Ryland was very grateful that he was visiting her classroom and that she wasn’t visiting his. Her room was a stark contrast to his. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, his desk was cluttered and trashed, and things fell down regularly. Here, there were paper lanterns hanging down, but that was all. They were evenly spaced and gave the room a cozy feel, not a trapped in low budget space feel. Everything had a place. Her desk was cleared, at least the top was. He had no clue if the drawers were in the same condition. The classroom was organized from the row of backpacks hanging on the wall to the cabinet filled with toys. It was structured, warm. 

However, nice as the classroom was, that was not the best part of this arrangement the two schools set up. Working with Y/n was the highlight of his school year. There was just something about her. Maybe it was the fact that she always had a tupperware filled with baked goods for him when he brought his class to visit. Maybe it was the fact that she always smelled like vanilla and jasmine. And maybe, just maybe, it was the way she taught her students. The way that she could help one student understand a concept using props and hand motions and then turn around and help another by turning it into a game. She had a passion for helping them get from where they were, to where they were going. It was written all over her face. 

This was what Ryland thought about as he walked his eighth grade homeroom over to the elementary school. The morning fog was still thick and a slight breeze sent a chill down his spine. The buzzing chatter of his students was making the grey sky seem a little lighter. He loved that they were just as excited as the kindergarteners were. 

They made it inside the elementary building and the warmth immediately seeped into his bones, welcoming him like the embrace of an old friend. He navigated his class through the now familiar hallways and stopped outside a door that had been decorated with small laminated ducks, each one bearing the name of a kindergartener in the classroom. He turned to his gaggle of students. 

“Remember, go in quietly and sit on the floor near your kid.” He said, making eye contact with the students who loved to go in squealing and hug their kindergarten partner. 

“Yes, Mr. Grace,” the class echoed. 

Ryland knocked on the door. He suddenly felt nervous. This had become the new normal since the first time Y/n opened the door. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat to no avail. He wiped one sweaty palm on his jeans and ran the other one, shakily, through his tousled hair. His stomach knotted, he felt like an idiot. 

The door opened, and there was Y/n. She was wearing dress pants and an oversized sweater. Her hair was falling naturally. The smell of her perfume was wrapping him up like he just stepped inside after being out in the cold too long, which technically he did. His breath hitched quietly and he hoped she didn’t hear it. He felt the small smile creeping onto his face and there was no point in trying to fight it. 

He didn’t get to bask in the feeling as long as he wished to, the overly excited five year olds started babbling behind her. She smiled at him. What kindergarteners? 

“Hey,” she said, her voice low, like she was whispering a secret for his ears only. 

The small smile broke into a full blown grin. “Hey,” he whispered back. Y/n opened the door fully so Ryland and his class could enter. The two teachers stepped aside while the students entered the space and situated themselves. As he entered the room, his eyes settled on her desk, finding a tupperware sitting on it, a pink sticky note on top with his name on it. He could feel the tips of his ears match the color of the sticky note. 

“My kids have been excited all week. We had to make a countdown paper chain on Monday,” She said, beaming up at him. 

Ryland let out a small chuckle. “Mine too. They try to play it off and act cool, but they’ve asked me once a week when we’re coming back.” Y/n laughed and both teachers got back to what they were actually supposed to be doing. 

The schedule was simple enough. First was penmanship. The eighth graders had to help the kinders write a three sentence story. Y/n stood in front of the whiteboard, pink marker in hand. 

“So if Mr. Grace is my partner,” She said, looking at the group of fifty or so kids crammed into the room. “Then he and I are going to come up with the story together! It can be about anything!” She looked over at him. “For example, I might write, ‘Mr. Grace is a good teacher.’” She wrote the sentence on the board. Her lettering was smooth and elegant, only in the way that teachers can have. She glanced over at Ryland expectantly. 

“And I might want her to write, ‘Miss Y/n is a great teacher.’” He hoped that it wasn’t obvious that he was trying to elevate her. The smile and roll of her eyes told him he was unsuccessful. She wrote it anyway. He moved to stand next to her. 

“After that, we might say, ‘They make a great team.’” She said, and the smile she gave him went right to his stomach. He had to snap his eyes anywhere else or he feared he would forget himself and make a really dumb move in front of the students. He felt his neck heat up and he was sure he was beet red. Y/n noticed. Her gaze drifted back to the students. “Are there any questions?” She asked. 

A hand shot up instantly. Y/n nodded for the student to ask his question. “But, Miss Y/n! Our papers have a big square on top of our writing lines!” Y/n smiled at the urgency of the question. 

“They do! Good job, Jeffrey, I almost forgot! At the top of your paper you have a blank space. You and your buddy are going to color a picture that goes with your story.” 

Another hand went up. “Miss Y/n, you didn’t draw a picture.” 

The middle schoolers chuckled, noticing the way their teacher was avoiding looking at Miss Y/n. One of them raised their hand. “Yeah, Mr. Grace, you have to help Miss Y/n color a picture of the two of you!” 

He wanted to die. He hated how bad he was at being subtle. He was rescued when Y/n let out a laugh. “You guys are right. Tell you what, while you guys write, Mr. Grace and I will draw a picture on the board.” 

The students got to work as Ryland uncapped a black marker. He started drawing a stick figure. It was lopsided, and the eyes weren’t evenly spaced out, but Y/n assumed it was his best efforts based on the way his brows knit together and his tongue poked out slightly from between his lips. 

He looked over to where Y/n was finishing her drawing. It was very obviously him. From the glasses to the cardigan he was wearing, the dry erase drawing was very evidently Ryland. He was even giving a thumbs up. He glanced back at his drawing. Not terrible. Not great. He picked up the pink marker she had been using earlier. He drew a flower in the stick woman’s hand. He took a step back and admired his work. Y/n did the same. 

“We really do make a great team,” she said, turning to look up at him. 

His brain short circuited. She didn’t even compliment him. Why was his brain offline? Think of something! Say something! Say anything! She’s looking right at you! Say something! Say something now!

“Like ribosomes and protein synthesis.” Not that! Idiot. 

But the panic subsided as Y/n let out a huff of laughter and her body involuntarily leaned into his. It was brief, a slight graze of her shoulder against his. Yet it was all he could focus on. He stilled as it happened, trying to memorize the feeling instantly. He spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out if his arm tingled from the force of impact or if his brain was experiencing a minor chemical imbalance. His internal debate subsided as Y/n instructed the students to turn in their work. 

The rest of the morning passed by in a flurry of raised hands and tiny confused sighs as math worksheets were handed out and completed. There was a breath of relief when Y/n announced it was time for recess. He shrugged his cardigan off and onto the chair as he pulled his blazer back on. Y/n led the group down the hall and outside as Ryland manned the end of the line, ensuring no wandering or straggling. 

This time, the fresh air felt less inviting, like it was stripping the atmosphere of all the warmth and depth that Y/n’s classroom supplied. It smelled Earthy and sharp. Normally it would be one of his favorite things in the world. In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to be inhaling her scent. Her classroom scent, that is, or so he told himself. His inner lament was silenced when a soccer ball went flying into his left foot. 

“Mr. Grace!” A chorus of students yelled his name and ran over to him. A tiny boy with a mop of dark curly hair peered up at him through thick eyelashes. His hands were clasped near his chest as he started to speak. “Mr. Grace, will you play with us?” 

Ryland felt something profound tug at his heart strings as the boy looked up at him expectantly. 

“Sure, but only if we beat these middle schoolers, deal?” He stuck out his hand, the soccer ball now pinned under his foot. 

The boy, Miles, shook his hand and giggled out, ‘deal’. 

“Kinder versus middle school!” was all Ryland shouted before kicking the ball towards a five year old and running towards the goal, guarded by one of his own students. 

Y/n watched from the sidelines as Ryland weaved, not so elegantly, between the students. He was constantly stumbling over his own feet, and his glasses kept sliding down his face. However, Y/n also saw the way he passed the ball to her students every time. The way he  would steal the ball from an eighth grader, pass it to a little kid, only to have the ball stolen by a middle schooler again. She noticed the way he fell backwards and landed on his back in order to avoid lightly bumping one of her students. She watched him pause the game to help a girl tie her shoe. He had never looked so attractive. He was squatting down, her yellow shoe resting atop his knee. His glasses hung around his chin and his hair was tousled and sweaty from running. The way he smiled, watching as the girl ran back to the game once her shoe was properly tied again. She noticed the way that the water ran down his hair to his cheek to his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. Wait, water?

Y/n’s train of thought was cut off by a splash of rain hitting her forehead. Oh great. Before she knew it, five year olds all around her were losing their minds. She pulled her sweater tighter around herself as the rain picked up. Ryland was by her side in an instant, shrugging his blazer off and, awkwardly, draping it over Y/n’s head, an attempt to shield her from the rain. Y/n smiled despite herself as she watched him concentrate. A whistle blew and all the kids quickly got in line as Y/n led them towards the classroom. Ryland, soaked to the bone, stood at the end of the line, waiting for one kindergartener to catch up after he ran back into the playground for his water bottle. 

The group was buzzing as they re-entered the classroom. Y/n gave instructions for the kids to hang up their coats and find a seat on the rug. Ryland stood next to Y/n, who was finally pulling the blazer from her head. “You didn’t have to do that,” She whispered, a faint smile tugging at her lips. 

“Yes I did,” he breathed out. Y/n tried to hand him the blazer, but it was quickly draped around her again, this time, over her shoulders. She smiled as he rubbed the fabric up and down her arms. There was a faint smell of clean linen and stale coffee. It was uniquely Ryland, like the scent only existed for him. She had been mostly protected from the rain, and she didn’t really need dried off, but she let him do it.

His glasses had little drops of water on them, sliding down the lens and onto the floor. His hair was completely soaked, dripping down his face steadily onto his clothes, which had been thoroughly drenched. Yet here he was, drying her off. The whole world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them as Ryland pulled the blazer off of her and wrapped his knit sweater around her. The sleeves were too long for her, but she pushed them back slightly, freeing her hands. The soft fabric brushed his arm as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, Y/n waited with baited breath. 

“Miss Y/n?” A tiny hand pulled on the sweater and Y/n reluctantly pulled her eyes away from Ryland’s. 

Ryland felt his mouth shut quickly, suddenly very aware of where he was. He looked over at his students, who were smirking and looking away. Because that's what he needed, a class of middle schoolers noticing his awkward crush on the nicest woman in the world. 

He tried looking anywhere else. The pattern of the floors was suddenly riveting. His gaze snapped back to Y/n as she turned on a movie and told the class to watch quietly and eat their lunches. He turned the lights off and made his way to the back of the classroom, sitting on a tiny table. Y/n sat next to him, tupperware in hand, pink sticky note still on top. She handed it to him wordlessly, the air around them full and comforting. He opened the container as Y/n started eating her lunch next to him. 

“Banana bread?” He whispered excitedly. “You didn’t!” 

Y/n smiled, and she was overjoyed that the lights were off and he wouldn’t be able to see the way that her cheeks flushed. “Of course I did. You said it was your favorite.” Ryland leaned back in the chair slightly and started eating quietly, eyes trained on the students in front of him. 

He let his hand settle on the table beneath him, slowly letting it drift closer to Y/n’s until his hand was ghosting hers. Y/n didn’t look away from the kids as she carefully shifted so her hand was pressed against his, trying to get him to just take a hint already. 

He let his fingers delicately trace over her knuckles before hooking his pinky under her hand and flipping it gently so it rested in his. It was slow, and a little clumsy, but it was also warm. Solid. 

Ryland could feel the quickening thump of his heart against his chest. His throat was dry and he was suddenly very nervous that his hand was going to start sweating. 

The thoughts were subdued when Y/n brushed her thumb over his knuckles, trying to memorize every ridge, every valley. He looked down where they were joined together. A small smile graced his features and he went back to watching the kids. 

Lunch was over too soon in his humble opinion. In reality, they had actually gone fifteen minutes over because Y/n didn’t want to let go of Ryland’s hand. Only two more hours before he had to leave, and he tried to push the thought away, like not thinking about it delayed the inevitable. He took his place at the front of the room as Y/n settled her students into their seats. 

“Alright you guys! Who’s excited to learn about space?” Every little hand shot into the air. 

He uncapped an expo marker and started asking questions. “Who knows what is in the middle of the solar system?” A middle schooler started whispering into her kindergartener’s ear. The five year old jumped up frantically, waving her hand in the air. 

“I know! I know!” 

“Tell me, Amaya!” 

“The sun!” 

“Good job! Yes! The Sun is in the middle of our solar system! Everything goes in circles around it.” He drew a sun on the whiteboard. “Alright, Amaya, I need your help now.” 

Amaya looked over at Y/n for reassurance. After receiving a nod of approval, Amaya walked to the tall teacher. 

“Okay. Amaya, you are the sun. You’re gonna stand right here.” He gave her a high five as she stood where she was told to. 

“Who knows what planet is closest to the Sun?” 

There was more whispering. Then more voices shouting out ‘I know’ and ‘Me! Me!’. 

“What is it, Jack?” 

“Mercury!” 

“Good job! Come on up!” Ryland added another circle to the board. “Okay, Jack. You're gonna go in a circle around Amaya, and you’re the fastest planet in the solar system! So go! Faster! Faster!” The class erupted into giggles. 

“What comes after Mercury?” He didn’t have to wait this time. “Which planet is it, Claire?” 

“Uh, Venus?” 

“Venus is right!” Claire didn’t wait for permission before walking to the front. “Okay Claire, you have to walk in a circle too, but you’re very slow,” He said, dragging out the last part of the sentence. Claire started marching in slow motion around Jack. Laughter again. 

He continued on until he had an entire solar system of kindergarteners running around the space. Y/n watched as he laughed with the kids and inevitably started to ramble about how technically Max, the Earth stand-in, was moving slightly too fast for this example to be realistic. She didn’t realize she was smiling until Ryland glanced over and shot her a grin. 

He finally settles them down and returns everyone to their seats. Y/n watched him for a moment longer before remembering the coloring sheets in her hand. 

They sat together at her desk once the kids started coloring together. “I don’t think they’ve ever had that much fun during science,” Y/n said, her voice sincere, with a hint of something more. God, Ryland hoped he wasn’t imagining it. 

“I don’t know about that,” He said, his gaze flicking quickly to her lips and back up to her eyes. Y/n noticed. Her cheeks heated up and her eyes shifted to the ground, remembering quickly that they were still working. 

Ryland wanted to die. He looked up at the ceiling and wished that it would fall on him. He was saved from the awkwardness when a voice called his name. 

“Mr. Grace,” A teary eyed Amaya approached him with her coloring page in her grasp. He was moving before he realized it, crouching down so he was eye level with her. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He held his palm out and let her grab it with her small hand. She sniffled and Y/n felt her breath get caught in her throat at the interaction. The way his eyes scanned Amaya for something wrong. The way he subconsciously made her feel seen. The way he knew to hold out his calloused hand. It all caused something to bubble under the surface. 

“I messed up my drawing,” she mumbled, showing him the paper. Ryland looked at the page and then back at the small girl. 

“Messed up? I don’t see anything wrong!” He said, embellishing his confusion slightly. 

“Saturn isn’t supposed to be pink,” She sniffled again and let out a small, sad sigh that made Ryland want to tear up a little. 

“Well you know what?” He asked, looking at the girl holding his hand. 

“What?” 

“I think pink is the best color anyway. I think that Saturn looks better in pink than any other color.” 

Amaya cracked a small smile. “Pink is your favorite color?” 

Ryland beamed back. “Well, I don’t know, orange is pretty cool, but pink is too.” 

Amaya giggled and let go of Ryland’s hand, bouncing back to her seat. He stayed crouched on the ground, watching her go back to her seat for a while longer. 

It was at this moment that Y/n subconsciously noticed how strong his shoulders looked through his still damp shirt, which clung to his muscles in all the right places. She shook her head as he stood up, like it would remove the thought from her brain. 

“You’re really good with them, you know.” Her voice was quieter. It sent a warm tingle down Ryland’s spine. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly. 

Y/n giggled and looked back at the students. He opened his mouth to try again. 

“Well, statistically speaking, it’s easier to induce dopamine at that developmental stage.” He noticed the way her lips curved into a smirk and her eyes slightly narrowed in confusion. “Their baseline for excitement is much lower than in adults, so small achievements tend to produce disproportionally strong reactions. So like,” He took a breath, realizing he was still staring at her lips, and moved his eyes to meet hers. “High return on minimal input situation.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and laughed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “That was a lot of words to say that I was right.” He smiled and pressed his shoulder into hers. 

They sat together until Y/n went up to give the next instructions. Her eyes kept wandering over to his frame, sitting in a tiny, blue chair meant for a five year old. The older kids helped their kindergarten partners put their things away and start their reading work. 

Y/n started picking up markers that had fallen on the floor. Ryland followed suit. He stopped at Amaya’s seat, noticing how Saturn was bright pink with orange rings around it. He smiled softly and went to pick up the orange marker at the same time that Y/n did. Their fingers brushed, and at first Ryland pulled back, startled by her presence, letting out a quiet gasp. 

Y/n let out a small giggle, and quickly clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. He rolled his eyes at her laughter, but smiled despite himself. They cleaned up quietly, enjoying the last moments together. 

“Alright, kinders! Let’s say bye to our middle schoolers!” Y/n said as the eighth graders lined up with their bags. 

“Bye!” The class shouted. The middle schoolers waved and filed out of the room, Ryland hesitated outside the door. Y/n stood in the doorway, wanting to see him as long as she could before closing the door. 

He turned from Y/n to his class. “Start walking to the bus, I’ll meet you there. Gotta ask Miss Y/n what grade you guys should get.” The class groaned but started walking anyway. 

He turned back to Y/n. “I uh,” what was he doing? This was a terrible idea. “I, well, you,”

Y/n smiled and he completely forgot whatever it was he was trying to spit out. In a moment of foolish bravery, his mouth moved faster than his brain. 

“Would you want to go out with me?” He breathed out. 

Y/n smiled, looking at the ground, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked back up at him, cheeks flushed. “I’d love to.” 

He let out a sigh of relief. There was something about the way she looked at him. The way her eyes flitted down to his lips and then back to his eyes. He forgot himself for a moment. His lips went crashing into hers. It was a little clumsy, and a little rushed, but his lips were soft, and molded nicely with hers. 

He pulled away, breathless, eyes a little wild. Y/n leaned against the door, not registering the students behind her talking and coloring. 

“I‘ll see you later,” he mumbled as he walked backwards, eyes still trained on Y/n. He stumbled only twice before he turned around and walked towards the school bus waiting for him in the rain. 

He was startled as he climbed on board and was greeted with applause. 

“Yeah! Get it Mr. Grace!” 

“Finally did it!”

“You wanted her so bad!” 

“It was like an awkward nerdy soap opera!”

So while he talks, explaining his stupid discovery in his own stupid way, you aren’t really listening. Just staring at him blankly, Stratt next to him.

Did she bring him onto this? How did she find out about him? Was it through you? You had helped him publish his life ruining paper, did she see your name attached? You had been smart enough to call it quits when you did, resulting in the end of your relationship in Denmark. 

Your career survived because you knew when to call it quits. 

Ryland didn’t.

Stratt had found you due to your specialization in extraterrestrial lifeforms. Had dragged you on as an expertise, and recruited you as an astronaut for Project Hail Mary. It’s not like you had anything to lose, you stopped the whole “relationships” thing when Ryland ran. 

Fate is cruel, you think. Whatever God that’s there is cruel, only a cruel one would bring your ex-fiance to your glorified funeral. 

You had already imagined the last time you would hear from Ryland, he’d see you on the news and realize you were going up into space to save everyone. He'd say something stupid, and thank you for what you were doing, maybe apologize for what happened. You’d send a thumbs up back and that’d be that.

Instead, while looking out at the sea, you feel someone stand next to you, staring at you with sad eyes. You don’t have to turn your head, you don’t even need to think twice.

“Seeing a ghost?”

You can almost imagine his frown worsening, and if you didn’t spend months crying into pillows about him, you’d feel bad.

“I didn’t think you’d be here. Stratt… recruited me, due to our-... my paper. Which, I’m sure you know, is still useless, but I uh… was able to learn some stuff anyways. Stratt has kinda made me an expert in Astrophage. So… I guess we’ll be working together.”

Great. You’ll be working together.

You keep your eyes on the water, it’s calmer than you feel. There’s jealousy in your chest.

Ryland shifts beside you, hands fidgeting, tapping against his thighs, like his body can’t keep up with his brain. Some habits don’t change, apparently.

“Look...”

You beat him to it. “If this is an apology, you’re several years too late.”

He exhales, a soft, wrecked sound. “Yeah. I know.”

Silence again. It’s the kind that used to be comfortable, that used to mean everything was understood without saying it. Now it just feels wrong.

“You left,” you say finally, still not looking at him. “Not just the apartment… or me. You left everything. Your research, your colleagues, your life.”

“I didn’t leave my research,” he says quietly. “That was the problem.”

That gets you to look at him. He looks… older. Not in a dramatic way. Just worn down around the edges. Like someone sanded him a little too hard. There are lines you don’t remember, a tightness in his jaw that never used to be there on his soft features. If you were a stupider person you’d try to smooth it out.

“You blew everything up.”

“Yeah.” A humorless huff. “That too.”

You shake your head, turning back to the ocean. “You didn’t even fight for us. You just decided you were right, and that was it. You were done- with me and your job. No discussion. No compromise. Just… gone. You just left.”

“I thought if I stayed, I’d drag you down with me.”

That wasn’t the answer you expected.

“I was already going down,” he continues, words coming faster now, like he’s been holding them in for years. “The paper, the backlash- I knew it was going to get worse. And you… your career was just starting to take off. You were getting cited, invited places, people actually respected you. I couldn’t-” He breaks off, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I couldn’t be the reason you lost that. The reason you lost what you always told me you wanted so badly.”

“So your solution was to make that decision for me?”

“I thought I was protecting you.”

“Well, congratulations,” you snap. “You did a great job. Really. Nothing says ‘protection’ like running away without a real conversation and letting me find out you moved across the country through facebook like a coward.”

He flinches. Good.

“You don’t get to rewrite it now, you don’t get to turn it into some noble sacrifice.”

“I’m not trying to,” he says. “I screwed up. I know that. I’ve known that for a long time.”

“Then why didn’t you ever say anything?”

That lands harder than anything else. You can see it in the way he freezes.

“I wrote… letters,” he admits after a moment. “A lot of them. I just… never sent them.”

You stare at him. “That’s not better, Ryland.”

“I know.”

God, you hate how easily he says that now. Like he’s had years to practice admitting fault, just never to your face. Another wave crashes against the vat below. The wind picks up, tugging at your clothes, your hair, filling the space where words should be.

“You don’t get to fix this,” you say eventually. “Not now. Not here.”

“I’m not trying to fix it,” he replies. “I just-” He hesitates. “You deserve an explanation. I didn’t expect to see you again. Not like this.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Funny how that worked out.”

A humorless almost-smile flickers across his face. “Yeah. End-of-the-world reunion tour.”

You huff despite yourself. It’s brief and involuntary. You hate that it feels right.

For a second, something like the old Ryland is there… lighter, softer, the one who used to make you laugh in the middle of arguments just to break the tension. It’s gone just as quickly.

“I didn’t know you were on the project either. Not until I got here.”

You believe him. You’re not sure why. Maybe because lying was never his problem.

Being *right* was.

Another long pause settles in.

“You’re really doing it?” he asks softly. “Going up there?”

You shrug, like it doesn’t matter. Like you didn’t already say yes to a one-way trip into the dark. “Someone has to.”

He nods, eyes dropping to the ground. “Yeah. That tracks.”

You study him for a moment.

“You?” you ask. “Are you volunteering too, or are you sticking to ruining things on Earth?”

He lets out a quiet breath. “They haven’t asked me to go.”

“Would you?”

He looks at you then. Really looks.

And for a second, it feels like being seen again in a way you haven’t let yourself be seen since he left.

“…I don’t know,” he admits.

Honest. At least that hasn’t changed.

“Figures,” you say, turning back to the ocean. “You always ran when it mattered.”

That one hits.

You know it does.

But instead of snapping back, he just nods slowly, like he’s accepting the blow.

“Yeah,” he says. “I did.”

The wind carries the words away before you can decide what to do with them.

You cross your arms, staring out at the endless stretch of gray-blue water, and wish, just for a second, that this was any other reunion. But it isn’t.

It’s this one, and he’s here, and before you know it, you won’t be.

Years pass faster than they have any right to. It’s not because time is kinder here, quite the opposite actually. It’s harsher, measured in simulations failed, candidates lost, bodies that couldn’t adapt, minds that couldn’t hold. But routine has a way of dulling sharp edges, and proximity has a way of wearing people down into something… softer. Or at least something quieter.

You and Ryland have not fixed things.

You have schedules that never quite overlap unless Stratt forces it, meetings where you both speak, but never to each other, papers passed back and forth with clinical notes, stripped of any kind of personality.

Then one day, somethings different.

He makes a mistake in a calculation, something simple, something old Ryland would’ve caught instantly. You point it out without thinking, scribbling over his work with a muttered, “You dropped a factor here.”

When he stiffens you expect defensiveness, maybe an argument. 

Instead, he just says, “Oh. Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.”

And it feels like how you both used to work together, what brought you together and then tore you apart. It feels right, which is all too wrong.

And it happens again, and again. Conversations become less like landmines and more like… negotiations. You’ll still snap sometimes. He still shuts down sometimes, but neither of you runs anymore. You’re figuring out how to know the new versions of each other, and something about it makes your heart ache. 

It’s months before launch now, and you find yourselves alone in the lab at 2 a.m., surrounded by equipment and the dim glow of samples pulsing like captured starlight. You both are exhausted, which is probably why you fall into conversation.

“You’re holding it wrong,” he says, nodding at your setup.

You don’t even look up. “I’m not.”

“You are. The thermal gradient-”

“I accounted for it.”

“For the old model,” he replies, stepping closer. “We updated the parameters after-”

You shove the tablet at him. “Then show me where I’m wrong.”

If this were a year ago, you’d argue, he’d give up on the conversation and you two would call it a day. But he just… takes the tablet, leaning in beside you, though not quite crowding you. Your shoulders brush, which should make you feel nothing.

Apparently nothing is right today.

He scrolls, frowning in concentration. “Here. This assumption… see? It doesn’t hold if the replication rate spikes under radiation stress.”

You follow where he’s pointing, and… he’s right.

“That’s new.”

“Yeah.”

“...Good catch. Thank you.”

He glances at you, checking for sarcasm that isn’t there.

“…You’re welcome,” he says.

You fix the model together, movements syncing in that old, familiar rhythm you swore you’d buried. Passing tools without asking. Finishing each other’s thoughts before they’re fully formed.

You both recognize the familiar dance but don’t say anything to break it.

By the time launch is close enough to feel real, the distance between you has changed. It’s a gap now, one you both stand at the edge of, neither quite willing to cross.

You eat in the same room now, almost together. Conversations happen, not about either of you. Never about either of you. Instead, about work, about the mission, about stupid things like whether Stratt has ever slept in her life.

(“She doesn’t blink enough.”

“She blinks.”

“Name one time.”

“…That’s not the point.”)

You almost let yourself think things are like they were. 

The night before final simulations lock, you’re staring out at the water.

“Hey.”

You don’t turn right away. “Hi.”

He comes to stand beside you, closer than he would’ve before. Not touching. Just… within reach. For a while, neither of you speaks, and it’s almost that same comfortable silence it used to be.

“That’s it, huh?” he says eventually. “We’re actually doing this.”

“Looks like it.”

“You’re… ready?”

You shrug. “As I’ll ever be for a suicide mission.”

He exhales softly. “Yeah, that’s… that’s fair.”

Silence settles again. You’re both anxious, you messing with your necklace under your shirt and him twiddling his thumbs.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say,” he adds.

“If this is another apology-”

“It’s not.”

You glance at him. He’s not looking at you. Just out at the water, hands shoved into his pockets like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I meant what I said back then,” he continues. “About not trying to fix it.”

“Good,” you say. “Because you can’t.”

“I know.” A beat. “But… I also meant that you deserved an explanation. And I gave you one, but-” He hesitates. “It wasn’t the whole truth.”

You sigh, turning fully toward him now. “Ryland-”

“I was scared,” he says, cutting you off, “I told myself it was about your career, about protecting you, and part of that was true, but mostly… I was scared of being wrong.”

You blink.

“That paper, the backlash- everyone looking at me like I’d lost it. I could handle that. What I couldn’t handle was you looking at me the same way.”

“I never-”

“I know,” he says quickly. “You didn’t. But I thought you would eventually. And I didn’t want to watch that happen. So I left first.”

The words hang there.

“…Running away is a terrible strategy,” you finally come up with.

He lets out a quiet, breathy almost-laugh. “Yeah. I’ve had some time to reflect on that.”

“You think?” You stare out at the ocean, before sighing, “So what, now you’re not scared anymore?”

He considers that.

“No,” he says. “I still am. I’d still run. But I feel… I feel like I’m moving in the right direction.”

There’s something in the way he says it that lands differently than anything before. You nod slowly, like you’re filing it away.

“Good,” you say. “That’s… good.”

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“If things were different…”

You shake your head, a small, firm motion. “They’re not.”

“I know.”

Silence.

The kind that says more than words could.

After a while, you let out a breath. “You know, for what it’s worth… you’re not the same person you were. So… if things were different. Yeah.”

__________

It’s been a month on the Hail Mary, and you and Ryland have gotten to know each other pretty well. He’s a bit dorky, kind, and witty. You have to imagine you were friends back on earth from the way you two get along.

It feels like you two were two parts of a puzzle, no wonder you were chosen for this mission together. A team like this? It happens once in a lifetime. 

You’ve managed to be set up pretty well as you approach Tau Ceti, Ryland’s sleeping now, you technically should be too, but you wanted to finally look through your personal things. Ryland had already seen his, including the lone photo of himself. You assume your belongings might be similar, and they are for the most part. The only difference is you have two other photos, one a photo of you grinning next to a woman you remember as Eva Stratt, holding her in a bear hug, and the other…

The other photo.

You and Ryland, with your left hand held up to the camera where a ring is being shown off on your left hand. You two look much younger, and he’s holding you close and staring at you with something in his eyes. 

Like you created the earth itself.

Your hand reaches for the necklace you have on, the ring hanging off it.

Weird. 

Guess you were close friends?

_______________________________