you the whole time you looked for a bowl. He followed close behind you like a particularly stubborn puppy.

“What kinda question is that?” He laughed, squeezing his arms around your waist as you reached into the cupboards. “Of course I’m happy. I’m with you, silly.”

It only escalated from there. He started to offer his hand to you before you walked down the sidewalk, holding it out like the perfect gentleman you knew he wanted to be. He’d let his hand slide over your lower back when you stood next to him in line at the cafe, rubbing slow circles as you both debated what to get from the menu. 

That was Ryland Grace. Never taking, always asking if it was okay even without words. Slowly learning to want something for himself in his own endearing way.

But oh, when you cuddled for the first time? He was a puddle of Ryland in your arms.

It happened one night after a particularly rainy day, when you were both hovering outside of your apartment building. Neither of you wanted to be separate yet, so you made excuses and new conversations underneath the overhang of the building until the rain started to come down in sheets and the streetlights slowly winked on. 

“Man, it’s getting late,” He finally said, looking over his shoulder at the monsoon that had appeared that evening. “I should get going. I’ve got work in the morning…” He trailed off, his eyes locking onto yours in the sharp glow from the city lights around you.

“You’re not going out in that,”  You laughed and gestured towards the downpour. “You’ll be soaked within seconds. Just come on, you can at least wait out the storm in my apartment.”

Ryland hesitated as you punched in the code for the building’s door, the small beep echoing around the concrete like a prison sentence he couldn’t get out of. You’d been over his place before, but it was always in the safe midday hours where the awkwardness of staying too late could never creep in and ruin his comfort. 

This was new. This was uncharted. Especially because he knew you didn’t expect anything from him. That would be easy—knowing that he was coming over just to hook up and leave without complication in the morning. 

But when you looked over your shoulder expectantly at him, he couldn’t find it in himself to refuse your excited smile. Especially when the warm apartment air swept away the chill from the storm that clung to him like a second skin. 

When you got to your apartment and opened the door, he finally saw the space that you spent almost every day in. Your shoes lined up by the door in neat pairs, the hooks on the wall that were occupied by your jackets, and the air that smelled like you, something sweet that he couldn’t quite name.

It was so you.

Ryland kicked off his shoes next to yours and shrugged off his jacket. He hesitantly hung it next to yours, and the domestic sight made something tighten in his chest.

He’d never gotten far with his past relationships. Sure, he had those crazy college flings that everyone had and a few dates here and there, but it had been a while since he’d really, truly stayed with someone.

It made him feel like he was in middle school all over again, and those giddy butterflies rose up in his stomach in the way it always did around you.

“Do you want some coffee? Or tea?” You asked as you walked into your small kitchen.

“Tea would be great.” He followed you through your apartment. He paused at the bookshelf that sat next to the TV. Ryland smiled as he looked over the book collection, the small knick knacks, and the framed pictures that covered your shelves.

When you came out with his tea, he jumped like a kid that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. You didn’t chastise him, you didn’t tease him, you just handed over a mug of warm tea in a NASA mug.

It was something that he loved, something that you noticed enough to set aside a specific mug for him. The thought made the butterflies kick up again.

You both settled on the couch and talked late into the night as the storm pattered against the windows, creating a soft backdrop to the conversation. It went on for hours, talking about everything and nothing at once. What his favorite childhood movie was and what kind of music you listened to. You even had a debate over whether chocolate chip cookies were better than chocolate bars.

The thunder kept rolling outside as you finally stood from the couch and stretched with a satisfied groan. 

“You’re not going out in that storm, are you?” You asked like you had already decided that he would stay, like if he went out into the rain you’d blame yourself if he got sick.

“I…” Ryland gaped for a minute, trying to find a reason to say No, I shouldn’t stay over your house because I feel like I’m going to explode every time you touch me that softly. But all he could say was “I’ll stay.”

“Good,” You nodded, seemingly satisfied that he wasn’t going to trudge out into the rain just to convenience you. “I should have some clothes you can borrow, since you definitely aren’t sleeping in jeans.”

You helped him get settled in your apartment, handing over a pair of pajama pants and a spare toothbrush. The pajamas were too big on you but  fit him perfectly, and something about seeing him in your clothes made your heart skip a beat.

Until he assumed that he was sleeping on the couch.

You’d come back out from the bathroom to ask a question, and found him laying on the couch. 

He looked ridiculous.

There definitely wasn’t enough room for his long limbs on the small couch, and his head was propped up awkwardly against the armrest. You froze in the doorway and immediately shook your head.

“No,” You laughed at the way his arms were folded behind his head. “You’re not sleeping here. You barely fit.”

“I’ll manage,” He answered with a sheepish smile, shifting to try to find a better position. That only made his leg slide off the cushions, his ankle hitting the floor with a soft thud. 

“Ryland, come on,” You said softly, gesturing to your bedroom door behind you. “I have room in my bed. Besides, you’ll wake up with a sore neck.”

He sat up with a sigh. “True,” He scratched the back of his neck as he looked up at you, that doubtful look flashing in his eyes again before he stood.

There it was again. That selflessness that came automatically to you when it came to him. It was something he was sure he’d never get used to.

That didn’t make the situation any less daunting, though.

Ryland followed behind you with stiff shoulders. When was the last time he shared a bed with someone? Let alone a girl? What if he snored too loud and messed up your sleep?

Snap out of it, Ryland. He told himself. You’re a grown man.

But his heart couldn’t help but thud faster as he slid beneath your blankets.

You felt his awkward energy as soon as he settled next to you. 

“Ryland,” You rolled onto your side to face him. He was staring at the ceiling, his body as stiff as a board. He looked a bit ridiculous, to be honest, all tense while tucked into your cozy blankets.

“Hm?” He hummed, turning his head to look at you. His face was lit up by the city lights that threaded through your blinds.

“Come here,” You whispered, patting the space next to you.

He let out a shaky breath as he rolled over into your arms. Ryland was so stiff, so awkward in your arms that it made your heart melt. 

When was the last time he’d been held?

“I’ve got you,” You pulled him close to you, sliding your arms around his waist. “Relax, Ryland. You’re so tense.” You said while you rubbed the space between his shoulder blades, moving slowly up and down his back.

At that reassurance, the hesitation seemed to drop from his movements.

“It’s just…been a while.” He whispered back, tugging you closer with an almost desperate speed that surprised you. His head ended up resting near your shoulder, and his arms wrapped around your middle as he pressed his chest to yours. “Since anyone…took their time with me.”

That confession had hit you square in the heart. It didn’t deter you at all, no, it only made you hold onto him tighter.

You felt him melt in your arms as he finally settled in. He decompressed with a long sigh against your collarbones. “You’re so warm...” He muttered against your skin. One of his hands slipped under the seam of your shirt to settle on your bare back, the warmth of his hand on your spine leaving a cozy feeling in your chest.

“Mmhm.” You hummed back, holding him close as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You were sure he’d be embarrassed about being so cuddly in the morning, but for now, you let him want something without making him feel flustered about it.

Or it is perfect until you feel a forceful tug on your purse. At first you thought you were just imagining it. Then you feel it again and realize You look to your right and see a person in a grey hoodie trying to get your purse from off your arm. And you freeze. Staring into the eye holes of the ski mask they were wearing. Time simultaneously seems to move at snail speed and lightning fast speed.

Your brain races with options, trying its hardest to come up with one, anything besides standing here and doing nothing. Pepper spray? Thats in the bag that's currently getting burglarized. Right. You think of the books you just bought and reach for one out of your newly acquired tote bag to hit him over the head with, but he yanks the tote off your shoulder and tosses it onto the sidewalk. Your eyes soften with despair, watching as some books spill out onto the concrete.

Another sharp tug pulls your attention from your books scattered across the sidewalk as he makes another attempt at the purse. And for a brief moment you consider just letting him take it. Fuck it. But shortly after that thought, another one pops into your head. Credit Card fraud. You've spent the past year paying down student loans, debts, and finally getting your credit score back into the green. It might be stupid, you decide that you're not letting this asshole tank your credit score, steal your I.D and ruin your life. Not without a bit of a fight.

You tug hard against your purse, trying to grab it back. "Hey! HELP! You shout, your mouth finally forming words. Trying to get anyone's attention to help you. Your grip on the strap loosens, slipping through your hand. Tears start to pool in the bottoms of your eyes at the thought of losing everything. Your ID, credit and debit cards, money, the new books you just bought. All of it going away.

Suddenly, a flash of red and blue passes by you. The assailant is sent flying backwards against the brick wall of the store on the street. The force of the man letting go of your purse sends you backwards in the opposite direction. One second you're standing, the next you're flat on your ass and back on the concrete. Purse in hand, though. One win at least.

The pain that shoots through your back is pushed aside as you finally see what the flash of red and blue was. Spider-Man. He grabs the man, landing a punch in his nose. Then he grabs the man and webs him against the brick wall to detain him. Removing the ski mask for a final cherry on top of apprehending the attempted burglar. You hear a crack or joke leave his mouth, but your brain is too busy processing to really make it out. Spider-Man was the one who saved you.

You've seen him online saving old ladies, stopping falling helicopters with his webs, and saving kids from broken bridges on the news and online. Sure, in the back of your mind, with the rate of end-of-the-world events that happen in New York, you expected to be saved by a vigilante sooner or later. But maybe under more exciting circumstances than a street mugging.

You're still on your butt when he walks over to you, extending a spandex-covered hand. You imagine a friendly, practiced smile under the mask. Maybe an attempt to humanize himself or come across as less terrifying because really a man who could move like that so easily was terrifying.

"Are you okay?" He asks, voice filled with concern, his out to help you stand.

But you don't move. You can't move. It's as if your body is glued to the sidewalk, frozen. You assume he can sense your confusion and shock. It was probably written all over your face. He walks slowly towards your tote bag and spilled books, puts them back inside the bag, and holds it out for you again. Slowly you take his hand and stand up on your feet. You put the bag back onto your arm.

Again he asks, "Are you okay?"

This time your brain can work enough to tell your head to move. You give him a short nod. But nothing comes out of your mouth. That seemed like too much for your brain. Mouth dry as you just stare blankly, nodding.

"Are you sure?" He helps you stand, putting a hand around your waist to help stabilize you. But something about his voice seems familiar in a way you can't place. You can't, you can't tell if it really is or if it's your brain searching for something familiar amidst all the panic.

"You're positive. He didnt hurt you? I can swing you to a doctor?" Again, the voice is one you recognize. You know, but everything feels too confusing to be certain.

"No," You shake your head. "He didnt. I'm okay. Thanks to you."

"It's…" He starts but cuts himself off. "I can at least swing you home? Just to be safe."

Your head moves to nod. "Okay, just hold on tight."

Awkwardly, you climb onto Spider-Man's torso. As he wraps one arm around you to hold you get a weird sensation of deja vu creep up. Like you've been held by him before. But again your brain doesn't have a chance to linger on it for too long. In one swift movement your above ground. Way, way above the ground. As you look down, the people on the street get tiny.

"Holy shit! Oh my god." You cling to him tighter. The realization of being so high is threatening to have the breakfast sandwich you had earlier come back up. You dip your head down against his shoulders to cover your eyes from the view.

“You’re okay! You’re okay! I promise! I got you! I got you! It's almost there," He reassures. The last sentence comes out in a low whisper. Intimately. Again, it's familiar.

A few minutes pass, but it feels like hours when he sets you down in front of your apartment building. Which is strange since you swear you didn't tell him where it was. He asks again if you're hurt, but you can't l think about anything besides how he sounded familiar, like really familiar.

"I'm fine, really. Um, thank you for helping me." You thank him, looking at him through the mask. He steps back, looking at you, a wide, big white oval staring at you. You stare back, positive you know the voice.

“You swear you're okay? He didn't hurt you?” Again, his voice sounded very familiar. You nodded, unable to look away from the white ovals. 

Suddenly it clicks whose voice is behind the mask. “I know you,” you say quietly, realizing why it was so familiar. Because you heard it a few days ago when you accidentally burned your hand getting brownies out of the oven. Your boyfriend asked when you insisted that you didnt need to go to the E.R and that it wasn't that bad. That was the voice behind it.

The oval of the mask widens, before narrowing. “What! I mean,” He deepens his voice poorly before speaking again. “No, ma’am, I'm sure you don't.”

You smile, laughing because any doubts you had were gone. You definitely know who it was now. You knew your boyfriend’s voice from anywhere. You’ve been dating for three years, took the same classes in college a few times, and stayed on the phone with him for hours. You knew his voice. 

“Peter?” You see the whites of his mask widen before squinting as he shakes his head. 

“W-w-what? I'm….I'm not this….Peter,” he says again, deepening his voice badly. You can't help but laugh.

"Are you serious?"

Spider-Man backs away slowly. "I… I think you have me mistaken, ma'am." He asserts, his voice still fakingly deep. It would be comical if it weren't your boyfriend lying to you.

You can't help but to narrow your eyes at him, glaring at the mask.

"I.. uh..have to go. Ma'am. Gotta save… someone…" That is all he says vaguely before shooting a web and swinging away from you. Leaving you staring in his direction, baffled and annoyed for a few minutes, trying to believe everything that had just happened.

Inside your apartment, you're sitting on the couch. Laptop in front of you, studying for your exams. Trying to at least, but you could not focus on anything except your run-in with "Spider-Man." Every time you think about it, you can't help but laugh at everything. Especially his poor attempt at lying to you. And only one person came to mind when you pieced everything together.

The sound of keys jiggling in the door tells you that your boyfriend was coming inside. Or was trying to. The knob turns a few times, but instead of opening the door fully, it only opens slightly. The old chain lock that you had fixed hinders him from opening it fully. You hear him struggle before muttering a "what?"

You stand and meet in the door, smiling at him through the small opening. "I'm sorry, can I help you?"

"What? Baby, what is this?" He tries to open it more, sticking his head through a bit. But you have to bite the inside of your cheek so you don't laugh. Then his hand comes through, trying to reach the latch, but you swat it away.

"Baby, when did the chain lock get fixed?"

“I'm sorry. Do I know you?” Putting on your best, confused face as Peter stares back at you, still trying to open it.

“Babe? Come on, let me in.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms. “I don’t think I know you, sorry. You must've gotten confused with another famous vigilante….red and blue suit. And white, almost translucent webbing.” You taunt, and finally, Peter realizes. His face gets a shade redder. He looks and then sighs.

"Really, that made you go get the chain lock fixed? How fast did maintenance come over? That was only 3 hours ago." He pokes the chain with a finger in disbelief.

"With all these bad guys in spandex…I mean, I can't be too safe. Besides, if you can carry a bus but can't break open a door. Oh wait, sorry, that's not you," you taunt again, smiling.

Peter rolls his eyes slightly, glancing in the hallway to make sure it was empty, then easily grabs the small chain in his hands and bends it until it snaps. He pushes the door slightly, causing you to take a step back.

"I didn't think you were actually gonna do it."

He closes the door behind him, locking it, and sets his backpack down. "Look, I'm sorry I lied and didn't tell you I was Spider-Man. But I didnt want you to be an accomplice or an accessory if I got in trouble with the law. And if I got in the other kind of trouble and pissed people off, I didn't want you to get caught up in it. I didnt want to put you in danger." His brown eyes soften, silently pleading with you not to be too mad. And fuck, it is working.

Your arms slowly fall from being crossed over your chest. Your anger dissipating. "I…get that. But you still pretended that it wasn't you. You even did the terrible fake voice thing. Seriously!"

"I panicked! And didnt want to admit that you knew me! You never know who could be listening. But I'm sorry. I will never ever lie to you like that again." He steps closes apprehensivly. Still trying to gauge how mad you are.

You let him approach you until his hands are on your waist and he's pulling you into an embrace. Resting his head against you. "Don't hate me? Please." He says quietly.

"I don't hate you."

"Are you pissed?"

You nod.

"I deserve that. I'm really sorry for not telling you." He pauses for a second. "Wait, are you pissed it's the fact that I didn't tell you about it or because I lied?"

"I think the fake voice and the ma'am pissed me off more than you being Spider-Man and not telling me."

He laughs. But you're serious. "Ma'am Parker! Ma'am! You sounded like you were speaking to the principal or something."

"Fair enough. I will never ever call you ma'am either."

His words are enough to placate you. And the way he softly rubs your back dispels any lingering resentment you had. "Fine. Okay. I forgive you."

He kisses you softly, and when he pulls away is when you finally take in the bruises starting to form on his jaw and face. You take his chin between your fingers and tilt his head to get a better look.

"What did you do after saving me? Break up a brawl?"

He gives an awkward grin that goes with the way he's nervously scratching the back of his neck. "I ran into a pole after. I was distracted." He laughs at the end, but you don't find it funny.

"At least there's an explanation for all the bruises you had." You walk with him into the kitchen, grabbing an ice pack.

"And what did you think the bruises were from?"

"Honestly? I thought it was a BDSM thing you were too scared to tell me about."

Peter hums both in relief at the feeling of the ice pack on his face and also at your response. Unfazed. "Well, It's not a kink thing. And I would tell you if it was"

The two of you go to the couch. You sit down on one end while he lies down, his legs spread onto the other cushions and resting his head in your lap. Holding the ice pack up to his face. You run your fingers through his brown curls, habitually something you do now, almost extinct. It soothes both of you.

"I understand what you do, and that it's important. I would never ask you to stop or give it up, or even put me first." You start. He shifts his head to look at you while remaining lying on your lap. "Just…" You trail off, struggling to find the words. "Just don't make me watch you die… Or something"

Peter sits up, taking your hands in his. "Hey. I won't." He kisses the side of your head, an extra reassurance.

"Good."

"Cause I can't afford this place alone, and trying to find a roommate is hell." You break the too serious and honestly terrifying subject of the conversation. Not able to think about it any longer than you had been.

"Nah. My life insurance would at least cover maybe four months. Then you're on your own." He lays his head back in your lap. "But seriously. Thank you for getting why I have to do this."

"Unfortunately, it's one of the things I love about you. So I can't complain too much."

"Aww? It's more than I pay my half of the rent?"

"Yeah, but that's the biggest reason. And now I know how strong you really are, I can ask you to lift all the heavy furniture."

He takes the hand that was massaging his scalp and brings it to his lips, kissing it in a knight-like manner. "M'lady. I will move all the heavy furniture thee possesses." Which makes you laugh. "Is M'lady better than Ma'am?"

He notes the circles under your eyes, how loose your hair has become throughout the day, your weight resting heavily on both of your arms crossed in front of you on the table, and the crease between your eyebrows as you slightly squint to force your attention to remain on Rocky. Your eyes flicker to him when he tilts his head to the side with an endeared smile.

“Is ok. Repeat. You Grace observe window often. Is because light, question?” You raise your head, now recognizing the meaning of his words before, mouthing an “ah.”

“This window?” You point to the round porthole where Adrian currently takes up the majority of the view. 

Rocky lets out a short low sound that can only be described as a buzz, “Yes. Only window.” He shifts his weight from side to side, lifting two of his legs as he leans from each side, setting them down together with pointed clicks. 

You huff a laugh, “Just making sure we’re on the same page,” You hold your hands up in mock surrender. “But yes, Grace and I can see the light from Adrian through the window.” Your gaze turns to said window, your voice softening, “It’s beautiful. Stunning really.” A reverent smile tugs at your lips.

He hums a quiet note, “You can describe, question?” He has one arm in front of him, the claws tapping together. 

“I could definitely try. How…uh, what should I use to describe it? Like is there a sense you imagine would be equivalent to perceiving color?” Your mind already begins to assign physical qualities to the colors of Adrian.

He taps his claws together with more fervor now, letting his carapace droop down a little. After a beat he tilts it back up to you, his claws coming to rest closed, “♩🎵♪♩♩🎵♪♩🎵🎵♩♩♩” 

You cringe slightly at yourself as his notes fall on not-so-deaf ears, “What was that?” You turn back to the lab table, Rocky in his tunnel above it.

His carapace slumps and makes a noise similar to a grunt, before he seems to correct himself, instead shifting side to side gently and softly humming, “How long since last sleep, question?”

“I was just about to ask the same thing.” Your eyes jump to Grace’s as he clicks his laptop closed and stands up, the stool squeaking beneath his weight.

“I mean, I am getting tired, but what makes you ask?” You look between Grace and Rocky. 

“Don’t have to repeat with you, usually. But now seem slow.” When you look at Rocky in order to feign offense, you find him sporting every Eridian mannerism you know to mean he’s speaking sincerely and with care.

“Yeah, you’re usually really good with Eridian, like impressively so. I only see you struggle when I know you haven’t slept in a while.” Grace’s face is soft, his brows raised slightly in the middle, his arms loosely crossed over his chest with his head tilted as he looks at you.

“Oh,” your lips crack into a bright smile,  “I hadn’t noticed that.” A beat of silence passes between the three of you. Grace smiles at your smile, while Rocky steps to his left and purposefully aims his dished face directly at yours before seeming to have reached a conclusion.

“Happy to be known, question?” He moves his legs closer together to stand a bit taller. Grace turns his head to him, surprised by how well the alien seems to have caught on to human mannerisms and emotions.

You laugh through an exhale, your head falling to look at the floor, “Yes, that’s exactly it.” Your smile only grows wider. 

“It’s like we have a psychologist on board,” Grace jokes, pointing a thumb towards Rocky.

“What is word, question?”

“It’s a type of doctor. They study the brain and behavior.” Grace responds quickly. He trills in response, understanding.

Grace steps toward you, “Ok, come on. I should probably also sleep.” He nods toward the dormitory, but you don’t move. You wanted to finish the methods for the Taumoeba farms while you were in the oh-so-rare mood to, but—and you recognized that he was likely well-aware of this—Grace had said he needed sleep too and you felt responsible for making sure he got rest. Just as it seemed he felt responsible for making sure you got rest. 

As your hesitation prolonged, Rocky interrupted the silence, “Yes, Grace sleep now too. Approaching 20 hours awake. Bad.”

You snap your head up, “20 hours?! So you didn’t take a nap when I told you to this morning.”

“Hey! I tried!” He defends himself weakly. 

“Uh huh, and how quickly did you give up and just start doing work down there?”

“26 minutes and 34 seconds.” Rocky chimed in. You pursed your lips and shook your head at Grace, biting back the smile that pulled at your cheeks.

“Oh, it’s bedtime for sure.” You finally close your own laptop and start toward the hatch. Behind your back, Grace gives Rocky a thumbs up and you hear Rocky’s legs tap happily on the xenonite before they start to follow you. 

“Humans go sleep. Rocky watch.” He scampers ahead of you down into the room below the lab. When you turn to climb down the ladder, you see that Ryland is not right behind you, instead gathering some of the clutter that’s accumulated around the lab table.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m just tidying a little, I’ll be right behind you.”

“You better, Rocky will come yell at you.”

“Yes, Rocky good at sleep enforcement,” he speaks louder for both of you to hear from the dorm. 

“I promise!” Grace yells back down to him. You smile and climb down. 

“Did you and Grace scheme to make me go to bed?”

Rocky wiggles his carapace and trills, “Yes, scheme work well. Very well. Rocky have own scheme. Make Grace go to sleep. Grace think scheme only for you, but scheme is also for him.” You laugh heartily at that, and Rocky’s warbling laugh joins the sound. 

“What’s so funny?” Grace asks from halfway down the ladder. 

“Nothing,” you and Rocky reply at the same time. 

It had only been 3 days of you and Ryland sharing his tiny bed before Rocky suggested making a “nest” on the floor from the mattresses of both your beds. And it had only been a week after that that you guys finally took his advice, accepting that this was the new norm and that it wasn’t simply a special occurrence. 

You get in first, making room for Ryland to lay down with you. You watch as he sets his glasses on the frame of his old bed before joining you. You face each other and as he reaches down to pull the covers up, you scooch closer to him. Your legs curl in front of you so they rest on his thighs and he automatically lifts his head when you stretch one arm out before he lays it on your bicep. He slithers an arm beneath your body, his other arm coming to rest over your waist beneath your own. Then he pulls you closer to him and rests his head on your shoulder, nestling into your neck. He retracts the arm over your waist so that his hand rests there instead, his arm bent at the elbow resting on his own waist now. His fingers massage your waist gently, tenderly, like they’re trying to engrain the feeling of you, of this, into his brain. Your arm rests over his, your hand on his forearm, softly rubbing your thumb along his skin. The arm he’s laying on curls around him, your hand finding purchase in the hair behind his temple, and you start scratching his scalp, your fingers slow and gentle. He lets out a deep sigh, a happy hum along with it. You tilt your head to press a lingering kiss to the top of his head, really just nuzzling into his hair before pulling away with a loud smooch to rest your head back on the pillow, your chin replacing your lips. Your hand finds the hem of his shirt, fingertips slipping under to find his skin. 

“Is this ok?” You ask, watching his body language closely. He merely nods into your neck and whines contentedly when your hand fully slips beneath his shirt. You keep every part of your hand in contact with his skin as you slide it along his hip, up his waist, along his ribcage, before rolling it around to his back. You press your hand against his shoulderblade to pull him closer, and his hand leaves your waist to wrap you in a hug, leaning more of his weight toward you. You slide your hand up to his shoulder, his shirt riding way up, and gently scratch back and forth, up and down. He shivers against you and pushes his face further into your neck, letting out a shaky breath against your skin. 

You giggle softly at the tickle, “Does it feel good?” You squeeze his shoulder to punctuate your question. 

“Yeah,” he practically squeaks through a heavy exhale. 

“Good.” He slides his hands down to the hem of your own shirt, pressing a thumb against it before pausing. You nod against his head and his hands slip under. He sharply inhales when he feels your skin, blooming in warmth beneath his touch. He lets it out in another shaky breath before continuing. His hands are soft, his fingers flexing against your skin, gentle and searching, scratching patterns along your back and hip. The arm underneath you stays at the small of your back while his other hand works its way up your side, fingertips brushing your ribcage before they slide to your shoulder blade. You breathe a shuddering breath in before slowly exhaling as his fingers continue to work your skin. Your hand on his shoulder presses a bit harder in its own motions against his skin, earning a breathy whine and a tight squeeze as his muscles tense around you. The hand at the small of your back wraps tighter around you to the back of your waist, his fingers curling into the skin there to hold his place as he begins to knead. A quiet noise escapes your throat, vibrating against his forehead pressed there. 

“D’s it fe’el g’d?” He mumbles against your neck. You laugh gently, the sound reverberating in your chest and he dips his forehead against your collarbone to feel the vibration when you respond. 

“Yeah.” You sigh deeply, replacing it with an equally deep breath in. Equal and opposite reaction, you think to yourself, huffing a laugh at how science makes its way into your brain even at moments like these. Ryland gives you a final tight squeeze before his hands come to rest. Your body relaxes entirely in response, every muscle going limp against him. Tension in your neck dissipates, in your shoulders, your face. The hand in his hair scratches quickly twice in succession before you let your fingers relax, seeping into his scalp.  Your breath becomes deep, slow inhales and even slower exhales that barely tousle his hair as they’re expelled. A puff of air escapes him at your neck. 

-he’s genuinely dumbfounded for a moment because wdym you researched something just to ask him about it and because you enjoy the way he articulates concepts like this to you?? He’s given you minute work stories about what he’s working on, and he tends to rant about how another scientist has ‘no idea what the hell on earth or any other planet what he’s doing’ and how they could’ve simplified the process while addressing the concerns of-

-and then he’d stopped because he thought you’d get bored, but you were still listening.

-just like now, but he’s quick to snap to the present and explain. You multiply the rate of sunlike stars in the milky way by fractions of stars with planetary systems by life friendly planets and xyz…

-“it’s pretty rudimentary since Drake was a pioneer in astrobiology but it’s what established the field in the first place,” he shrugs before continuing on another tangent on the beginnings of the astrobiology community

-you don’t ask about his controversial paper until far later into your relationship- it’s an intimate matter and while he’s not embarrassed of it, he definitely doesn’t like to bring it up for fun.

-he mainly finds molecular biology and astrobiology intriguing, and while most consider astrobiology pure guesswork, he’s grateful you’re interested in it, in him

-he gesticulates a lot as he speaks, utilizing nearby objects to illustrate his point (akin to the film, using his planetary model within his classroom). suddenly that pen cap he’s fidgeting with illustrates the length of a fragment in a gel electrophoresis study

-he’s an excellent storyteller. sometimes he reminisces on hilarious crap from college (after you’ve laid your cards too, you’ve got dirt on each other now lmao), how he almost messed up in his genomics lab once or twice, a crazy party he went to, etc

-you acknowledge every aspect of his character, something others hardly do. he’s either the argumentative academic from his past, the unruly teacher, or an awkward witness to everything else. but you make him feel seen and heard, and he couldn’t be more grateful for that.

what’s more intimate than being understood?

so, 5 things things you see. grace thinks about it. “well, there’s like. a lot of stars,” he wheezes out—poor, uncoordinated attempt at being funny. and you have to beg to take it more seriously, maybe choose things in the cabin. so, he counts: “i see ramen rations. my jumpsuit’s in the corner. xenonite glass. the whiteboard you won’t let me use. and… our computer.” our makes you smile, but you’re trying to keep a good focus on grace. his hands are still shaky.

4 things you feel. grace starts off strong with “like i’m going to die.” then, “sad, because i miss my classroom. uh… my eyes hurt—that’s from the crying. and i’m… grateful. because you’re here.” you’re inclined immediately to tell him that you’re grateful too, that you couldn’t imagine being on the hail mary with anyone else. that comforts him a little more.

then, 3 things you hear. you have to remind him not to be rude; rocky can definitely hear you from all the way in the lab. so, instead, grace goes, “i can hear those astrophage engines hard at work. and armando is… clearly moving around to check if i’m dying. yes, i can hear you.” that makes you chuckle. which gives grace his last point. “and i hear you laughing, which means i must be doing something right.”

2 things you smell, next. that’s a bit hard, you tell him, considering everything on this ship is airlocked. not much going on there. “i think i can smell what must be ilyukhina’s perfume on this cats shirt,” grace says, “and i think you’re chewing a mint.” which is right, you are. you don’t know why it makes you a little shyer for him to point out. it means you’re both close enough together on the floor for him to pick up on it.