viola

“What?” You press.

“Nothing, just a squeak and a clank sound very different.” He mutters, catching the playful eye roll you throw his way.

“Do you have anywhere to be? Why don’t I drive it and you can point out the noise to me?” He suggested, wiping the grease off his hands. You nod following his lead to the front seats of the car. He starts it, pulling out the garage smoothly, not hitting the curb like you probably would.

“I think it only happens when I make left turns.” You advise, nodding to yourself. He looks at you, and glances at the clutter in your car, change and several tubes of lipgloss scattered in one cup holder, empty takeout coffee cup in the other, a pair of heels in the floorboard, and a knit sweater tossed over the passenger seat. Your car smelled like a mixture of your vanilla perfume and leather.

He turns left, nothing. He speeds up, hears the engine humming quite normally, but looks at you when he hears the unmistakable rattling of.. the change in your cup holder. The engine was just creating vibrations and the change was rattling around in your cup holder.

“There that’s it!” You announce. He stares at you, amusement on his face.

“What, do you know what it is?” You raid your eyebrows. He says nothing as he turns around to drive back to the garage. You get out of the car, waiting for him to fix whatever it is that broken.

“Wait here.” He signals, as if you were going to go anywhere anyway with a car on the verge of exploding.

He returns with a small leather pouch, it had pink sequins along the edge and a heart charm in the zipper. It had sat in the shops lost and found for months, he knew no one would miss it. He gets in the car, gathering the change and your lipgloss, tossing it into the glove box, before gesturing for you to get back in. You do, feeling a little annoyed at his trouble shooting, if you wanted your car cleaned you wouldn’t be at the mechanic.

As he drives you silently hope, for your pride’s sake, that he was wrong, that your car is broken, and it wasn’t just something as stupid as change bouncing around in the cup holder. You want to slam your head against the dash when he accelerates at the same street he had been on before when you pointed out the noise. No more of noise. You were fucking stupid.

“Oh my god,” you cover your face in your hands, shaking your head as he chuckles at you.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking stupid.” You mumbled, voice muffled in your hands. The mechanic rubs your back with one hand, the other still guiding the steering wheel.

“It’s okay, I’ve seen stupider.” He attempts to relieve your embarrassment but you are simply never going to be able to look him in the eye again. God forbid your car actually has a problem, you’ll just have to risk it and drive to the next town over to avoid him.

“Would it make you feel better if I asked you out?” He parks the car, turning off the ignition. You peek through your fingers at him.

“Only if there’s alcohol, so I drink to forget this.” You quip, pulling your hands down fully to reveal your small smile and blushing cheeks.

“Deal.” He gets out of your car, handing you the keys.

“Meet me here at eight?” He asks, not pulling away as your hand grasps the keys.

“Okay.” You breathe, noting the way his eyes glint in the setting sun.

“Wait, do I owe you anything? For the car?” You remember the reason you were there in the first place.

“No it wasn’t broken, I didn’t fix it.” He reasons.

“But you still spent time on it, are you sure?” You press.

“I’m sure.” He nods backing away from you.

“Well here,” you toss him the sequined pouch of your car change.

“At least keep the change.” You wink as he catches it with one hand.

“If you insist.” He gives in, only to please you. And it was the right choice because when you smile at him, he forgets any baggage he’s carrying, for a moment he’s just a mechanic, that made someone pretty smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

I feel like there’s room to expand on mechanic driver either like a kinda stupid about cars reader. Like imagine just messing with him all the time telling him to make sure he uses “the green gas, it’s more eco friendly” when he pumps your gas for you (bc oh yeah he pumps your gas for you) or something and he’s like oh my god how have you survived this long with me

Or coming by the shop for made up reasons, like “my blinker fluid is low” “what does the little teapot symbol on the dash mean” he’d be so annoyed but secretly loves it.

“If we’re going to do this, I have rules.” You stand at the door of your two bed apartment, evidently your uncle had hired a new mechanic and he needed a place to stay, conveniently for him your roommate had just moved out.

“Okay.” He takes his toothpick out, placing it behind his ear.

“If you use the kitchen just don’t leave it a mess, don’t leave your dirty laundry in the bathroom, and if you must have a girl over put on some music or something.” You rattle off, rolling your eyes at the thought of him bringing girls over for hookups. He blinks at you.

“I can do that.” He nods.

“Oh and don’t eat cereal in front of me, I can’t stand when guys eat cereal.” You earn a smile from him.

“What about the girls I have over? Can they eat cereal?” He grins. You roll your eyes.

“Yes, actually.” You quip, finally giving him a small smile in return. You step aside, opening the door for him to enter. He closed the door behind him, stepping into the living area that you’ll now be sharing.

“So this is the living room, kitchen is over there,” you point.

“And this is your bedroom.” You walk down the hall as he trails behind you. You pushed open the bedroom door, allowing him to look around.

“Thank you.” He murmurs, stepping inside, sliding his backpack off onto the nearby chair.

“The bathroom is down the hall, if you need me I’ll be in here.” You point to your on the other end of the small hallway.

“But knock fist, and don’t just knock and walk in, like wait for me to actually open the door.” You ramble as he nods.

“Got it.” He winces as he sits on the bed, frame creaking below even the tiniest force.

“That’s why the music is necessary.” You comment. The walls were extremely thin as well, you heard entirely more than you needed to with your last roommate. She was probably the reason the bed frame was so worn out in the first place.

“Don’t think you’ll have to worry about that, too busy.” He murmurs. You’re shocked girls weren’t practically throwing themselves at him, I mean he was insanely hot, he was quiet, maybe a little mysterious. All it would take was a few tequila shots and you’d be all over him. You make a mental note not to have tequila when he’s home.

“Oh okay then, I’ll leave you to it.” You back out of the doorway, pulling it closed with a squeak of the hinges.

That night you were restless, having a mysterious man move in with you, your perfect secluded little bubble being popped. He’ll probably be messy, he’ll probably leave the toilet seat up, and leave dishes in the sink, but at least it helps you out with rent.

He proved to be quite useful to have around, contrary to what you had thought. He took the trash out, he cooked for you a couple nights a week, and stayed pretty quiet, he mostly kept to himself, aside from the occasional movie night on the couch. Sometimes you’d even catch him getting interested in whatever romcom or drama you were watching.

“Oh come on just kiss her.” You roll your eyes, mumbling to yourself about the movie you’re watching. You didn’t feel his presence behind you, but Driver had stood there, taking in your form, curled up in the blanket, watching a romcom on a Friday night. He wonders why a girl like you isn’t out, meeting someone, on a date, or at a bar. He’s admittedly observed you probably too closely, cataloging your likes and dislikes, what you laugh at, what pushes your buttons. So far he likes what he's seen. He can’t find a reason why someone else hasn't seen it yet. Maybe you know you’re too good for them, settling for a quiet life rather than suffering a relationship or hook up that would never satisfy you.

It wasn’t long before he was proven wrong. You stumbled in late one night, in a black minidress and strappy heels. You knew Driver was usually out late doing god knows what, thinking it was safe, you bring home the man you had met at the club. You had a few shots and worked up the courage to allow his advances. It wasn’t bad, it was just sex after all, but no one ever left you satisfied. It always took too long for you to get there. They were long finished before you had even started the race. I mean in what world would anyone be able to cum from thirty seconds of sex with no foreplay? Maybe it was your fault, you had to be doing something wrong.

Driver listened through the paper thin walls as you sweetly kicked the guy out, promising to text him. He felt bad for eavesdropping, only catching the final notes of your encounter. He felt the faint burning of jealousy in the pit of his stomach for a moment, wishing it had been him coaxing those sounds out of you.

He’s jolted from his daydreaming at the slamming of your bedroom door followed by muffled crying. He’s confused at first, why would you be crying if you just got laid? He hesitates for a moment, before knocking on your door.

“What’s the matter?” He mumbles outside the door. You sit up wiping your face, probably smearing your makeup even worse in the process.

“Nothing. Sorry. Did I wake you?” You crack your door open slightly, just enough for him to see one half of your face, not wanting to expose your disheveled state.

“No. Can I,” he pauses, trying to find the right words.

“Can I do anything?” His brows draw in concern.

“No I’m just frustrated, you c-can’t help with what I need help with.” You stumble.

“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.” He walks back to his room.

He wasn’t sure what you had meant that night for a few weeks, it wasn’t until he had overheard you on the phone with one of girlfriends.

‘No it was just another disappointing hookup, I think it’s me, I must be the problem.’ You twirled your hair absentmindedly.

‘I can’t really be mad at them, it takes an act of god for me to make myself cum’ you giggled. So that’s why you had been frustrated. He had read you perfectly the first time, you were never satisfied.

With this new information, he had decided not to ignore the next time he heard your soft whimpers through the walls at night, small bullet vibrator between your legs, eyes screwed shut trying to focus on your pleasure. You gasped when he knocked on the door, shutting it off and tucking it out of sight under your pillow.

“I can help you.” He cut straight to the point as you cracked your door open.

“Excuse me?” You breathe, hand resting on your hip, the other on the door.

“Just an offer. If you want.” He rests a hand on the doorframe, leaning on it slightly.

“An offer?” You question.

“I’m gonna need you to be a little more clear.” You raise your brows.

“Sex, my hands, my mouth. Whatever you want.” He shrugs.

“Oh,” you blush at the realization he had heard you, maybe heard you more than once.

“What’s in it for you?” You narrow your eyes to look up at him, leaning over you in your doorway.

“Oh trust me I get all I need out of it.” He assures you. You bite your lip in thought before opening your door, letting him stalk into your room.

“I have some rules though.” You warn.

“You got a lot of rules.” He laughs, shaking his head.

“Condoms always, and no kissing on the lips” You admit, looking down as he sits on your bed.

“No kissing?” He appears shocked.

“Just to not get too attached. I don’t know, just a rule I’ve always had for hookups.” You explain, sitting down next to him.

“Kissing anywhere else is fine?” He asks, reaching a hand up to brush your hair away from your neck.

“Yeah.” You breathe, feeling him lean into you to press his lips against the side of your neck. He kisses downward, sucking gently on the hollow above your collarbone. You hesitate for a moment, unsure what to do with your hands before your body takes over, sliding a hand up his thigh to palm him through his jeans.

“Mmhmm” he shakes his head.

“You first.” He pulls away to guide you to lay down on the bed, pulling up your t-shirt, underwear long forgotten, he sucks in a breath at the sight of you already dripping with need, walls clenching around nothing

“Poor thing, so desperate.” He slides a finger through your folds, gathering your slick.

“N-need it please.” You squirm below him, already worked up from your own touch.

“I know.” He slides a finger in, your jaw goes slack in pleasure. He pumps it agonizingly slowly, until you're bucking your hips up into him. He takes that as his cue to add a second finger, pumping faster at first, coaxing a strangled moan out of you.

“F-fuck.” You grasp the sheets below you, back arching off the bed, and then he slows his pace, earning a whine from you, but then your eyes screw shut and warmth floods your body. You can feel every inch of his fingers this way, he curls them slightly pressing into your sweet spot. You pant below him.

“Just relax, we’ve got all night. Let it feel good.” He guides you, noticing your tensing muscles and your ragged breaths. He doesn’t want you to overthink this, or be in your head. He needs you relaxed.

“Ohh” you sit up on your elbows, surprised at the feeling coursing through you, almost wanting it to stop, almost becoming too much. His eyes pin you where you are silently telling you to lay back down, that you can trust him. His thumb finds your clit, swollen and throbbing, rubbing slow, delicate circles until your moans fall out uncontrollably.

“I think I,” you gasp, clenching around him. He nods at you, as if giving your permission. Your orgasm courses through you, through every inch of your body, beginning with a familiar heat in your lower abdomen, branching off, sparking every nerve in your body. It’s intense and seemingly never ending as aftershocks rumble through you, nothing like you’ve ever had before. He doesn’t stop, curling his fingers ever so slightly, his thrusts are harder now but he removes the thumb on your clit, not wanting to overstimulate you.

“What are you-” you feel another climax building, but this one is different, there’s a pressure somewhere lower. It’s foreign, you again wonder if it’s too much.

“It’s okay, just trust me.” He nods, kissing your neck, biting into your shoulder. Suddenly a cry erupts from your throat as the pressure releases when he circled your clit again, faster and harder than before. Your screams are then muffled into his hand as you write beneath him. He pulls away this time, satisfied with two orgasms from you. When you finally come down, you lean up on your elbows to look at him, sitting on the foot of your bed, rubbing your quivering legs with a soothing hand.

You're in shock at the mess below you, your bedsheets drenched, his clothes soaked, your wide eyes meet his, crinkled in a satisfied smile.

“How the hell did you do that?” You sit up fully.

“I just pay attention.” He shrugs. He rises to his feet, hand snaking behind your neck to pull you towards him, planting a kiss to your forehead. He looks at your lips for a moment, his entire being urging him to kiss you but he doesn’t let himself. He steps out leaving you to catch your breath.

“Wanna watch a movie?” He offers walking back in with a glass of water. Your brows knit in confusion.

“Wait, what about you?” You stand up on shaking legs.

“Next time.” He tilts his head. You want to prod him, ask if he’s sure he doesn’t want anything from you in return. You’re a little dejected at first but when he lets you lean into him on the couch you’re oddly comforted by his ability to just carry on as normal, like he wasn’t just rock hard at watching you getting off. I mean what kind of guy just gets you off and then expects nothing in return? It was a stark contrast from what you were used to, maybe that’s why he did it. He wanted to prove to you that he was better than them. Maybe you’d let him kiss you then.

Next time turned out to be the very next night, he had pounded into you until you couldn’t form a coherent thought. A few days later he ate you out in the shower, you would suck him off on nights you were too tired for sex, he would fuck you before you left for work in the mornings. It was unbelievably good, you came every time, usually multiple times. And it was convenient, you both got your needs met in friendship and in sex. So why was there a twisting of your gut when you saw him in the elevator one day with a woman, your new neighbor. In reality he hadn’t given her a second thought, but you were fighting a battle internally trying to will your jealousy away.

“I’m going out with a friend tonight, don’t wait up.” You clasp your earrings and smooth away a few strands of hair, putting the final touches on your makeup.

“Have fun.” He spooks you, standing behind you in the mirror, eyes boring into yours. You give him a small smile as he walks away.

At the bar you honestly try your best, but you can’t even bring yourself to smile at some of the men your friend is trying to set you up with. They’d buy you a drink and give up five minutes into conversation with you when all your responses were dry and short, laced with the impression that you didn’t want to be here. They were right, you didn’t want to be here, Driver had ruined all other men for you, you wanted nothing more than to be fucked into the mattress with his cock buried inside of you. Your cheeks heat up at the thought alone. You tell your friend you're going to step outside. You sit on a bench outside the bar, watching as a few cars drive by the street.

It wasn’t long before you started to feel guilty, you had agreed to a no strings attached roommates-with-benifits situation with him, only to what? Fall in love with him? It’s his fault really, for being too good at this, for being too kind to you. You felt like a stay cat, he had fed you once and now you’d be forever crawling onto his doorstep in the night, begging for more.

Unbeknownst to you, Driver had followed you, sitting in a parking space outside the bar, headlights off, waiting and watching through the window, just wanting to be close to you. Selfishly he wanted to see if you spoke to anyone else, maybe leaned into them, touched their shoulder, flirted with them in soft whispers. He was relieved when you didn’t. He sank down in the seat when you stepped out, sitting on the bench with a defeated sigh, he watched for a moment, trying to analyze your expression for any clues as to what you’re thinking. Before he could talk himself out of it he found he was getting out of the car, walking towards you.

“Wanna get outta here?” He holds out a hand. You jump, letting out a breath in relief when you realize it was him. You’re not just relieved, the ache in your chest is alleviated, the gnawing sensation in your gut telling you to go home is gone, because you didn’t just want to go home, you wanted him. You were so fucked.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, taking his hand as he walks you to his car. He doesn’t answer, only opening his passenger door for you to slide in. When he gets in on the other side he looks down at his lap, one hand on the steering wheel, the other tapping against his thigh.

“Hey,” you lean closer, urging him to look at you, when he does you regret it, his expression is almost pained, eyes glistening under the streetlight and full of emotion. You understand him in that moment, or at least you’re ninety percent sure you do, because you probably have the same pained expression, being hopelessly in love with him, desperate for him.

“Kiss me.” You whisper, voice shaking.

“What?” He freezes.

“Kiss me,” you repeat, less shaken.

“What about your rule?” He counters, wanting to ensure you’re positive before he crosses the point of no return.

“I already broke it.” You confess, eyes flitting between his lips and his eyes.

“How so?” He prods, needing to hear the words.

“I love you.” You breathe.

“That so?” He teases, finally turning toward you to cup your jaw. You nod. He doesn’t speak, can’t wait another second. He poured every unspoken word into the kiss, holding you like you may slip through his fingers at any second.

“I love you too baby.” He rasps into the kiss. Your hand tugs at the hair above his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. He moans into your mouth, leaning back in his seat and pulling your leg over his lap to straddle him in the driver's seat. It’s a little cramped but neither of you have the strength to hold off. You grind yourself into the bulge tenting his pants, he was nearly fully hard just from kissing you. You whine at the friction as he grinds back up into you, gripping your hips forcing you down onto him.

“Backseat, now.” He mutters. You climb into the back, as he practically falls over the seat following you.

He pushes your skirt up, sliding your panties to the side, slipping a finger in with no resistance, mouth still on yours, moaning at the feeling of you clenching around him.

“No, need you now,” you grab his face when he tries to break away, moving downward. He nods undoing his belt and freeing himself from the constriction of his pants.

“Mmmfuck,” you moan into another kiss, as he gasps, sliding himself inside you fully, all at one. His thrusts are slow and hard, just the way he’s learned you like them. His heart swells with pride at the noises falling from you, the noises only he can draw from you. Your back arches, pushing yourself into him with a moan.

“That’s it baby, just like that, I’ve got you, you’re mine baby, all mine.” He mumbles in between kisses.

When he snakes a hand down your body to your clit, the tension snaps, orgasm pulsing through you, intensified with the new feeling surrounding your relationship. He follows shortly after you, cum and slick oozing out of you. He kisses your forehead sweetly, whispering praises as he pulls out.

“Shit,” his eyes wide at the realization that he forgot a condom.

“It’s okay,” you brush him off, as if reading his mind.

“I’m on the pill.” You assure him, lacing your fingers with his, catching your breath in the backseat.

He zips himself up leaning over the front seat to get some tissues from the glove box, those being the best option for now, given you just had to have sex in the car like a couple of teenagers. You clean yourself up as best you can, stuffing the used tissue in your purse pocket to dispose of later.

When you're done he’s standing outside your door, hand outstretched to steadily guide you back to the front seat. Such a gentleman.

“Can I take you home?” He smirks at you.

“I’d love it if you would.” You peck his lips, getting in the car.

“Mmmhm” you groan and silence your alarm. You always dreaded your shift on Fridays. It was as if the entire city agreed they were getting stabbed, shot, and overdosing all on the same day at the same time. Every Friday night, like clockwork.

You had a strange schedule, often swapping between day-shift, and night shift, in the severely understaffed hospital. In fact that’s where you had first met your boyfriend, stumbling into the hospital, with a gushing stab wound one early morning.

You had been just about to leave, walking out the hospital doors, when he nearly collapsed into you, looking down at him, face paled, torso drenched in dark blood, you slung his arm over your shoulder and dragged him past the waiting area to a free trauma room with a gurney where he finally lost consciousness.

Scrambling to stop the bleeding, the doctor stitched him up, ordering pain management, blood transfusion, and imaging to ensure no vital organs were damaged. You were intrigued by him, he was attractive, sure that was probably part of it, maybe you felt a bond to him having been the one to find him, the whole thing just seemed like a start to a romance novel.

When he had woken up, he was questioned by police, stating he didn’t remember a thing. After they left you were allowed to step in, making your rounds, checking on vitals.

“I remember you.” His eyes seemed to pierce into your soul, you could hardly stand to hold contact with them at first.

“I remember you too.” You smiled, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm, looking down to concentrate.

“How’s your pain?” You question, releasing the cuff.

“Fine.” He stares ahead.

“You know you’re allowed to be in pain, you’re in a hospital.” You attempt to get him to open up.

“It’s really not bad.” He insists, meeting your eyes reassuringly. You were not convinced.

“Okay, well if you change your mind, press this button, for anything.” You smile.

“Why not just give me your number?” He smiles. You can tell the blood loss and pain meds are getting to him. You suspect he would never be this forward ordinarily.

“If you still feel that way when you're discharged, I’ll happily give it to you.” You negotiate, leaving the room to let him rest.

Admittedly, you had tended to him more than your other patients, swapping with other nurses when you noticed you weren’t assigned to him, and skipping your breaks entirely in favor of sitting in his room to keep him company. You often just sat in silence, you had tried to get in his head, ask what he’s thinking about, but his answers were always short, and he quickly steered the conversation back to you. You managed to make him laugh once, promising to stop being so funny when he winced in pain.

When you had time you’d ask him about his job, coming to him each day, with a different movie asking if he was in it. You were shocked at how many of these stunts he had done, surprised you hadn’t met him sooner from crash related injuries.

“You know I bet I could do that, I’m a terrible driver. It’d be much easier to just crash into things.” You’d joked, earning a chuckle and a playful eye roll.

The driver wondered if you really were a terrible driver, or if it made you nervous, he knew a lot of women hated driving. He’d drive you anywhere you wanted if he could. He’d give anything to reverse the roles and care for you for a change, he knows you deserve it. He sometimes overheard the way patients treated you here, mostly at night, some too drunk or drugged to be of any threat, just disrespectful. Others were threatening though, and violent.

You had been shaking slightly when you made your way to his room after a particularly heated encounter. He had overheard the sound of metal clattering to the ground and a man’s voice yelling about waiting too long, demanding to see a doctor. He wanted to reach for your hand to comfort you, to hold you, to protect you.

You noticed he had a hard time letting people care for him, insisting he could change his bandages, or shower by himself, even in a hospital where it was your very purpose to care for him, he felt like he was a bother. You wonder what in his life made him resort to having to be so self sufficient and guarded. You had to get creative in order to do anything for him, making it sound like it was for you, not for him, he couldn’t admit to needing anything.

“Do you mind if I stand in the bathroom while you shower, I just need a break” You’d pretend to be stressed, he’d nod and you’d thank him when he was done.

“We got these new bandages, I need to test them out, can I borrow your wound?” It sounded ridiculous to you, but you couldn’t stand the shame in his eyes any longer when you cared for him, and this seemed to make it easier for him.

“I accidentally dispensed too many of these pain meds. It’s a whole process to put it back, you’d be doing me a huge favor if you just took the pill.” You only used that one on days that you could tell he was particularly in pain.

“Good news, handsome, you’re getting out of here tomorrow.” You announced setting aside your clipboard to take all his vitals for the day.

“Who paid my bail?” He quips, a smile on his face.

“Oh come on it wasn’t that bad here?” You joke, pretending to be shocked at the insinuation of your hospital being a prison.

“No it wasn’t.” He admits, eyes settling on your hands as he watches you work.

“Do you remember what you asked me on your first day here?” You blush remembering the conversation. He looks at you, eyes wide in horror for a moment.

“Did I say something bad? I’m sorry if I did. I really wasn’t with it.” He scrambles to apologize,assuming he had said or done something terrible in his drugged state.

“No no no.” You’re quick to ease his concerns.

“Nothing like that. Don’t worry about it.” You look back down, scribbling notes on the clipboard. If he didn’t remember, you wouldn’t remind him. He might’ve not meant it.

You always told him goodbye when your shift ended. If he was awake, he would thank you for taking care of him, and tell you to get some rest.

“Well this is it, you’re officially a free man.” You held out his discharge papers as he sat on the edge of the bed, now dressed in some clothes you had found him, and his jacket that you had taken home to wash for him.

“Does this mean I won’t get to see you again?” He takes the papers glancing at them slightly before looking back at you.

“I don’t know, do you want to see me again?” You question softly.

“Maybe under different circumstances. Yeah.” He stands walking forward to close some of the distance between you.

“If you want.” He adds, searching your eyes for any sign that he should back away, or give you space. You take the papers from his hands while holding his gaze, only looking down to scribble your phone number into it, before giving them back.

“I want to see you again too.” You led him out to the exit, telling him to call you soon. And you don’t think you’d gone more than a couple days without seeing him since.

You’d often stop by the shop on your way to work, bringing him breakfast or lunch, or sometimes just an excuse to admire him as he worked on a car for a few minutes. It wasn’t long before he had offered to start driving you to work.

“I don’t know, I've seen how you drive.” You joked. You eventually gave in, feeling bad at first for burdening him, before ultimately realizing it meant a lot to him to do something for you.

“Morning baby.” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts. He lets himself in with your spare key that you gave him, he had spooked you a handful of times, but you had now grown used to it.

“Morning.” You mumble still half asleep. You get dressed, putting your scrubs on, tossing your pajamas to the hamper, heading to bathroom to finish getting ready.

“I got you doughnuts, extra sprinkles, your latte is in the car.” He kisses you when you step out of the bathroom.

“You’re too good to me.” You melt into him, pulling away when he taps your waist lightly, reminding you you both have to get to work.

You walk ahead of him to his car as he locks your door behind you. Only now that you are his, he allows himself to admire how good you look in your scrubs, he had spared a few glances down your top as you bent over to assess his injury, or at the way the material tightened over the curve of your ass. He had always felt bad for it immediately, but now openly stared down your body in awe whenever he pleased, knowing that you were his.

He dropped you off with a kiss and promised to be back to pick you up, you reminded him you were working an extra few hours, well into the night shift as you usually did on Friday nights. He nods, although disapproving of your habit to overwork yourself, before heading to work himself. He was relieved when you finally let him start driving you. He didn’t like the thoughts of you driving after your twelve, sometimes eighteen hour shifts. He had seen first hand how much you did, and how much you exhausted yourself, he didn’t want you behind the wheel.

“I have a job for you tonight, kid,” Shannon gets straight to the point as soon as he enters the shop.

“Jewlery store, right near the hospital. Good money.” He continued. The driver nodded agreeing.

It was approaching midnight when you had nearly been working for eighteen hours. There had been a shooting, and a car accident, and a few cardiac problems. You were already nearing the edge of burnout when a patient waiting in the hallway grabbed your wrist aggressively, demanding to see a doctor.

“Violence against a nurse is a felony, sir, please remove your hand, I’ll find a doctor for you” You calmly reminded, attempting to resolve the conflict.

“So I can’t see a doctor in a hospital but I can get the police called on me.” His voice escalated as he stood, letting go of your wrist, you had started to back away when you felt a harsh weight coming down against your cheekbone. A rush of security guards and doctors surrounded you in a blur. Your attending told you to go home after filing the incident report.

You weren’t sure why you didn’t call your boyfriend to pick you up. Part of you didn’t want him to see you like this, another part of you wanted him for comfort. You couldn’t make up your mind, so you started the walk back to your apartment.

When Driver saw you, feet dragging the sidewalk, tendrils of hair sticking out from your usually pulled back style, holding an ice pack onto a tear stained cheek, his heart sank. For you first, then at the shattering realization you were about to find out his secret, about to be horrified, about to leave him. He debated what to do, looking at the watch strapped onto his steering wheel, then back at you.

He leans over the passenger seat to open the door, calling your name. You startle at first, not expecting it, this wasn’t his car, and you hadn’t called him.

“Get in.” He called out, sternly. You listened, silently sliding into the car.

“What are you doing here?” You sniffle. Looking around at the unfamiliar interior of the car. The watch ticks.

“I’m sorry.” He turns down the basketball game playing on the radio.

“I’ll tell you everything later, but right now, you don’t say a word, and you do what I say, do you understand?” His gloved hand grips the steering wheel. Your heart races at his change in demeanor, maybe a tad turned on at his assertiveness, you nod, unable to trust your voice.

When two masked men get in the car, security alarm from the jewelry store blaring, you panic, looking to Driver. He looks at them in the mirror, putting the car into drive as if this is normal and totally fine. Who the fuck are you dating?

“Wait a minute who the hell is she?” A voice shouts, gun pointed at you, you hold your hands up. Driver sighs.

“She’s with me, put it down.” His eyes narrow at the man through the mirror, the man listens, lowering the weapon. He chews on the toothpick in his mouth focused intently on the police scanner and the radio. He gave you a sympathetic look, wanting to apologize for getting you involved in this. He wasn’t one to crack under pressure, but the stakes were much higher now, he couldn’t risk your safety.

‘Visual on suspect, heading west’ you make out on the scanner.

You tense, bracing yourself, knees to your chest, hands gripping the seat as he slams the gas pedal, speeding past cars before parking down a dark alley. Your ice pack is long forgotten, melted by now anyway. Driver gets a good look at the bruise blooming on your face when he finally looks at you again. He clenches his jaw and rolls the toothpick between his lips. You want to tell him you’re fine, and it’s nothing compared to the stress he’s putting you through right now, but he did tell you not to talk and you’re too afraid of him right now to do anything to push his buttons.

He drives away, back to the main road when the coast is clear, police discussing a different crime on the scanner. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He turns up the radio listening to the basketball game. How is he even focusing on anything right now?

You’re pulled out of thoughts when he stops at the red light, coming face to face with a police car.

‘possible suspect spotted at stoplight’ you wince.

You close your eyes, a panicked tear rolling down your bruised cheek. This is it, you’re going to be fired, go to jail, your life is over in this single moment. The light turns green and he slams on the gas pedal. He passes the police car, weaving through traffic, skidding through curves and turns, before finally screeching to a stop in the arena parking garage where the game was. It was only then when you connected the dots, he was listening to have an alibi, should this whole thing have gone sideways. He was way too good at this.

“Get out.” He demands lowly, only audible to you and not the two men in the backseat, slamming the door behind him. You follow his lead as directed.

You meet him behind the car, he pulls you closer to him by your waist, draping his jacket over your shoulder as he walks you out of the parking garage.

“Kiss me.” He whispers in your ear as police cars skid to a stop outside. He turns your face towards his, in a quick kiss as you walk past, figuring you may be staring at the incoming hoard of officers in horror, also hiding the bruise on your cheek from their view if they were looking, figuring it was better if they didn’t see any reasons to stop you.

You don’t speak as you walk with him toward— well you don’t know where. You shove yourself away from his hold after you’re past the commotion.

“What the hell was that?” You whisper yell.

“Wait until we get home, baby.” He mumbles.

“I’m supposed to just go home with you? After that?” You counter, stopping your pace.

“Baby please, just trust me.” He pleads with you. You had trusted him this far, logically you know you shouldn’t, but something in your chest pulls at you to trust him anyway.

You say nothing, only shutting your mouth and walking with him, but you keep your distance from him until you make your way to the mechanic garage.

“Hey kid how’d it go?— oh” Shannon stops himself when he takes in your state and Drivers clenched jaw.

“What happened, doll?” He asks you. Driver’s boss had always been kind to you, he liked you for Driver, and thought you did him good. He worried you had somehow been involved in the crime committed, given your bruise. Driver perks up, having not had the chance to interrogate you about it.

“A patient.” You murmur. He nods, tossing Driver his car keys.

“Sorry sweetie.” He offers. You nod, sliding into the passenger seat of Driver’s car as he opens the door for you. You hear muffled conversation between them as Driver walks around the car to get in. Driver doesn’t explain to him, telling him he’ll see him tomorrow.

You rode home with your arms crossed in defiance, and leg bouncing in anticipation. You feel like your mind is telling you to run while your heart is telling you to stay. You’re biting your lip, thoughts racing with possibilities.

“Please let me explain before you do anything.” He pleads when you walk into your apartment. You cross your arms nodding for him to continue.

“I just drive, baby. I’m not involved, I just show up and drive. I don’t carry a gun, I don’t ask questions.” He looks at you like a kicked puppy.

“That’s still not comforting, why? Is it the money? Is someone making you do it? Why did you start doing it?.” You sit on the couch rubbing your temples.

“Shannon owes some people, some bad people, but he can’t do it, because of his knee.” He kneels in front of you, as if he’s begging for you to forgive him, to absolve him of all his sins, and tell him everything is okay.

“He’s been good to me, he gave me a job, then he gave me a better one. He stuck his neck out for me, I owe it to him to help him, I can’t—” He explains.

“I would never get you involved, I would never let anything happen to you, I love you, I don’t want to lose you, baby, but I understand if you want to leave.” He looks up at you, eyes glassy and bloodshot.

You’re stunned for a moment. This is most he’s shared with you, maybe even the most you’ve heard him speak. You can’t bear to see him like this any long, you slide off the couch to your knees in front of him and practically throw yourself into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hesitantly wraps his arms around your waist, not wanting to do anything to upset you.

“I love you too.” You whisper.

“Do you think I’m a bad person? You scared of me?” He pulls away to look at you.

“No. I think you’re doing something really selfless. A bad person wouldn’t do that.” You shake your head.

“And I was a little scared of you at first. You were very authoritarian, but it was kinda hot.” You smirk, only half joking. He looks at you, brows raised.

“And I really like the gloves,” you avoid his gaze.

“Since we’re confessing things.” You add.

“Oh really?” He stands up in front of you, still on your knees. You look up at him as he reaches into his pocket, unfolding the gloves. Your stomach flips in anticipation. The leather creaks as he puts them on snapping the strap around his wrist before reaching down to grab your jaw with his now gloved hand.

“How much?” His voice is slightly deeper, and softer than before, making you practically gush in arousal. He lifts your jaw slightly making you follow, standing to your feet in front of him.

“A lot.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp when he trails the hand down your throat, pressing slightly in exactly the right places to make you go just the right amount of dizzy as he kisses you. It’s desperate and fervent. He trails the other hand down to your waist pulling you against him.

“You like it when I tell you what I do?” He pulls you away, hand holding your jaw again. You nod.

“Tell me.” He taps you on the cheek with a finger.

“I like it when you tell me what to do.” You whisper shakily. He starts walking, forcing you to walk backwards, hand still on your jaw, trusting that he won’t bump you into anything. He walks until the back of your thighs meet the edge of your bed.

“Get on the bed.” He commands. You sit on the bed, awaiting your next instruction. If you weren’t soaked before, maybe even since you got in the car, you definitely were now. He nudged your knees, to stand in front of you in between your legs.

“Open.” He presses two gloved fingers against your lip, you open, welcoming the intrusion. They sit against your tongue as you suck them.

“Fuck,” his lips part, he sucks in a shaky breath. He gives you a gentle shove back onto the bed and yanks your scrub pants off, as you lift your hips, scooting back onto the bed.

You had talked about him being rougher with you in bed before, assuring him you would like it, and tell him immediately if anything felt wrong. He hadn’t been able to let himself get there with you yet which was okay, your sex with him was amazing regardless, but he didn’t want to hurt you, or scare you away. Now that you’ve proven yourself to him, that you’re not easily scared away, maybe he’s able to let himself get there with you.

He doesn’t even bother to take off your underwear just moving the cotton fabric of your panties aside to slide a finger in, eyes piercing into you as you let out a moan. He thrusts it in and out, adding another, then curling them to hit that spot inside you that has your back arching off the bed.

“You did so good tonight, listening to me baby, thank you for trusting me.” He bends down to whisper in your ear, kissing along your neck.

“You’re so good for me baby, don’t deserve you.” He mumbles between kisses.

“Gonna let me take care of you? Gonna cum on my fingers?” He presses when he hears your whines pick up and your thighs start shaking against his hand.

The sound of your wetness against the leather inside you was obscene and his voice in your ear was all the push you needed to send you over the edge with a strangled cry, your walls pulsing and fluttering around the leather, soaking it further with your release.

“There you go baby, doing so good” He works you through it continuing to pump his fingers until you’re pulling at his wrist for him to stop. He lets you guide his wrist, narrowing his gaze onto your lips when you bring his finger back to your mouth, sucking them clean. He could cum then and there.

The gloves were always something he wanted to keep separate from you, never wanting to touch you with the same hands that had just aided in a robbery or a murder. He wanted to keep his hands clean, for you. He felt immense guilt and shame in the role he played, but the mask had slipped tonight when he finally let you in, and you didn’t run, you weren’t disgusted, you didn’t shame him, you accepted it, even welcomed parts of it. He wanted to kneel at your feet and worship you, thank you for showing him mercy, and this was the best way he knew how.

“One more, baby.” He insists, taking your top off to grope your breasts through your bra. As he trails kisses down your stomach, finally taking your panties off to lock a stripe up your slit. You squirm at the sensitivity, still quivering from your first orgasm.

“Sensitive?” He peers up at you. Before dipping his tongue inside, lapping up your arousal.

“Mmhmm” you whimper, threading your fingers through his hair, earning a moan from him when you tug slightly.

You gasp sharply when he licks at your clit before wrapping his lips around it, sucking softly while plunging his gloved finger back into finger you. He’s moaning into you as you tug the roots of his hair harder, gripping the bedsheet in your other hand.

He slides his other hand, that had been holding your legs apart, up your torso to free one of your breast from your lace bra, kneading it and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

Your muscles tense and release, as your orgasm rips through you, pulse hammering in your ears, your mind completely fuzzy with pleasure. He releases the suction on your clit, only to lap up your release, working you through it as your thighs clamp around his head, squirming in overstimulation. He takes the hint, pulling away to crawl up the bed to kiss you.

When you regain some form of thought, you reach down to palm him, pulling away when he hisses at the touch, feeling the wet spot present on his jeans.

“Did you?” Your eyes widen in disbelief.

“You were so good, baby, too good. You’re too good to me.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. He gets up leaving you on the bed, blissed out and blinking at the ceiling. He returns in a pair of boxers, and then one of his shirts for you to wear, gloves discarded.

He lays back on the bed with you after you stumble on shaky legs to the bathroom to clean up and get ready for bed.

“Thank you for being so good to me. I love you so much.” He praises, kissing you softly, dragging the blankets over your body.

“I love you too.” You smile.

“And I should be thanking you baby, I didn’t do anything.” You reason blinking at him.

“You did more than enough, baby.” He mumbles, nuzzling into your neck as you run your fingers through his hair.

You and Ryland kept in touch, opting for a standing reservation at the diner he frequents, every Friday night you meet him there and often stay until the waiters are practically begging you to leave.

When you first started seeing your boyfriend, Dean, he was nothing but supportive. Understanding when you had to work late, had no problems with your other obligations. He was even sweet about it. Offering to bring you dinner or help in any way he could. He was an engineer at your research facility so he understood the frustrations of trial and error— mostly errors that you were going through.

“It just makes no sense, they bred in these exact conditions before. I don’t know what could possibly be different.” You vent. You’re boyfriend is absentmindedly running a hand through your hair as you lay in his lap.

“Maybe they evolved between then and now? They might not breed the same way?” He offers, having no understanding of evolution or astrophage breeding. You nod appreciating the attempt anyways.

“Yeah. Oh I have dinner with Grace tomorrow.” You gasp excitedly remembering you get to see him, and pick his brain.

“We can talk about it, we work well together we’ll figure it out.” You comfort yourself. Your boyfriend sits up a little straighter on the sofa. You sit up to look at him, feeling him tense beneath you.

“So you and Grace go out every Friday?” He prys.

“Yeah since the project.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, searching his eyes in confusion at his tone.

“Why? Is there a problem with that?” You counter, pushing away from him slightly. He had always been protective over you, maybe even jealous. He didn’t like it when you were around other men. You had always just teased him and did your best to reassure him, but it didn’t seem to matter. You had even stopped getting lunch with other coworkers because of it. It bothered you a little but you tried to be understanding.

“No, no I just like you here. That’s all. And you work a lot too.” He reasons. You’re surprised he approved of your outings with Grace at all, you suppose you could cut it down to every other Friday to make more time for Dean.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, I’ll try to make more time for you.” You offer, not making any promises yet.

The following day at work was grueling. You completely destroyed and rebuilt the breeding system and it still wasn’t working. The lab was silent and you tapped your foot on the ground in restless frustration. You spent the rest of the day re-reading all of yours and Rylands documentation from the project to make sure you weren’t missing anything.

You were ignoring texts from Dean all day. Asking if you’d decided to stay home with him tonight, asking for you to move in with him, asking how your work was going. You would text him back later, you were trying to focus. You were also dreading telling him you didn’t want to move in again. You had wanted to take things slow and casual which he had obliged to at fist, but you couldn’t help but feel like the walls were closing in on you. You were feeling pressure from him and your work, you were going to explode if something didn’t give soon. And knowing your people pleasing nature it would probably be you giving in.

When five o’clock hits you call Ryland and tell him your on your way and to order you a drink.

“That rough?” He asks when you slide in to booth with an exasperated expression.

“Nothing is working Ry, I have the same light frequency, it’s all set up exactly the same way. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” You ramble. Ryland takes your papers from you looking at your scribbles like they’re some holy text. Ryland could always read your writing, he could even tell how you were feeling based on how sharp your angles were. If you were in a good mood your letters were rounded and bubbly, if you were frustrated they were dark and jagged. It was obvious to someone as observant of you as Ryland, so obvious he knew before you did.

“Are you okay? Like generally?” He looks at you over his glasses, noting the french braid you wear daily to keep hair out of your face is slightly more messy than usual, and your eyes are more hollow.

“What?” You are taken aback by his concern at first.

“Oh yeah I just—“ You stumble over what to tell him, what excuse to give, before finally landing in the truth.

“I don’t know Dean wants me to move in with him, and he just keeps asking, and I probably will, it’s just I feel so much pressure right now. It’s nothing honestly, it's just me.” You tuck your hair behind your ear. Ryland puts your papers down on the table to give this his full attention.

“Why would he keep asking if you already said no?” He blinks. The question punches you in the gut. He asks it like it’s a simple truth. Like it’s obvious that you saying no once is an answer enough. And somewhere deep down you know it is.

“He just gets in a mood if he doesn’t see me often enough— I don’t know.” You defend.

“And I’ve been working a lot lately and this is just easier.” You continue, trying to convince yourself as well as Ryland.

“Easier for him or for you?” He signals to the waiter to bring out your usuals.

“Both I’m sure.” You look down sipping your drink.

“Are you sure? Because you don’t sound sure.” He points out. Ryland never liked Dean. He had met the guy in college years ago and said he was an asshole, he had told you that of course, but Dean was always nice to you, you naively thought that you were different, brought out the best in him. You had wanted Ryland to meet him, properly, but just never found the right time.

“Doesn’t matter it’s not important. How’s work with you any new slang terms to teach me?” You attempt to steer the conversation away from you, as you feel the walls that were previously closing in are dangerously close to being torn down, and now is just not a good time for you to have a breakdown.

“It is important. That’s a big decision to make and with him of all people—“ He visiting aholds himself back from laying into him.

“All I’m saying is don’t rush into it, don’t let him pressure you into it. Do what you want.” He ends.

“And I haven’t heard any new slang, but I have a drawer full of fidget spinners that I had to confiscate.” He smiles.

“What about silly bands? Have those come back in style yet?” You smile, happily swinging your feet below the table as the two of you ease back into regularly scheduled conversation.

It was always easy like this with Ryland. You had harbored a small crush on him during your time on the project but never had the guts to admit it to him, and when you became friends you didn’t want to do anything to ruin that.

Ryland walks you to your car when you insist you have to get home before Dean starts calling.

“I’m serious. Don’t move in with him.” He looks at you as if pleading.

“Unless you want to.” He adds, kissing you on the forehead. You nod and tell him goodnight.

“Wait!” He calls out.

“Let me help you with the breeding system. School is almost out. I’ll have plenty of time.” He reasons, walking backwards towards his car.

“Please.” You sigh in relief.

“I’ll text you.” He waves. Your heart flutters at the thoughts of getting to spend time with Ryland the way you used to.

You go to Deans place, having promised him you’d come over when you were done. He’s on the couch on his phone.

“Hey baby how was dinner?” He asks feigning interest, barely looking up at you.

“Good we talked about the breeding thing. I feel better about it. We’re gonna look at it together as soon as school is out.” You put your things down and make your way over to him.

“I want you to stop going to dinners with Grace so much. It makes me look bad. It makes it look like you want to be away from me. You don’t want that right, baby?” He moves to pull you in for a kiss but you move away from his grasp.

“What? So I’m supposed to move in with you, stop working so much, and not have any friends or life outside of you?” You snap, raising your voice slightly. He just stares at you for a moment clenching his jaw before sighing.

“I’m sorry baby. You’re right. I think I’m just feeling weird since you haven’t moved in with me. I mean I give you everything? I want you here with me. I love you.” He pleads now, holding both your hands in his.

“No I’m sorry,” you look down, shifting your weight on your feet.

“I’ve just always been alone. I guess I'm just nervous. I love you. It just feels like a big step.” You admit, finally looking up at him.

“You don’t have to be alone, take the step with me, you can trust me.” He begs you.

“Okay.” You concede. You still feel hesitant but if it means this much to him you feel like you should do it. You don’t want to hurt him and every time he asks you you feel a pull in your chest to just do what he wants, to make him happy. That must mean you love him, right?

You sleep in his bed that night. He’s extra affectionate. Kissing you sweetly and thanking you for choosing him. This should be a big deal. You should be excited. Why do you feel dread? You didn't sleep well that night.

You cancel the next Friday dinner with Ryland. You tell him you’re moving.

“You’re moving in with him. Just like that?” He says over the phone.

“Well yeah.” You smile, hoping to trick yourself into excitement.

“And you want this?” His voice softens. You hate it when he asks questions like that. It makes you feel exposed. Like he’s peeling back layers of yourself you had no intention of exposing.

“Um yeah.” It came out sounding like more of a question than you intended.

“Ok uh— well I can come by the lab next week. Just let me know.”

“Yeah I’ll text you the code to get in and everything. I’m excited to work with you again. I missed that.” You confess.

“You sound more excited about that than moving in with your boyfriend.” He quips.

“You’re just imagining that.” You roll your eyes.

“Maybe I’m projecting. Because I’m crazy excited to work with you again.” He admits.

“Well I’ll see you next week, Grace.” You laugh.

“And Friday! You can’t get out of it. The waiter doesn’t spit in my food when you’re there. I need you there.” He jokes.

“I will be there. Promise. Goodbye Ryland.” You laugh and hang up.

Your move goes fine. And you take a day off to settle in per your boyfriend's suggestion. He lets you put your books on his bookshelf and your clothes in his closet. It feels foreign to you. Taking up space in someone else’s home.

On Monday you text Ryland the code for the lab, telling him to come by whenever he can. Not even ten minutes later he’s there, in a goofy graphic t-shirt and jeans.

“That was fast, Ryland. I think you missed this a lot.” You tease him, letting him in the door and handing him a lab coat.

“Well it beats baking soda volcanoes.” He jokes following your lead to the astrophage breeding system. He takes over examining it thoughtfully, referring back to all your old notes.

“You replicated it perfectly,” he pauses, thinking as he chews on the cap of a perfectly good pen, your pen. It was a habit he’s always had and combined with his tendency to steal pens without realizing, all of your pens had slowly become marked with his signature. By now you only had a few left. Maybe you should have thrown them all out. Maybe it was weird of you to keep chewed-up-by-someone-else pens. But it wasn’t just someone else. It was Ryland.

“Is that my pilot G-2 gel pen in your mouth right now, Dr. Grace?” Your eyes squint in mild annoyance.

“Fudge, sorry. I would offer a replacement, but you’ve seen my pens, and we’re in a boat so—”

He takes the pen out of his mouth holding it back out to you. To his surprise you accept it, not as disgusted as most people were at his habit.

“I think we need to find other things for you to do with your mouth.” You suggest, blushing and turning away as you hear the flirtatious implication that you did not intend, but wouldn’t mind.

Later that day you returned with a pack of twizzlers, sour skittles, bubble gum, and lifesavers. You got him several options for whatever he was feeling like and kept them stocked in the lab for him ever since.

“Thank you, for my pen chewing alternatives.” He breaks the comfortable silence that often fell in the lab.

“I’m glad they’re working for you.” You smile, feeling a sense of pride every time you see a twizzler hanging from his mouth, or hear the faint chewing of gum beside you. You wouldn’t admit it but the one chewing had indeed been driving you crazy.

“Lets start from scratch then. Do you have a nano-needle here?” He decides. You bring him the equipment. The two of you spend the entire day re-examining the astrophage and experimenting with the breeding system. It’s nearly eight o’clock by the time you are done and he figured it out. You knew he would. It never failed to amaze how brilliant he was. His student didn’t know how lucky they were.

“Oh shit. Dean is gonna be mad.” You panic when you finally glance at the clock. You panic even more when you finally check your messages to find dozens of missed calls and texts from him. Ryland thinks anyone finding themselves mad at you is insane.

“What? Do you have a curfew?” He comments. You call your boyfriend to explain the situation, sitting down in the swivel chair across from the one Ryland is sitting in, admiring his handiwork.

“Where are you?” Dean answers the phone, skipping all pleasantries.

“I’m about to leave work now, we fixed the breeding system. Turns out we just had to —“

“Who are you with?” He cuts you off.

“What?” You swallow, feeling Rylands gaze without having to look at him, you know he’s hearing this and you know he will have something to say about it.

“Oh, Grace. Remember I told you we talked about it a couple Fridays ago?” You answer swiveling in your chair in an attempt to hide any expression you may have from Ryland.

“Yeah okay. Well get home. I don’t like being ignored.” He demands. You close your eyes, breathing out.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper as he ends the call. You blink and take in a deep breath trying to compose yourself. You hear Ryland say your name. It’s your name, not just your last name, and it’s softer. You imagine it’s probably the same tone he uses when a student scrapes a knee or starts crying. It makes you want to cry. His concern for you only validates that what your feeling is real but you just keep suppressing it, you don’t even know why, you just feel like you have to.

“I gotta go.” Is all you manage. You can’t even turn back around to face him or you will surely crumble into a pile on the floor right in front of him. Ryland grabs your wrist before you can walk away, saying your name one more time in that damn tone that makes everything ache inside of you. His hold on your wrist is so light you wonder if it’s something you’re imagining. Something your brain was just expecting at this point after so many arguments with Dean going the same way.

“I don’t think you want to go home.” Ryland whispers shakily, letting go of your wrist when you finally turn to face him, doing everything you can to will the tears clouding your vision away.

“It’s not my place, I know, but from what I’ve heard from you, and what I just heard, I don’t—“ he runs a hand through his hair.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to go. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” His voice low and soft.

“And you think you know what I want?” You snap, directing all your feelings towards him.

“I don’t, but I think you don’t know either.” He admits. You shake your head, rolling your eyes at him.

“That sounded horrible I’m not trying to—” He sits back on the chair in front of you, looking up at you.

“I just think you’ve spent so long trying to do what you think someone else wants, that it’s all you know now.” His words pin you in place.

“I just want you to go home tonight because you want to, and not because you're afraid of what he’ll think of you if you don’t, or god I hope you're not afraid of something he’ll do to you. I just—“ he sighs shakily, holding his head in hands, running them through his now messy hair. You can barely tell that he’s crying through your own tears.

“Thank you for all your help Grace, I’ll see you on Friday.” You manage between shaky breaths. He nods, sniffling.

“Text me when you get home.” He pleads. You mumble an agreement and leave him alone in your lab. You aren’t sure what to think. You just can’t help the overwhelming urge that you need to get home.

When you do, you’re met with your boyfriend, asleep on the couch. As much as you’d like to avoid the lecture, you know it will be even worse in the morning if you leave him there.

You send Ryland a short text telling him your home. You would ordinarily thank him for his help, but you're not feeling particularly thankful right now.

“Baby, I’m home. Can we go to bed?” You wake him gently.

“It’s about time.” He mumbles standing up, dragging you behind him by the wrist into the bedroom. You missed the touch from before, in the lab with Ryland, it wasn’t possessive, it was gentle.

“Im gonna be no good at work tomorrow because I spent half the night waiting for you and worrying about you.” He sits on the bed, flipping the cover down with more force than required.

“I know I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I just got caught up, I didn’t even think about the time.” You stumble desperately.

“Yeah you never think, huh?” He snarks.

“I was worried sick about you baby.” He gestures for you to sit next to him. You want to crawl out of your skin and run, but you oblige.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffle. He kisses you on the forehead telling you to go to sleep. It’s nearly morning by the time you’re nerves are finally shot, and your muscles give up, having been tensed ever since you walked in the door. Your body feels like you’ve been hit when you wake. Like it’s been through more than you have in the last day.

You muddle through the week checking on the astrophage. Reproduction was going well. Absolutely no problems thanks to Rylands efforts. You hadn’t spoken to him since that night and you were dreading your dinner with him coming.

It seems he is the only person who knows you, even better than yourself clearly, and it makes you feel raw and exposed, like an open wound being dragged through sand, excruciating and painful. But other times he makes you feel warm and loved, like someone is taking care of you.

When friday rolls around you remind your boyfriend you will be out after work, and promise to text him back and check your phone hourly.

“You really think you can pull that shit on Monday and still go out tonight?” He stands at the door, keys in hand, about to leave for work as you make a bowl of cereal.

“What?” You’re taken aback once again at his sudden shift.

“I just mean I was so worried. You’re gonna put me through that again?” He shrugs his shoulders.

“No it’s not— I’ll be home by seven at the latest. I will text you, and I’ll check my phone. But Grace helped me a lot and I promised.” You negotiate. You’re negotiating now for your right to go to a diner with your friend.

“Okay. Seven. I love you.” He rolls his eyes as he kisses you goodbye. You close and lock the door behind you.

You text Ryland reminding him that it’s diner day. You consider telling him you have somewhere to be afterwards but you know what he’ll think.

When you reach the booth, Ryland greets you with a hug. You slide into the booth and tell him about the reproduction and how it’s going off without a hitch. He beams at you, proud that he was able to help you.

“So I want to apologize for Monday, if I overstepped, I’m sorry. It’s just— I care about you— a lot, and I—“” you cut him off, placing your hand over his on the table.

“Nothing to apologize for. It’s fine I promise.” You try to reassure him.

“I actually have been thinking about what you said. And I think you’re right.” You admit moving your hand in favor of picking at your cuticles anxiously.

“I think I don’t even know how to tell what I want.” You shrug. Ryland fixes his glasses on his nose.

“And I was mad at you because how the hell did you know how I felt before I did.” Your brows draw together in thought.

“Language.” Ryland jokes, attempting to lighten the mood. It earns a giggle from you.

“Is that what you want? To not go home?” He prys.

“No-no not now. It’s fine now.” You assure him. He can see all the tension that had resolved at your confession, return instantly as you revert back into your familiar habit of being ‘fine’. He can see it in your body language that your lying and your scrambled mind can’t even tell. Ryland wonders what made you this way, if it was your parents, a slew of previous terrible boyfriends manipulating you, or just your brain wiring.

“If you change your mind, I’ll always be here.” Ryland shrugs, deciding the best thing he can do for you is not to tell you what he thinks you should do, but let you come to the conclusion on your own. He would be no better than your boyfriend if he just told you what you should do.

“Thank you.” You meet his eyes, offering a small smile.

“Do you need a summer job by the way? Research would love to have you.” You steer the conversation away. Back to something safe. Ryland is listing off all the reasons he can’t when you catch a familiar blur in the corner of your vision. Your boyfriend walking through the door of the diner scanning the restaurant looking for you. Your whole body tenses, it wasn’t seven o’clock yet, what had you done wrong?

“I think we need to talk.” He says sternly, coming up to stand in front of you at the table. No pleasantries, no introductions, straight to the point.

“Oh uhh. Okay.” You stammer, looking at Ryland’s knowing expression.

“Outside.” He stares at you. You get up on instinct and follow him out the door.

“When you said you went out with Grace every Friday I didn’t think you meant him.” He scolds you. It was then you realized why he even allowed it in the first place, he thought Grace was one of your girl-friends.

“I didn’t know that you didn’t know.” You reason reaching to rest a hand on his shoulder, he grabs your wrist instead tightly, pulling you closer.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Don’t play dumb with me. You did this on purpose. How long huh? How long have you been fucking him?” He raises his voice. You try to twist your wrist out of his grasp, feeling your heart hammering in your chest as he gets angrier. Ryland watches the interaction through the glass window of the diner. He debates what to do. Call the police? Fight the guy? He doesn’t want to make matters worse for you by intervening but he can’t watch you get treated like this any longer. His feet are moving before his brain has caught up.

“Hey we gotta go, Statt just called one of the probes landed, jet is waiting for us. Stratt’s orders.” He figures this is the least confrontational approach, door closing behind him as he stands outside beside the two of you. Dean drops your wrist and takes a step back.

“Convenient.” He mumbles, backing away from you. You look between him and Ryland, brows drawn in question as if to ask if he’s serious. He nods at you.

“This conversation isn’t over.” He bumps Ryland with his shoulder as he walks away. Ryland just rolls his eyes.

“Let’s go. I’ll drive, I’ve got the coordinates.” He urges pointing to where his car is parked. You get in and he drives in silence for a few minutes before pulling over.

“What are you doing?” You turn to face him.

“Stratt didn’t call, I’m sorry. I was just trying to get you away from him.” He admits, his shoulders relaxing at his confession.

“What the hell, Ryland.” Your blood runs cold in your veins as your mind starts to turn with possibilities of Dean finding out what Ryland has done.

“I can’t, I have to go. He’s gonna—“ you gasp, struggling to breathe as panic floods your body. “I have to go.”

“Hey, hey. You’re okay.” He leans over the center console to embrace you. The position is awkward but you melt into the touch.

“I can’t go home.” Your resolve finally breaks, all your feelings over the past months coming out, finally having a safe place to land.

“You don’t have to. I’ve got you.” He whispers, running a hand through your hair.

He takes you to his apartment. You fall asleep in his arms on his couch, having cried out all your energy. Ryland lays you on the pillow and covers you in a soft blanket. His gaze settles on your face, heart sinking a little at how relaxed you look, in comparison to how he’s seen you for months now. How could he have missed the constant state of anxiety you had been in? How did he not notice when it changed? Ryland could beat himself up over it for hours but his thoughts drift back to you.

He knows he will tell you eventually, especially if you’re going to hopefully stay with him for a while, how he truly feels about you. He considers the risks of ruining your friendship but ultimately decides you deserve to know. He doesn’t expect you to reciprocate, especially not with how fried your emotions probably are by now. He doesn’t want to pressure you. He knows you need time. And he will give you all the time you need. He will wait for you forever. He will always be here.

You wake up slowly that morning, there are a few brief seconds before your brain has caught up, where you don’t remember what happened, or where you are and why. When it comes rushing back to you you sit up in a panic.

“Woah. Hey. Good morning. I—uh am making breakfast, cinnamon pancakes just for you.” Ryland calls out from the kitchen across his apartment when he notices you’re awake. Ryland is covered in flour and cinnamon, he hates cooking. Why was he cooking for you?

“Oh um thanks Ry,” you stand from the couch and make your way to the kitchen with him.

“Can I help you with anything?” You ask, scanning the mess across the kitchen counters.

“No, no you are not to lift a finger.” He orders. You giggle.

“Okay uh—bathroom?” You point down the hallway, asking for confirmation.

“Down the hall, door on the left.” He nods as you walk towards the bathroom.

When you look in the mirror you don’t recognize the person looking back at you, eyes sunken and dull, bloodshot from crying. You fix your hair as best you can. Glancing down at the counter you find a towel, toothbrush, and a note with your name and a smiley face, in Rylands writing of course. He had always been good at anticipating your needs, a habit he had learned from being in close quarters with you, on a boat no less.

“Thought I’d find you out here.” Ryland’s voice echos from behind you as he walks onto the deck.

“Hey,” is all you can manage, fearing if you speak any more you will surely puke.

“Oh, motion sickness?” He rubs a hand down your upper back, taking in your paled face.

“Fresh air helps.” You nod, which was apparently the last straw for your stomach, as it cramps violently, sending you hurling over the railing, nothing but bile and stomach acid. Ryland gathers your hair, a soothing hand still rubbing your back.

“Oh my god go away you’re not allowed to see this.” You groan, spitting into the ocean below you. He laughs behind you.

“My glasses are inside, I can’t make out a thing, your just a puking blob. I wasn’t even sure it was you until a minute ago.” He earns a giggle from you.

“Feel better?” He squints at you.

“Yeah.” You nod.

“Go try to get some sleep. Take an extra couple hours if you need, I’ll be fine in the lab alone.” He offers walking with you back to your quarters. You nod knowing you won’t take the offer anyway.

When you wake up the next morning there is a glass of water and a bottle of dramamine with a note.

‘Snagged this from one of the jet pilots, guard it with your life :) -Ryland’

You smiled down at the note, heart warming at the thought of him writing it. Ryland wasn’t bothered by the motion sickness at sea, so you knew he had bargained for this just for you. You didn’t realize he had paid that much attention to you.

When you emerge from the bathroom Ryland is haphazardly cleaning the kitchen, plating your pancakes and pointing to the table when he notices you’ve returned.

“Sit, tell me how I did, I think there’s too much cinnamon. There might be too much cinnamon.” He takes a seat across from you at the small dining table. You’re not hungry but know you should eat.

“It’s perfect. Perfect amount of cinnamon.” You praise. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to go get your stuff in about an hour, Marrissa offered to help. You don’t have to go, just make yourself at home, stay as long as you want. I think I’ll be able to tell what’s yours. I’ll put everything in the spare room for you” He offers, taking a bite of pancake.

“I can’t bother you like this, I can’t move in with you. I can’t ask you to do that.” You feel guilty that he’s helping you this much.

“You’re not asking, I’m strongly encouraging that you move in with me, at least temporarily.” He pleads with you.

“I just feel so bad, I feel like I have to go home.” You look down.

“Thats by design.” He scoots closer to you, offering a comforting hand on your shoulder as you look at him confused.

“Moving in with him, so it would be harder to leave.” He begins.

“Did he make you cut off your friends, or try to? Try to control where you went and with who?” He questions, taking your silence as answer enough.

“It’s all a tactic, intended to keep you from leaving. To make you feel like he’s the only option.” He explains. You know already, you think you’ve recognized the pattern for a while now, you were just already stuck, or felt like you were.

“How could I have been so stupid.” Your eyes well with tears, turning Rylands face into an abstract blob.

“No no no. None of that.” He brushes a tear on your cheek with his thumb.

“You are the smartest person I know, it’s not your fault. He manipulated you.” He attempts to console you, but you feel like an idiot. You should’ve asked more questions, should have put your foot down.

“I just thought he loved me. This whole time I thought he was like that because he loved me.” Your gaze flicks side to side, searching his eyes for any indication that he thinks you’re stupid.

“When you love someone, you ask them about their day, you listen, you notice what candy they like and get it for them, you notice when they’re sick or when they’re sad, you fix it. You let them live, let their friends experience the joy that is their presence.” Ryland laughs.

“I think when you really love someone, you allow yourself to be secondary. You know? Like you just want them to be happy, whether it is with you or— ” Ryland looks away, trailing off.

You’re stunned at his ranting about love. He had seen a few people briefly, but as far as you were aware it was all casual. He had told you he never really clicked with any of them. You wonder who he could possibly have in mind. Who was the lucky person to be loved by Ryland Grace?

Ryland wants to tell you. He wants to tell you that he loves you and he has for the past two years. That it was hell knowing you with another man, one that certainly didn’t deserve you, one he knew had treated women horribly. He had warned you, but you were happy at first, he thought maybe Dean had changed, and if he had and you loved him you deserved to be happy, so he wouldn’t do anything to ruin it. He wanted to tell you now how hard it was, to watch you lose yourself in a relationship. How much he hates himself for not seeing it sooner, not doing something.

“Ryland?” You meet his gaze again, smiling a little now.

“For someone who only does ‘casual’ you seem very well versed in love.” You joke. Ryland wants to say that he doesn’t want casual, he wants you, and in reality he could never invest in anyone else because they were never you.

“Yeah. Well I guess—” he laughs, running a hand through his hair.

“I guess I’m an expert after two years.” He laughs, but only for a second before he’s realized what he’s done. He closes his eyes bracing for your realization. Beating himself up internally, thinking you’ll be uncomfortable around him now, thinking you’ll go back to Dean now. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel like he had some ulterior motive other than helping you, his friend.

“What?” Your eyes widen as you look at him with an excited smile.

“You’ve been with someone for two years and never told me! Ryland Grace.” You gasp eager for him to spill the details, but equally offended that he’s hid it from you. Why would he not tell you? Did he not trust you?

Ryland just stared at you for a moment. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for your brain to catch up. But when it does your brows draw in confusion and you shake your head. There is no way, no way that Ryland Grace has been in love with you for two years and you were oblivious to it. He must take your reaction to mean you’re upset because he backs away from you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say anything—I was never going to—I didn’t want to ruin anything.” He pleads.

“Ruin it? Ryland I—” you stumble over what to say. Maybe you’re misunderstanding this whole conversation.

“Can you just say it? I feel like I’m crazy, I need to hear you say it. Please?” You decide, not trusting yourself to fill in the blanks.

“I love you.” His blue eyes are frosty with a layer of unshed tears and his voice is barely above a whisper.

You stand from the chair finally, walking towards him. He hesitantly stands as well. A sudden confidence overtakes you as you grab his hands and place them on your waist. He raises a brow, unsure what you're doing.

“Can I kiss you?” You look up at him through your wet lashes. A nod is all he manages before you close the gap, softly grazing his lips at first before melting into him. He kisses you, years of yearning behind it, running a hand up your body to cup your jaw, deepening the kiss.

“I love you too, I always have.” You admit in a whisper when he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours, one hand still on your waist keeping you close.

How could you have missed it? How could he have missed it? You thought you had been entirely too obvious on the project. Olesya had even teased you right in front of him several times, for saving his seat at karaoke night, or keeping skittles in your pocket for him. “You have crush on him, yes?” She had asked you right in front of him once, you had slouched in your seat shoving her slightly as you blushed, you know he had heard her.

“Why—why didn’t you tell me?” He backs away to look you in the eye.

“I thought you knew, I thought I was being painfully obvious.” You laugh.

“Why did you never tell me?” You realize.

“I just did.” He quips.

“No, I mean sooner.” You hold one of his hands, swinging it back and forth, playfully.

“I guess if you were so obvious,” Be begins, sarcastically.

“I must have been an idiot because I didn’t think you felt that way about me. And I didn’t—I never wanted to lose you, so I didn’t say anything.” He finishes. You snake your hands up to wrap around his shoulders, his wrap around your waist pulling you in to hug him. You’re on your tiptoes to reach around his shoulders all the way.

“I guess we’re both idiots.” You decide, pulling away from the hug to look at him.

“I will happily be an idiot with you if you want me.” Ryland tilts his head.

“I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” You nod.

“Are you sure, If you need some time or need space, I can wait. I can wait as long as you need.” He looks at you, seriously. Your heart aches at his offer. He’d let you walk away now if it was what you wanted, and somehow it served as more of a confirmation of his feelings than his own words did.

“I don’t. I need you. I want you. It’s the one thing I’m sure of, the one thing I can tell that I feel for certain.” You assure him, your feelings for him being the only certainty you have right now. He’s the only thing grounding you, keeping you above water.

“We’ll work on that.” He smiles.

“I can borrow the puppets from sixth grade, the ones that correspond to different feelings, I’ll make you a whole lesson plan, with a puppet show of course.” He jokes. You giggle and shove him playfully.

“Okay, not funny. I might actually need it.” You giggle, only half joking. You hear a knock on the door and squint at the sunlight bleeding through the dimly lit dining room.

“Oh am I interrupting something?” Marissa is standing in the doorway, taking in the state of the two of you, Ryland’s hands around your waist, yours around his neck, giggling and smiling. Ryland lets go of you, you miss his touch instantly.

“Nope—uh sorry. Let me change—got distracted.” He scurries off into his bedroom to change out of his cinnamon covered t-shirt. Marissa walks towards you engulfing you in a hug.

“It’s about time.” She whispers in your ear.

“Okay let’s go.” Ryland returns in a new shirt, hair slightly more ruffled.

“Gotta hurry, I have to make up for lost time.” His fingers lace between yours walking out the door with you.

“Do you want to stay here? Marissa and I’ve got it if you feel you can’t go in there.” He pauses.

“No—I want to go. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not just saying that?” He searches your features for any tenseness or hesitancy.

“No. I want to go. You’ll be here. I’ll be fine, better than fine.” You assure him, shoulders relaxed. You were anxious about returning, having finally broken down the carefully crafted, manipulated relationship in your mind, you knew seeing the house would stir new feelings, confirm them. You knew you needed closure though. You just couldn’t face him, you hoped he would be at work, if he was there you weren’t sure you could handle it.

“Marissa already drove by, his car’s not there.” Ryland pats your thigh as you settle into his passenger seat, as if he could read your mind, or maybe just your body language. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You gather your clothes out of his closet and the rest of your things. You realize you had made yourself quite small to fit into Dean’s life. Your things barely took up the trunk. You left your key under the mat along with a note, explaining that you’re ending things, and telling him not to contact you again. You leave it on the counter where you know he will see it.

“Wait, we're forgetting something, where are all your plants?” Ryland turns to face you.

“Oh they all died right after I moved, I thought they had the right lighting and I watered them like usual. They just died.” You shrug your shoulders.

Ryland is reminded of a science fair project from that year. The student had two identical plants and cared for them exactly the same, with one exception; he insulted one of the plants, and complimented the other. The insulted plant was wilted and completely dead while the plant showered in compliments was thriving. The project was meant to prove the hypothesis that plants could sense negative energy, and while Ryland was impressed, he didn’t buy it, there was no evidence that plants could hear that they were being insulted. But now, looking through the window at your plants he knew you tended to perfectly, wilted and drooping, he was convinced.

He was also angry, what on earth had he said to you that was so terrible it made the plants die? How bad was it really? What had you not told him? What went on behind closed doors. He feels sick to his stomach at the thoughts of him hurting you, making you feel small, making you feel afraid. He vows to get you new plants, plants that will be exposed to a constant stream of compliments and affection directed towards you, but they won’t know the difference.

“Ryland,” you wave a hand in front of him, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Can we go?” You loop an arm around his.

“Yeah, let’s go.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, before walking with you to the passenger seat. He closed the door behind you, getting in himself. Marissa is in the backseat reaching out to give you a supportive high five.

Marissa hugs you goodbye when you finish unloading your things into Ryland’s apartment. She had always been kind to you. She had a way of making everyone feel special, she looked at people like they were each something precious, like she was genuinely happy to see them. And she was. She was completely authentic and wore her emotions plastered on her face with an inability to hide them.

“Okay, all done. I’ve got to take you to one last place though, we have to add some finishing touches.” Ryland breaks down the final small box.

“What, it’s fine I don’t need anything else.” You dismiss.

“Come on, it's a surprise, I’ve punched the numbers, and I think you’ll like it.” He grabs his keys once more gesturing you out the door with a small smirk in his face.

“Um,” he sighs, putting the key in the initiation as you buckle your seatbelt.

“Hypothetically, if you were going to get plants where would you go to do that?” Ryland deadpans, realizing he’s not capable of making this a surprise, having killed multiple plants, yes even ones you had given him. He could barely keep himself alive some days, forgetting to eat or drink water, and a plant doesn’t exactly tell you when it’s thirsty, how was he supposed to remember to water them?

“Oh I don’t know if you can handle it.” You relax back into the seat, smiling.

“I can handle it. I’ve handled things. Lots of things.” He shrugs a shoulder.

“Okay well. I pick up the scrap pieces off the ground at Lowe’s and propagate them. Sometimes I don’t even know what they are until they grow. That whole collection took like years, I practically raised them.” You frown remembering your carefully curated plant collection.

“You steal them?” Rylands eyes crinkle in the familiar way they do when he smiles.

“It’s not stealing if they were just going to sweep them up at the end of the day, and they looked so sad in the ground.” You reason with him.

“Okay let’s go rob Lowe’s.” He shifts the car into drive.

“No don’t say it like that, we’re not robbing, if anything we’re helping them clean.” You giggle.

Ryland dramatically insists on standing guard as you crouch on the ground picking up plant bits and leaves. He tries to alert you when employees walk past, you only laugh and shake your head, as they really couldn’t be bothered to care.

“What about that?” He points to a beautiful purple and yellow or orchid. Upon closer inspection you notice some root rot and dead leaves on the surface. You never had good luck when it came to orchids, but if Ryland liked it, you were determined to nurse it back to health.

“I’ll need to repot it, but that will look great on the windowsill in the bathroom, we can’t put it in the living room, it will get too much light, and they like a moist environment anyway, we can try it.” You pick it up, handing it to Ryland when you’re done with your assessment.

“What's wrong with this pot?” His glasses slide down his nose as he looks at you.

“Needs more ventilation, it’s not good for the roots.” You comment.

“If you ask me, they pot them like that on purpose, so that they’ll die and you’ll buy another one.” You whisper as you walk toward the register.

“Big Orchid. What a scam.” Ryland finds himself agreeing with any conspiracy or personal theory that comes out of your mouth like it’s undeniable truth.

You and Ryland spend that evening repotting and propagating your rescued plant scraps. He allows you to instruct him, taking control when needed and even offers some more of his expert handy work in the form of a toothpick trellis to hold up a small vine that won’t stay put.

“There we go.” He leans back, admiring his creation, glancing up at you. You look beautiful like this, dirt smeared in your cheek, tendrils of hair framing your faces, sunlight hitting your eyes in a way that makes them sparkle.

“You’re beautiful.” He stares, unable to take his eyes off you. When you look away he follows your gaze to the small fingerprint shaped bruises peppering your wrist. His heart aches at your hurt. He knows it will take you a while, to blossom again, to get used to being in a loving relationship. He will wait.

“Do you mind if I shower?” You ask after a few minutes of silence.

“Of course. Come here.” He shows you where the towels are, where he put your shampoo and conditioner. You thank him closing and locking the door with a small smile.

Fifteen minutes pass, and Ryland doesn’t hear the water running. He wants to give you space but can’t help the small worry for you in the back of his mind.

Five more minutes pass when he decide to check on you, knocking on the door softly. He hears your sniffles through the door and is now simultaneously regretting bothering you, and wishing he had sooner.

“Can I do anything?” His voice barely above a whisper when you crack open the door.

“No, just,” you sniff.

“It just started and won’t stop.” You gesture toward your face, wiping away tears with the other hand, as you step back allowing Ryland to come into the bathroom fully. You’re only in a bra and underwear now, but Ryland’s only concern was calming the storm in your mind.

“It’s okay, don't stop on my account.” He earns a watery giggle from you. He embraces you, rubbing soothing circles into your back. You sway a bit, growing sleepy.

“Hey do you still want to shower?” He reminds you, you nod and he turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you call, he spins back around.

“You’re welcome to join me, if you want.” Your cheeks burn at your own offer.

“Do you want me to?” He closed the door behind him. You nod shyly. He turns the water on, looking to you for guidance on where you like the temperature. You pull the hem of his shirt up and over his head as he pulls his arms out of it, you unbuckle his belt, he slides his pants off. He motions for you to turn around, unclasping your bra for you. You both step out of your underwear. You feel his gaze float down your body, but it doesn’t feel hungry, or possessive. It’s only admiration.

He holds out a hand for you to hold as you step into the shower, he gets in after you standing in front of you allowing you access to the warm water first. It flows down your hair and body, making your skin buzz, and your muscles soften at the sudden warmth. You hear the snap of your shampoo bottle closing and open your eyes to see Ryland, motioning for you to turn around. He massages your scalp, suds bubbling in your hair, the scent of coconut and argan oil enveloping the bathroom. You let out a moan at his movements, covering your mouth with your hand immediately afterwards. You hear a soft laugh behind you.

“Okay, rinse.” He orders. Turning you around himself this time. Maybe it’s the inherent intimacy of being naked in a shower with someone, or the way his voice is echoed between the shower walls, sounding deeper, but you feel your face heating up and arousal pooling in your stomach. When you meet his eyes, you think he can tell, because his eyes darken with lust upon eye contact. You step forward, snaking a hand around the back of his neck, his hand rests on your waist, then lower on your hip as his lips meet yours. You run a hand down his chest, and further down his abdomen before breaking the kiss, a sting of saliva connecting your lips, to look up at him silently asking if it’s okay. He nods panting as your hand rakes down to palm his, now hard member.

He lets out a groan, and you take the opportunity to kiss him again, passionately slotting your lips into his. He wines, hand trailing down to grip your ass, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Wait, stop, I want you.” He pants, pulling back to look at you. You give him a nod, eyes pleading for him to do something, to touch you, to make you feel better.

“Please Ry,” you breathe when you feel his fingers on your folds. Your head falls on his shoulder when he dips a finger in, spreading your arousal to circle your clit. You return to stoking him, urging him to continue. You gasp when he slide a finger in, pumping slowly at first.

“More,” you beg, moaning his name softly when he adds a second finger.

“I’ve wanted to hear you like this for so long, you’re so beautiful like this, sweetheart, so good.” He praises in your ear. It’s enough to build you up to the edge of an orgasm. Ryland can tell you’re close, you're stroking him, jerkily and stopping entirely at times, so lost in how good he’s making you feel you can’t keep up for a moment.

“Let go for me.” His thumb circles your clit a few times and your legs shake beneath you, his hand on your waist holding you up. He groans as you tense and tremble in his arms, your orgasm washing over your entire body, he works you through it only stopping when your thighs start to twitch and close on his hand.

“I love you so much.” He kisses you.

“I love you too,” you nod into the kiss,

“Ryland, need you.” You mumble. Ryland picks you up, pressing your back against the shower wall, lining himself up with your entrance.

“I know sweetheart, I’ve got you.” He slides in slowly, with little resistance. You gasp when he pushes all the way in, hips meeting yours, proding into a spot you didn’t know existed.

“You feel so good.” He tucks his face into your neck, peppering kisses, and sucking lightly down you collar bone as he begins to move, thrusting into you slowly, but hard as your mouth falls open in pleasure.

“Fuck, Ryland.” You moan gripping his hair at a particular deep thrust. He moans, thrusting again resulting in another tug on his locks.

“I’m so close Ry, please.” You whine, moans falling out of your mouth without your permission now.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he circled your clit again causing your walls to clench down around him, pulsing in pleasure as your entire body tenses and releasing in a blinding orgasm, your brain is pure mush and you’re twitching in overstimulation when he pumps into you one last time, biting the muscle of your shoulder as he fills you.

“Easy.” He whispers, holding an arm as he pulls out of you with a hiss and you attempt to stand on your own. He trails kisses up your neck, to your jaw, before finding your lips once more.

You can still barely keep your hands off each other as you rush to actually shower, water having long since gone lukewarm, he steadys you as you step out wrapping a towel around your trembling form, he walks you into his bedroom, offering one of his goofy t-shirts that you’ve come to love, and putting on a pair of boxers.

“Thank you.” You sniffle, laying your head on his chest as you slide under the covers into his arms.

“What for?” His brows furrow, looking up at the ceiling.

The door falls shut behind you, beeping with confirmation that it’s closed. You hear the faint ‘good morning’s from you coworkers in the background but your focus is immediately turned to the doughnuts on the counter

“Ooooh who brought these? Who do I have to kiss?” You grab one and head over to the computer to check emails and type up your notes from any emergencies when you were on call over the weekend.

“Oh I think it was the rep for the new allergy drops. I don’t know they probably left more coupons.” Your coworker says grabbing the first patient file.

“Wait.” You stop her, suddenly remembering the phone call you had at three in the morning with someone from some sort of government agency. You were admittedly half asleep, and you would’ve thought the whole thing was a dream if it hadn’t been for the nda you signed over email still in your inbox. Something about alien foreign substance exposure. Yeah that sounds completely real.

“Who is that?” You frantically scroll through the document you signed searching for a name. You had told them to have the patient come in first thing in the morning and that you would personally handle everything, off record as you had agreed to.

“Ryland Grace. Foreign body.” She rattled off the complaint to you.

“You take the next one this will be quick. I got it.” You grab the file and walk out to the waiting room to call his name.

He’s accompanied by two men in suits which immediately scare you a little. Maybe this was truly an alien substance? You lead them to the exam room and gesture for him to sit in the chair. The other men wait outside the door.

“I’m the doctor you spoke with last night. Nice to meet you—uh tell me a little bit more about what happened.” You ask sitting in the stool in front of him.

“Well I’m doing some research on a—okay an organism. I’m a microbiologist and I— okay have you seen the news recently the uhh the black dots, the sun?” His fingers tap nervously on the arm rest.

“Yeah… you’re not about to tell me you got those little things in your eye, are you?” You question. His silence is enough of a confirmation.

“Okay any symptoms? Burning, tearing, blurred vision, pain?” You rattle off, turning towards the computer instinctively to type notes into before remembering you were not to document it.

“No, nothing. I mean well I guess it burned after the eyewash station—those things are pretty intense.” He laughs.

“And, you’ll have to forgive me but I don’t know anything this organism, is it like an amoeba, a bacteria, fungus? I mean is there anything else you can tell me? This is kind of uncharted territory.” You scoot yourself towards the slit lamp.

“Great question. I don’t know.” He deadpans.

“Okay let’s just have a look.” You decide, pushing the lamp towards him.

“Glasses off.” You instruct. He slides them off.

“Chin goes there.” You pat the chin rest. “Good and look at my ear.” You scroll across his right eye with the beam of light first.

“Perfect.” You comment absentmindedly.

“Clear cornea, quiet conj.” You repeat findings to yourself, just a habit at this point in your career. You scan over to his left eye.

“Look here.” You point.

“Good.” Your voice softens as your focus deepens on his eye. You almost miss the small hitch in his breathing. Almost.

“Clean cornea, trace injection.” You rattle gliding the light over the eye one last time, looking through your lenses to ensure you’re not missing anything.

“I know it’s bright. Almost done. Good job.” You encourage softly.

“You can sit back.” You flick the light off and remove the lamp.

“It’s a little inflamed but that could very well just be from the irritation of rinsing it. I don’t see anything that would indicate a parasite or an infection. If I wasn’t aware that it was an alien, just based on what I see, I would send you home with a sample of lubricant eyedrops, and maybe my number— in case anything worsens.” You don’t mean for it to come across as flirty but you’re overly aware that it may be given the way you’ve been admiring him since he walked in.

“But,” you shake your head as if to clear your thoughts. He leans forward slightly awaiting your diagnosis.

“I could prescribe some antibiotics, antiviral, and antifungal drops, just to be safe. Hit it with everything?” You suggest shrugging your shoulders.

“I mean I don’t necessarily recommend that, there’s nothing to indicate a need for it but just because of the stakes, because of the unknown, I’m happy to be a little extra cautious if you want.” You admit. You’re aware he may not be able to tell you all the details or very well may not know them. You figure you’ll give him the options and he can fill in the blanks and come to a choice.

“I’ll take the prescriptions.” He nods looking down at his converse.

“But can I still get your number?” He looks up at you over his glasses that he’s now put back on. You’re shocked at first, not expecting his bluntness. Or maybe he’s not being blunt, maybe he’s just worried about his eyeball. Of course he’s just worried about his eyeball.

“For eye related concerns of course—or for other concerns if you wanted—or just the eye.” He rushes out, as if he has read your mind.

“For whatever you have in mind.” Your voice lowers as you scribble your number onto your business card. You hand it to him along with the written prescriptions for each medication you’re giving him.

“I would like to see you again in a week. Just to check you out—I mean your eye. Check on your eye.” You stumble. Standing from your stool, your hand resting on the doorknob.

“Of course, uh should I make an appointment up front?” He stands as well.

“No need, just text me.” You wink before turning the door knob and holding the door open. He walks past you stopping briefly to shake your hand.

“Thank you doctor.” He swallows. You catch his eyes drift from yours down to your lips then away, before clearing his throat.

“I feel better already.” He leans into your flirting.

“I have that effect on people.” You bite your lip, still standing in place at the door to watch him walk down the hallway. He turns around and gives you a wave before he turns the corner, walking out with his suited escorts.

You couldn’t wait for his follow up appointment and when he texts you again that night you realize you’re not the only one.

Unknown:

Are these drops supposed to burn?

It’s Ryland btw from this morning

As if you could forget him. You’re smiling at your phone now as you type your response.

Yes. Think of it as confirmation that you got it in.

Ryland:

Oh that’s a shame. I was hoping I needed to come back in for a check up.

You can’t believe how bold he’s being. And how entirely unprofessional this is. But hey it is off record.

I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a look

You give in, grabbing your keys to your car and your office.

Ryland:

“You have three hours” Ryland stares in shock at Stratt. He will not go. He can’t even consider it. Not only can he not do it. He can’t leave you. He won’t. They can find someone else. A real professional. He paces around. He thinks of you. He wants to text you. He wants to call you to hear your voice. He couldn't find Carl, he had been using his phone to call you, as his was confiscated due to security measures.

Ryland thinks about his plans with you. His plans to pay off his debt, maybe buy you a ring, probably a car for himself. He’s never been invested in anyone else before like you. Sure he’s liked people, but he wanted his life, some distance. With you it’s different. With you, he wants to entangle your life with his. He wants to make things easier for you. Wants to have your favorite things stocked in his fridge, wants to go through your makeup bag and stock whatever you’re running low on. He wants to make you feel good. Forget any stress that burdened you throughout the day, get lost in each other. He’d give anything to feel you again right now. What would you say? What would you think of him? Would you think he’s a coward? Maybe he isn’t good enough for you anyway.

Selfishly he doesn’t want to die. But he also thinks of you. He imagines how you’ll feel if he tells you he’s leaving for a suicide mission by the end of the day. No notice. No time to process, or to say goodbye. He can’t do that to you either, he couldn’t live with himself. He would ruin the mission anyway, he wouldn’t be able to think straight with you.

Three hours passed by as if it’s three minutes. He breaks the news to her. The news that he’s terrified. That he doesn’t want to die. That she has to delay the mission to find someone else. Someone better.

“My place is in the classroom.” He tells her. “I can’t leave—“ he tries to say your name. She cuts him off.

“Stop pretending this is about your students, it's so insulting.” She frowns. “Grace, we will lose a quarter of the world’s population in the next thirty years.” Ryland zones out. He knows all of this, but he cannot listen to it again, for his own sake. He feels guilty and ashamed enough. For not being brave enough to go. To save the world, to save you. He knows it’s selfish. To want to live. But he can’t. He won’t do it. “If you truly care about the children, or anyone else for that matter, you would get on that ship.” She ends.

“I know the stakes.” Ryland sniffs. “I do. And I’m sorry but.” He pauses, shaking his head. Already trying to build a wall in his mind to block out his guilt.

“I don’t have it in me.” He admits. Stratt looks at him. “My mind is made up. You can’t talk me into it.” He decides, ready to leave. Ready to run back home and try to pretend this never happened.

“I’m not trying to talk you into anything.” Ryland is almost comforted. “I’m trying to make you understand what I’m about to do next.” Stratt’s brows are drawn in an apology and decision. Ryland’s heart sinks and his blood freezes in his veins. His body takes over. The only thought in his mind being you.

He runs.

————————

Your alarm clock wakes you an hour before you need to be at the school. You almost fall back asleep, opting to lay in bed longer rather than make yourself look nice for school, like most days lately.

Today, however, is different, today is the day that means Ryland gets to come home.

You’ve spent the last few classes helping students write thank you cards to him. The entire school is buzzing with excitement, but you don’t feel it, no matter how much you try to.

“Are you okay?” Olivia asks. You snap out of your daze, realizing you were in the middle of helping her use the hot glue gun and you just glued right onto your finger. Now that you think about it, it does burn like hell.

“Oh sorry.” You shake your finger and rush to wipe the glue off.

“Were you thinking about Mr. Grace?” She looks up at you. You shake your head quickly.

“No, no why would you think that?” You press.

“You just seem sad. And Mr. Grace was coming to your room a lot, I thought that he had a crush on you.” She reveals.

“Oh” is all you can manage before the bell rings. You help her clean up.

“Are you still covering for Mr. Grace’s fourth period?” She asks hopefully.

“Yep. I’ll be there.” You confirm walking with her to the door.

“Can we watch the launch!? Please please please can we watch it?” She begs. You were supposed to give them a test today. You decide it can wait.

“We’ll see.” You give her a wink. You check your phone hoping for a text from Ryland. Nothing. You know he’s probably busy. You stand outside in the hallway while student slide in for the next class.

“Hey pumpkin.” Hannah pouts nudging your shoulder. “How you feeling?” She had noticed you’re change in mood on the second day of Ryland being gone.

“I’m fine. It’s a good day. It’s almost over.” You nod trying to convince yourself.

“There you go. We should celebrate after work.” She suggests. Any excuse to get drunk if fine with you at this point.

“A few of the kids are asking the principal if we can change the school dance to a welcome party for Mr. Grace.” Hannah confides. “I overheard them talking about it. Patrick and Olivia. You should ask them about it. They would love your help.” She suggests.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You check the time on your watch. “Olivia just asked me if I was thinking about him. I think she knows somethings up.” You admit.

“Well yeah.” She deadpans, as if it’s so obvious. “You’re kind of an open book, and easy to read.” The bell rings. “I’ll see you!” She scurries away to get to her class. Were you really that easy to read? You hope not. You hope the depression you’ve fallen into hasn’t affected the students.

You muddle your way through the next few classes until your planning period where you make your way to Ryland’s room. This is always your favorite part of your day. Sitting in his chair, at his desk. The chair still has the corduroy blazer you got him draped over the back of it, it was the only thing keeping you sane some days.

“Oooh ohh are we watching it! It’s about to start!” A student shouts as you walk in.

“Alright, alright we can watch but then we have to take this test, okay!? I don’t want Mr. Grace to scold me when he gets back.” You joke.

You find a live feed broadcasted by a news outlet and click on the link. The headline running across the screen reads ‘Project Hail Mary launch. Astronauts Yao Li, Olesya Ilyukhina, and Ryland Grace prepare for suicide mission.’ You freeze. Your heart drops. The classroom erupts instantly.

“I thought he was coming back?”

“He’s not an astronaut!?”

“No way Mr Grace is gonna die”

You’re going to be sick. You run to the door. You close it behind you. It’s as if time slows down when you let yourself slide down onto floor against the wall. Another teacher is in front of you in an instant. You can’t speak to him. He goes into your classroom that’s now stunned in silence at your reaction.

“Sweetie let’s go to the lounge.” You’re snapped from your panic by Hannah dragging you up. The principal is behind you now ushering you to the lounge, knowing you’re not in any state to be teaching.

“No this is a mistake. I need to call him and tell him.” You snake your phone out of your dress pant pocket. You search the contact list for ‘Ryland?’ and call it.

It rings for what feels like hours.

“You’ve reached Carl. Leave a—“ you hang up. Dial again.

It rings. You sit in the lounge chair tapping your foot. Hannnah and the principal exchange looks. Hannah shrugs. Looking back at you.

“You’ve reached Carl. Leave a message.” A beep takes over. You breath out shakily.

“I need to talk to Ryland.” You gasp. “I need to— you guys put his name on the thing—on the list of the astronauts and it’s not—he didn’t go, that’s not right. Tell him to call me please.” You hang up. You bounce your foot on the table searching on your phone. You scroll through article after article,

CNN:

“New scientist selected for the Hail Mary mission. Who is Ryland Grace?

NBC:

“Astronauts Yao Li, Olesya Ilyukhina, and Ryland Grace prepare for suicide mission”

“No” you shake. “No no no no he didn’t—I mean he wouldn’t—he can’t. You have to have 20/20 vision to be an astronaut right? He can’t—why hasn’t he called me?” You’re in a panic. You go to leave the lounge. You don’t know why, you don’t know where you were going to go, but it felt like your entire world was closing in you and shattering around you.

The principal closes the door from behind you. “Let’s take a breath okay. Let me make some calls.” He offers, looking at Hannah and she nods at him. He leaves and paces around outside the door on the phone.

“It’s a mistake right?” You plead for Hannah to answer you. To give you hope, to feed into your denial. You cannot accept that Ryland went on a suicide mission, that he’s in a coma, that he’ll save the world and then die alone in space, that he didn’t tell you goodbye.

“I don’t know.” She furrows her brow into a sympathetic look, sifting through her brain trying to come up with something comforting to tell you. “Yeah— it has to be.” She lands on, not wanting to break your heart.

Your phone vibrates. You practically launch yourself onto the table to grasp it.

“Hello?” You rasp. Tears finally escaping your eyes.

A woman’s voice confirms your name. She had an accent.

“Where are you right now?” She questions, matter of factly.

“Grover Cleveland Middle.” You hesitate. “But please I just need to talk to-“ she hangs up.

You pace back and forth in the teachers lounge. Students walk by as class lets out, peeking in at you with sadness etched into their faces at the loss of their science teacher. The air is heavy and thick. You don’t hear the usual chatter in the hallways, you only hear the footsteps on the tile and sound of your own panicked breathing.

An hour passed. You’ve refreshed every news feed. You’ve called this Carl an absurd amount of times. Your hands are shaking. Hannah tries to get you to drink water. You can’t. You don’t want to. You don’t want to do anything until you confirm that Ryland is okay.

The principal walks in with a woman behind him, she’s dressed in black, her red hair neatly draped just past her shoulders, you notice she looks familiar. There are two men behind her. She says your name. You stand to shake her outstretched hand, hesitantly. By this point some deeper part of you already knew what she was going to say, but there was a stronger part of you trying to deny it. It felt as if you drowning, you could try to swim up to the surface but no mater what you did the waves would pull you back down eventually, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Ryland has gone on the mission. There was a terrible accident. He did not have time to tell anyone or make arrangements. He volunteered to join the mission.” She drones matter of factly. Your ears are ringing. Your vision blurs as tears fall freely down your face. You want to scream. You want to run. You want to run to Ryland. You want to hit this woman. You want to hit Ryland. You want to hit yourself for letting him go, for pointing this woman—who you now recognize as the same woman who whisked him away to join the mission in the first place.

“I don’t understand I thought he—- no I can’t—I can’t you have to—“ you sob, crumpling onto the ground. You don’t know what your begging for. To wake up? From this nightmare you’ve woken up in. Waking up. Your mind forced in the image of Ryland sleeping. You had watched him for a while when you woke up next to him once. His eyes lit up when he woke up, landing on you. His eyes will never do that again, hell he won’t wake up again for years. You're going to be sick. You dry heave into the trash can, tears and snot flowing freely as you sob. Hannah is crying openly too now. The principal takes a seat in a nearby chair.

“I have his things” the woman clears her throat. “This seemed particularly important to him.” She hands you the fox cardigan and a closed cardboard box. The cardigan you picked out for him. He had worn it nearly every day while working on the mission. You take it from her, tears falling onto it.

“I’m sorry for your loss, and thank you for your sacrifice.” She whispers. She nods to herself and leaves you, crumpled on the floor. The guidance counselor walks in the door and you’re devastation turns into pure rage.

“No Margaret, don’t you dare.” You snap at her ripping yourself out of Hannah’s grasp. You rush out of the teachers lounge. You wipe your tears as you run outside. You don’t know where you're stomping to. But you don’t stop. You don’t stop when you reach the edge of the campus. You don’t stop when you reach the nearby road. You stop in a wooded lot, someone's backyard for all you know. You fall to your knees grasping the cardigan like it’s going to melt away and slip through your fingers at any second. You look up to the sky in defeat.

You don’t know why but you start to beg. You don’t know who you’re pleading with. You beg for Ryland to return, or to never have left in the first place, then you beg for forgiveness for selfishly wanting him to stay, to not save the world, to let everyone die and spend the rest of your suffering days with him instead. You taste the guilt before your mind realizes what it is. Did Ryland really love you? Did he care about you at all? You begin to question your entire relationship. You trust his words implicitly but he’s not here to ease your insecurity. He will never be here again. There will never be ease. There will never be Ryland.

You clutch the cardigan harder, feeling something hard in the pocket. You reach in.

The last tube of acrylic paint he had meant to return to you. And a sticky note stuck to it. You can barely read it, not only due to the tears in your eyes, but the scribbles crossing out the words.

“My attraction to you is exponential, and I’ve run out of limits. Date me?

“Are we doing gravity experiments? Let's test how fast I would fall for you.”

“Are you a centripetal force? Because you make my world go round.”

“Go out with me? Please?

You laugh at his attempted pick up lines. He hadn’t misplaced the tube, he was still workshopping his grand gesture of asking you out. The lightness you feel only lasts briefly before an ache creeps back into your heart. In another world—no in this one, he was supposed to ask you out, you would giggle at him and say yes. You would chaperone the school dances together as an excuse to go on a date, you would take turns planning elaborate date ideas for each other, you would go grocery shopping together, you would cook for him, maybe he would help you, maybe you’d move in together. That was supposed to be your life.

To appease the voice in your head that’s needing this to be someone’s fault, to find a reason for this, you blame yourself. You had confessed your feelings before he could. Maybe you weren’t supposed to. Maybe you created a ripple effect by straying from the prophecy. You choose to believe that. You choose to believe that in a parallel universe, Ryland is grading papers with you after school right now. This way he is alive somewhere. This way you only have yourself to blame.

You wish for a re-do. You wish you could go back and change it, or change his mind, convince him to be selfish with you, and not save the world. You can’t bring yourself to care about the sun. Not when your center of gravity has been ripped away from you, the very thing you orbit. ‘Fuck the sun’ you think. Your light is dimming irreversibly, in fact it’s completely dark. There will never be light again because there will never be Ryland.

A greater woman wouldn’t beg

But I looked to the sky and said

Please I’ve been on my knees

Change the prophecy

“I’m sorry! What is happening here?” Hannah demanded as you and Ryland walk in the teachers lounge together on Monday.

“What?” You feign innocence. As if Ryland hadn’t been at your place all weekend. As if you hadn’t made him pancakes the morning after—

“You don’t text me back all weekend and then you guys walk in here and don’t give me any details.” Hannah pouts.

“I take full responsibility for that. I may have been a distraction.” Ryland quips back at her and you blush. Hannah’s eyes widen and she gives you a look as if to say ‘oh you are filling me in later’

That day Ryland returned the paint he borrowed last week, only instead of returning the whole box he returned each tube individually. The first was in between the first and second period. You were cleaning up from your first class when you heard the hinges of your door squeak.

“Sorry I just have a return to make.” Ryland walks in holding the tube of paint. “And I have three more where this came from. But I couldn’t possibly carry them all down the stairs at once.”

“Oh that heavy huh?” You indulge him. “Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle. I think this way is much more efficient.” He hands you the tube of paint and his hand lingers on yours a little too long.

“Okat I’ll see you.” He smiles, backing out of your classroom as students start to trickle in. They light up at seeing their favorite teacher unexpectedly. He’s giving high fives and fist bumps, practically giving out autographs before he finally insists he has to go to class.

“Why was Mr. Grace here?” Olivia inquires.

“He just borrowed some paint.” You say, putting the paint back on the shelf.

“One tube?” She presses.

“Yep!” You move on. “Okay today is your last day for the sculptures. If you’re already done I need to write three paragraphs about your sculpture. Tell me what you did, why and what you liked about your final product, and what you didn’t.” Olivia seems to move on.

For the next tube of paint you make your way up the stairs to his classroom. You know this is his planning period. You knock on his door and he smiles, waving to you to come in.

“I thought I’d come to collect the next tube. It’s only fair.” You walk into the room. This is the first time you’ve been in his classroom. It’s beautifully decorated with science posters and hanging planets. You admire the creativity for a moment before he clears his throat, snapping you out of your daze.

“Don’t look at that. It’s- it’s terrible.” He shakes his head, suddenly afraid you're going to judge his artistic efforts. You smile at the thought of him delicately painting each one and pinning them onto the ceiling with mounting putty and string. Ryland was determined to make his classroom the coolest, and it paid off. The students loved him.

“It is not. I love it.” You’re beaming at him when he finally looks. “If you ever get rid of this I want it.” You claim, worried he might scrap the whole thing.

“You want this?” He raises an eyebrow at you, peering at you from his desk over his glasses.

“It looks best here, but should you want to get rid of it, yes I would go dumpster diving for it.” You confirm, halting your admiration of his classroom decor in favor of sitting on the edge of his desk to stare at him.

“Okay then it’ll be all yours.” He decides. He looks you up and down admiring the curves of your body. You’re right here in front of him, he knows you’re teasing him, and yet he can’t do anything about it. Not here. Not right now.

“You know what? I can’t let you carry that paint back down all by yourself. It just wouldn’t be right.” Ryland shakes his head. He gets up and grasps your hand pulling you to the door before letting go. You follow him. He leads you to the elevator, only used by teachers or students that needed it.

When the elevator doors meet to a close, Ryland turns towards you. His fingers grip your waistband, he uses it to close the gap in between you. He presses his lips against yours. You melt instantly at contact, hands gripping the railing on the wall behind you in a desperate attempt to not crumple as your knees buckle. The elevator dings and Ryland pulls away. Your room is right there as the doors open. You take the paint from him and back out of the elevator, keeping your eyes on him. The whole time. Your pupils are blown and he’s looking at you with the slightest smile. He knows exactly what he does to you and he likes it. The doors shut between the two of you and the bell rings. You stand for a second, absolutely dumbfounded, blinking at the elevator doors. You shake your head as if you can clear the daze you're in.

“You good?” Hannah smirks. Walking towards you pressing the elevator button.

“Wait!” You say. The doors open back up to reveal Ryland leaning against the rail. He straightens up when he sees Hannah and yourself still standing there. He smiles. A blush on his cheeks at the realization you’ve been caught.

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Grace. Third floor?” She presses the button for him and winks at you. You wince at the thought of him trapped in the elevator with her.

“Yep—I mean yes. Yes ma’am.” He stumbles. She rolls her eyes playfully and you finally turn away to head to your class. You guys are not good at this.

You check your phone mid way through class.

Ryland

10:18 am

Was she an FBI agent before this?

You giggle down at your phone. Of course Hannah would immediately interrogate him for information.

“What’s so funny?” Patrick inquires. You clear your throat, putting your phone away.

“What? Nothing. Nothing is funny. Just checking emails.” You try to change the subject. “How’s your essay going? Presentation is in two days. Almost done?” Patrick nods, getting back to work. You do the same.

Ryland gives you the next tube of paint at lunch. You both had lunch duty so you stood at the cafeteria entrance to keep an eye on students and make sure no one leaves. You’re munching on a granola bar when he walks in. He silently slips the tube in your back pocket and brushes a hand across your waist as he walks away to settle a dispute over a bag of fruit snacks. You kick yourself mentally for the small gasp you let escape at the slight touch of his hand. He notices.

You do not see him for the rest of the day. Your planning period drags on. You hate that you miss him like this. How will you ever spend a second without him now that you’ve had him?

You decide to text him.

2:15

Do you have quizzes to grade after school? I can keep you company.

only if you want

I don’t want to bother you

Ryland:

2:23

Please

Bother me all you want ;)

The day ends and you meet in Rylands classroom with your own stack of art history worksheets to grade.

“I’ve got to be honest. I’ve been avoiding you because I can’t find the other paint tube I took.” He pulls up a chair next to him at his desk for you. “Don’t be mad. I’ll find it.”

“It’s fine. I guess we’ll just have to find a new excuse to come see each other.” You sit crossing your legs and plopping your papers on his desk, not caring at all about the tube of paint. You don’t even know what color it was. It doesn’t matter to you.

“How was your last period?” You fall into conversation with him easily. He rambles about today’s impromptu discussion about the petrova line.

“I mean I’m just not looking forward to the emails from parents. I had to have a whole meeting about ‘respecting beliefs’ after I told Patrick the earth wasn’t flat.” He rolls his eyes remembering the conversation between his parents and the principal.

“So you’re supposed to let him believe the earth is flat?” You press.

“According to his parents it’s a religious belief. I’m probably going to get a passive aggressive email from his mom any second now.” He refreshes his computer. You frown a little at the reminder that the world is slowly ending. You try not to think about it, and that’s easy for the most part. Suddenly you’re aware that Ryland probably can’t avoid thinking about it. He’s cursed with the deeper knowledge of what’s happening and cursed with the responsibility of having to break it to his students.

“I’m sorry you had to be the one to tell them.” You hold eye contact with him. He shrugs.

“I don’t mind. It’s just—they deserve to live in a better world. I don’t want to lie to them but I don’t want to depress them either.” He had decided on avoiding the question but then couldn’t stand that he was setting an example of not being honest to them.

“It is bad though isn’t it?” Your face falls. “I mean I’ve read some stuff— I don’t understand it all but from what I did, if that is what’s happening, it sounds bad.” You rush out. Not wanting him to feel obligated to explain to you.

“Yeah. I guess it is bad.” Ryland admits, capping his pen and tossing it onto the desk. “Do you wanna get out of here?” He decides. He suddenly can’t bare another moment of not doing what you both want.

“Yes.” You whisper.

“Keys?” He asks, holding his hand out offering to drive. You allow it. The two of you walk out to the parking lot.

“Can I take you to my place? I have something for you.” Ryland pauses, looking at you. One hand holding the key in the ignition, the other on the top of the steering wheel.

“I would love to.” You smile at him. You rattle off guesses of what it is on the way there. He denies every single one.

“You’re proposing? I mean it’s a little soon but I would definitely give it some consideration” you joke, although you're also very much not joking.

“If you think I would propose to you at my apartment, I need to work on getting you to have higher expectations of me.” Ryland laughs. Unbeknownst to you Ryland had already considered where you would want to be proposed to. He thinks you deserve a picture perfect ceremonious display.. Because he loves you already and he can’t imagine how much he’ll love you by the time he gets his life together to be worthy enough to ask you to intertwine your souls, take his name, maybe have his children. He’s thought about a waterfall, a field of wildflowers, somewhere under the stars. Nothing seems worthy enough for you.

“Your apartment could be a dumpster, Ryland. I don’t care. I—” you look down at your hands gulping. You hate yourself a little right now. You spent one weekend together and you love him, and you want to tell him. You don’t want to waste time. You can’t afford to if current events are to be believed. ‘Fuck it’ you think. ‘Cards on the table’

“Look I don’t wanna freak you out.” You begin. Ryland is now pulling over in a store parking lot. “I know it might be too soon, but I feel like I know you enough to know that I love you. And I don’t expect you to feel the same, I’m probably crazy and shouldn’t have said anything, I don’t need you to love me I just need you to know.” You hadn’t even realized your hands were clenching the seat beneath you. Bracing for the impact of his inevitable dismissal, or worse maybe he’d be angry or scared, he’d think you were insane.

“Hey,” he whispers your name. You look up from the speck of dirt on the floorboard you didn’t realize you were staring at. Ryland cups your face and leans over the center console to kiss you. All the tension in your body resolves at that moment. When he pulls away he’s looking into your eyes for any indication of regret. Despite your confession, he’s still afraid of your rejection. He wants to be absolutely sure you feel the same before he tells you. There’s a small voice in the back of head telling him you’ll slap him away the second he tells you the truth. That he loves you. That voice gets quieter and quieter the longer you stick around. Ryland doesn’t just love you, he needs you. And he decides he also needs you to know it. You deserve to know it.

“I love you too,” he whispers, blinking slowly as he pulls back. “I’m not fiancé material by any means, but I love you. I don’t ever want to be apart from you again.” Ryland admits.

“Take me home.” You practically beg. Ryland obliges, driving the rest of the way to his apartment with a hand resting on your knee.

When you arrive there is a package on his doorstep. He picks it up quickly and hides it behind his back, unlocking his door and gesturing for you to go inside.

“Sit on the couch. Don’t move.” He instructs. “Please.” He adds, feeling like he sounded too demanding. You giggle at him. You hear rummaging in the kitchen, cabinets opening and closing. “Okay. close your eyes.” You do. He places a box on the coffee table in front of you after clearing off several stacks of papers and a glass of water he never got around to drinking.

“Okay open.” Sitting in front of you is a botanical Lego box. It’s a bouquet of roses. You gasp.

“Ryland, you didn’t have to do this—Wh-when did you do this?” You realize.

“I ordered it on Saturday while you were making pancakes.—I had intentions of building it for you since you think you’re so terrible at it, but I think you’ll have to help me.” He offers. You cross your legs sitting on his floor. He sits down next to you and starts to open the box. “Do you want to put on a movie or something?” He offers.

“No way you’re way too distracting.” You joke.

You can’t shake this feeling that you need to soak up every second of your time with Ryland. Like he’s going to evaporate at any second. Maybe it’s just the distant threat of the world ending. Maybe it’s your intuition. You just feel like you’ve caught lightning in a bottle with Ryland. And you don’t want to let it go.

You spend the night with Ryland after your flowers are complete. Ryland did most of the work and rambled to you about pollination. You’ve never been so interested in pollen in your life. You find that anything coming out of his mouth is suddenly your favorite topic. He feels the same way when you start talking about some pop culture thing. He’s suddenly extremely invested in learning the speculative meaning of Taylor Swift's entire discography. He suddenly hates Jake Gyllenhaal. You laugh at how interested he’s getting.

The next morning you have to make a stop at your place to get a change of clothes. Ryland decides he needs to convince you to keep some things at his place for nights you stay over.

The school day goes by smoothly. Only things of note are that you remember overhearing an increasing number of conversations about the petrova line. You ignore them. You and Ryland met for lunch duty again. Hannah begged you to go get dinner and drinks with her to divulge everything. You tell Ryland you’re hanging with her tonight. He makes a joke about her always trying to fight him over you. You laugh at him.

“Don’t miss me too much.” He shouted as you were leaving the lunchroom, quickly snapping a hand over his mouth when he realized he practically declared his love for you in the crowded cafeteria. You laugh and shake your head at him. Olivia sees this interaction and starts a rumor immediately.

“Is it just me or is Mr. Grace acting weird?” She asks Patrick as they make their way out of the cafeteria. Patrick tells her about you smiling at your phone. Olivia files that under suspicious behavior as well.

As the final bell rings you’re on your way to his classroom to see him one last time before you head out when you run into a woman in a long coat with red hair. You mumble out a quick sorry.

“I’m looking for Dr. Grace. Where is he?” She inquires. You think she must be from the school board or something. You hope he’s not in trouble over the petrova line lesson.

“Room 304. I was actually—” You’re cut off.

“Thank you.” She walks in the direction you’re pointing. You rush to the door when she makes it in the classroom to eavesdrop.

“Dr. Grace?” She saunters in, stopping in front of his desk.

“Maybe..” he looks at her over his glasses. You’re pulled away from your eavesdropping by Hannah.

“You can gawk at him later. Let’s go. I'm starving.” She pleads.

“I’m coming.” You trail behind her to the elevator with a million questions swirling around in your head. You didn’t know it but that would be the last time you saw Ryland.

When he wasn’t at school the following day. You called him. He didn’t answer. You leave him a text. Then another. Then another.

It’s hours before an unknown number calls you. It’s Ryland.

“Ryland are you okay? What’s going on.” You step out of your room full of students to take his phone call.

“I’m sorry. I’m—look I can’t tell you much. I’m doing some stuff with the astrophage. They collected some. From the Petrova line. I’m at Home Depot right now. Long story, making Venus.” You listen to him talk just grateful to hear his voice.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. They’re preparing for a launch. And I wasn’t going to get involved, but I was convinced. And well, it’s so cool. They have all this good equipment, like top of the line stuff. I couldn’t resist.” You can hear the excitement in his voice. It relieves your worry for him, only momentarily.

“I think they were smart to pick you, Ryland.” You encourage him. You tell him you’ll survive without him for a few weeks and yourself and some other teachers are covering for his class in your free periods until they can find a substitute. You ask him what to tell his students.

“Just tell them I’m fixing the sun.” He states matter of factly.

“You’re not going though right?.” You ask a hint of fear in your voice. “Like you're not going to the sun with a toolkit or whatever.” Ryland laughs.

“No baby, I’m not. I’d miss you too much. And I would die but that’s not important.” Ryland jokes. Your heart flutters at the pet name.

“Fudge, I’ve got to go, Carl is coming, but I love you.” You hear the beeping of a scanner in the background.

“I love you too.” You conclude the call and save the number in your phone as ‘Ryland?’

You’re happy for Ryland. He’s getting another chance at his dream career. You selfishly miss him, but remind yourself he’s ’fixing the sun’. His students don’t believe you when you tell them. Olivia suggests he fell over his handlebars into traffic but doesn’t want to admit it. A week goes by and the students start leaving sticky notes on his bike. Some are poorly drawn portraits of him in a spaceship, others are thank you notes. You think you should probably take it home for him, but ultimately decide to leave it so he can see their grand gesture.

Ryland calls you at odd hours of the night. You don’t know where he is but there is either a huge time difference, or he’s just not sleeping. He tells you they’re getting close and things are really ‘down to the wire’. You kept up on the news. You knew launch day was tomorrow.

“Talk to me. Tell me about you.” Ryland pleads. His voice sounds different. There’s something in it you’ve never heard before. Maybe it’s exhaustion, or sadness. You can’t quite tell.

“I’m good. I miss you, but I’m good.” You lie to him. You are, in fact, not good. You feel like you found the love of your life and he was ripped away from you. You feel as if he’s sand running between your fingers, slowly slipping out of your grasp. You know it’s dramatic but it just feels like you’re running out of time. Running out of Ryland.

“I finished the oil painting I was working on. The landscape one.” You tell him. You don’t tell him that the beautiful sunset landscape portrait you had started become a gray and stormy one instead. You can’t imagine the stress he’s carrying and you don’t want to add to that by making him feel responsible for your feelings. I mean he is fixing the sun.

“I can’t wait to see it. Are you happy with it?” Of course he would ask you that. What does happy even mean? You’re satisfied, sure. You’re done staring at it so you’ve decided to be done.

“Yeah I’m happy with it.” You whisper. It’s three in the morning and your blinks are getting longer. Ryland must be able to tell.

“You sound tired.” He observes. “Not that you sound bad I-I just mean you should probably sleep.” He rushes out. You mumble an agreement.

“Hey I love you. I’ll see you soon.” Ryland says. You can hear the smile in his voice.

“I love you too.” You close your eyes.

Ryland bids you goodnight and promises to call you tomorrow after the launch. You manage to get to sleep but it feels as if you’d only dozed off before your alarm blared at you. You don’t get up immediately, finding it increasingly more difficult each day to get out of bed. With any luck it would be the day you would have to trudge through without Ryland. You just had to find the momentum to get it started.

Notes:

Yeah I had the kiss scene from Drive in mind. What about it?

“Don’t want money

Just someone who

Wants my company”

It was a Wednesday after school when Ryland knocked on your classroom door asking to borrow some paintbrushes and paint. You were used to teachers borrowing supplies from your art classroom but for some reason this one made your heart jump and your cheeks flush ever so slightly.

You had harbored a little crush on the science teacher ever since he walked into the teachers lounge on his first day. You were eating ice cream straight out of the pint for breakfast. He had smiled at you and mumbled something about a breakfast of champions. You nodded and stared at him for entirely too long after introducing yourself. Your best friend and math teacher, Hannah, had noticed. “Could you be more obvious” she had told you, nudging your shoulder.

“Uh yeah take whatever you need it’s all over here,” you stand up from your desk and walk to the storage closet in the room with him trailing behind you.

“These are the acrylics and these are the water color just be careful with anything from this shelf it’ll like never come out” you show him gesturing to the oil paint on the top shelf that has frowny face stickers and X’s all over them as a warning for the kids. You may have gotten carried away making them look like poison bottles. You had just finished re-sorting the paints after Patrick, one of your best students but somehow also the worst, had destroyed the entire shelf.

“Ok got it. Thank you.” He nods shifting his weight on his feet. You nod backing away to return to your desk. You watch him look at the paints for a while.

“Can I take this one?” He points to the box of acrylic paint.

“Yes take anything”

“What about this one” he points to another box.

“Yes Mr. Grace” you giggle.

“Ok when do you want them back” Ryland stops with the box on your desk in front of you as if he’s checking out a book at the library.

“J-just whenever” you look up at him suddenly feeling more nervous at the eye contact.

“Oh you sure you don’t need them?”

“Positive. We’re doing clay sculptures this week I won’t need them for a while” you assure him gesturing to the table of half done sculptures done by the eighth graders.

“Okay but if you need them feel free to come hunt me down. I’m in room-“

“I know where you are Mr. Grace” you quip. He smiles at you and you blush, suddenly all too aware that you practically revealed that you walk by his room, on the third floor where there is literally no need for you to ever be, just to catch a glimpse of him or hear his voice. He thanks you and leaves. You sigh in relief. Stupid.

It’s Thursday when Mr. Grace comes back to your room with a single bottle of paint in his hand and and one hand behind his back.

“Hey Mr. Grace” you sit up a little straighter and grab a nearby towel to wipe some of the clay off your hands.

“I think I grabbed a bottle of evil paint by accident.” He held out his arm. Blue paint smeared along the sleeve of his blazer jacket.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry. Patrick messed up all the paints last week and I must have missed one” you over explain. “I have a solvent. I can try to get it out” you gesture for him to sit down and he take the jacket off.

You get to work treating the stain. You dip a cloth into the solvent and dab it on the stain, it starts to come out. Ryland watches you work. He clears his throat and you look up at him, without a jacket on. You catch yourself staring at his biceps before landing on his eyes.

“How are the sculptures going?” he looks around at them.

“They’re good. Very entertaining at least.” You smile. “The kids are very creative.”

“What’s that one?” He points to Patrick’s sculpture. You start giggling immediately.

“It’s a self portrait. Guess who.” You smirk.

“Is Elmo in your class?” He laughs out taking a closer look. You shake your head laughing. “Cause you know he’s only three years old they must’ve misplaced him.” He continues.

“It’s Patrick.” You tell him when he gives up.

“Oh I see it now. Of course” he presses his lips together attempting a straight face.

“Don’t tell Patrick I thought he looks like Elmo” he warns jokingly. You laugh. “I’m serious that could destroy a guys self esteem.” He reasons.

You look back down at the sleeve you’re working on only to find dissolved and mangled fabric.

“Oh my god I should’ve read the tag” you rush out. “Ryland I’m so sorry. Can I-” he cuts you off.

“It’s fine you got the stain out” he jokes holding up the sleeve that now has a gaping hole all the way through.

“No it’s not I ruined it” you counter. He’s still smiling.

“Can I buy you a new one?” You beg him. “Please I feel terrible.”

“Okay but only if you pick it out” he coaxes desperate to find more ways to be around you.

“Deal.” You agree.

“Friday after school? If you want to- or if you’re not busy. Your probably busy” he rambles.

“Okay” you smile. You blush a little bit at the idea of seeing him outside of school. This is not helping your little crush situation. You think to yourself.

“I’ll meet you here then” He smiles tapping his fingers on the doorway as he leaves.

On Friday morning you take a little extra time with your makeup knowing that you’ll be spending extra time with Ryland. You sit in the teachers lounge with Hannah while she drinks her coffee.

“He asked you out!” She gasps.

“No I ruined his jacket and I’m making it up to him. It’s not a date. He didn’t say it was a date. It’s just a casual shopping trip between co workers” you explain with no confidence in your voice whatsoever.

“The nervous energy radiating off of you begs to differ” Hannah gestures at your bouncing knee. “I think you want it to be a date, and obviously so does he.”

“He has not made that obvious” You defend. The last thing you want is to ruin things before anything has started by making assumptions.

“Whatever you say” Hannah sips her coffee.

The final bell could not have come sooner. Your day dragged on and on. Your foot tapped nervously on the floor while you graded the students art history assignments. You couldn’t even think straight at this point. How could you when Ryland was going to be coming to your classroom at any second for you to have your way with? Styling wise of course. That’s it.

Three knocks on your door. Ryland peeks in and you’re already off your feet grabbing your purse and turning out the lights.

“Where to first?” He closes the door behind you.

“Ok I have a plan but how long do you have?” You’re excited but suddenly you realize he might have plans.

“I’m all yours. I mean I- I have all the time” he follows you to your car.

The drive is comfortable. Ryland asks you about your day, you ask about his. There was a racoon in the trashcan in the cafeteria that he tells you about.

“Yeah and then I caught it with my bare hands” Ryland deadpans looking out at the road.

“You did not” you roll your eyes playfully. Ryland watches you closely.

“No, it ran away but I was very close to catching it.” You laugh at him. You park at your destination. Your local dead mall.

“Okay so we’re going to go in, I need you to try a few things on but then we have another stop.” You explain.

“You’re taking me to a secondary location. You know a victims survival rate drops by ninety percent once taken to a secondary location” He turns to look at you seriously.

“Hey you asked for this” you remind him. You lead him into a nearly empty department store. He trails behind you, eyes looking you up and down. You make your way to the men’s section.

You pick out several different blazers for him to try on. Ryland obliges, he’d do anything you asked. You even make him try on a tux for the sole purpose of your entertainment. He looks good in it. Just as you suspected.

“What do you think? The brown or the black?” You ask holding different jackets up to him in the mirror. You’re taking this very seriously.

“I don’t know. That’s not really my area of expertise.” He reminds you. He swallows. Not used to having you, or anyone for that matter, this close to him. Your front is pressed against his back and each arm is wrapped around him holding the jackets. You’re focused on his eyes in the mirror.

“Ok then Mr. Scientist, I think brown. It brings out your eyes” you land on. He finally released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Brings them out? Like out of my skull?” He presses as he tries to look at you seriously. You blink at him.

“Ha ha.” You playfully slap his shoulder. “No it just makes your eyes look brighter. Now try this one. Last one. I promise. He does. It’s a ridiculous pink silk blazer with floral print. You take a picture. He pretends he didn’t notice.

“Okay well what does this one do to my eyes?” He asks, looking down at you sitting in the chair outside the dressing room.

“I don’t know. Probably hurts them.” You joke at the obnoxiously bright color.

“Ok strip. I’ve concluded my research” you say confidently.

“Okay, bossy” he turns back into the dressing room. You walk back out to your car. Ryland holds the door for you. You drive just a couple miles from the mall to a thrift store you frequent. When you walk in you’re greeted by the elderly volunteer you’ve become acquainted with.

“Well look who it is” she starts to light up at seeing you. “Oh and who’s this you’ve brought with you?” She looks Ryland up and down. ‘Same sister.’ You can’t blame her.

“This is Mr. Grace. I’m curating a new wardrobe for him. I ruined his blazer” you frown remembering your mistake.

“Hi. Ryland.” He introduces himself waving at the woman from across the store. He follows you to the men’s section again. He makes a mental note of everything you touch or point out in the way there. Trying to remember every detail about your tastes.

“Oh my god” you gasp and gasp holding up a warm toned brown corduroy blazer. He can’t help but smile at your excitement. He tries it on then and there over his graphic t shirt. He does a little spin for you.

“I think it’s the one” you say smiling. Ryland stares at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the store. You guide him to a mirror for him to look. He doesn’t look. He can’t take his eyes off of yours.

“Yeah it’s great. I love it” he encourages. He does love it. But mostly because you picked it for him. He follows you to the check out.

“Wait oh my god” you gasp again. The item in question this time: a white knit cardigan complete with foxes and a zipper. He watches as you search for a tag. You look at the stitches and seams. There is much more of an art to this than Ryland had realized. “Ryland. I think this is handmade. Do you like it? Will you wear it?”

“Handmade you say? That’s incredible. Best thing I’ve seen all day.” He decides. You beam up at him and check out with the blazer and the cardigan. You practically skip back to the car with the bag of clothes in hand. Ryland trailed behind you deep in thought rehearsing how he was going to keep you spending time with him.

“Can I suggest a third location?” He winces as if you’re going to reject him.

“Oh what’s your survival rate estimate now? In the negatives?” You joke. He smiles.

“Negative eighty. If you’ll have me.” He looks away then back at you. ‘Oh I’ll have you’ You think to yourself.

You drive. He gives you directions. He’s a terrible direction giver. “Oh my god Ryland you have to tell me before the turn comes up” you laugh as you nearly miss another turn.

“Okay okay I’m sorry” he does better the next time.

You park in a parking garage and walk to your destination. Rylands hand brushes yours as he walks next to you. You don’t move it away.

“Okay now I’m getting a little nervous about the third location” you giggle as you realize you’ve been walking downtown for a while just talking.

“We’re almost there.” He leads you to your local ice cream shop. ‘Oh my god! The ice cream breakfast’ you remember. It was one time but he remembered.

“I know it’s not breakfast time but I thought you’d like it.” He shrugs shyly.

“Okay for the record I was on my period and I don’t normally eat ice cream for breakfast. But yes I would love ice cream.” You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your cheeks. Ryland breathes a sigh of relief.

Your ice cream date? lasts hours. You sit long after the ice cream is gone just talking. You talk about Rylands academic career as a microbiologist. He tells about the infamous conference that ended it all. You didn’t know he had that in him. Ryland asks about what led you to becoming an art teacher. “I don’t know I love art but you can’t really make a living unless you get lucky in my opinion. The teaching opportunity kind of just fell into my lap and I took it.” You shrug. Suddenly overaware and a little insecure at how much more intelligent he is than you.

“Well I’m glad you did. You’re great at it. The kids love you. Olivia comes in talking about you and your paintings every day.” Ryland admits. Olivia was another of your best students. She frequently asked to see your own artwork after class sometimes.

You sit until you're kicked out of the shop. It’s nine P.M. when you finally check your phone. You also have three undead messages from Hannah that read:

4:29 PM

How’s the not date going.

6:15

Have you guys kissed yet?

8:56

Oh my god are you sleeping with him?

You put your phone back in your pocket and decide to take a risk.

“It’s getting kinda late and it’s dark. Do you wanna ummm stay at my place” you rush out. “Just because you shouldn’t bike in the dark and it’s close by. We can go tomorrow or I can just drop you off.” You begin backtracking before he can even respond but stop yourself. “Whatever you want to do.” You stammer. ‘Oh my god. Kill me.’ you think.

Ryland doesn’t want to overstep. He doesn’t want to burden you. But he also doesn’t want to stop spending time with you. “I guess I wouldn’t mind. Only if you’re okay with it. I don’t want to bother you though”

“No I—” fuck it, “I want you to come over.” You admit honestly. Ryland smiles.

“Well in that case I guess I can’t say no.” He says. “What is this my fourth location? I’m a goner. Just make it quick.” He jokes. You walk back to your car, both of you smiling like teenagers.

“Okay it’s a huge mess because I tried on like seven different outfits this morning. You’re not allowed to judge me.” You warn when you get back into your car.

“Seven!? Why on earth would you need to try on seven?” He questions. ‘Because I want you to like me’ you want to say.

“Well I had to impress you if you were going to let me be your stylist.” You look back at him.

“You already impressed me” he almost whispers. “You impressed me the first day I met you. I am thoroughly impressed by you.” He decides. You’re speechless. You smirk a little. ‘Does that mean he likes you?’ You wonder.

When you park at your apartment you look at him then look down. This is the first time you’ve had a guy at your apartment. You unlock the door. And allow Ryland to step in. His eyes are drawn to the pothos plants climbing along your walls.

“Um are you hungry? We’ve only had ice cream.” You realize. Ryland is looking at everything in your living room. He’s examining your botanical legos. “How long did this take you?” He asks. Ignoring the possibility of eating in favor of learning everything he can about you.

“Ridiculously too long. I’m awful at legos” you admit. He looks at you above his glasses as if he’s dumbfounded.

“How can you be awful at legos? You just follow the directions. I mean it looks good to me.” He prods, poking at one of the flowers.

“It’s the directions. They’re flawed.” You giggle. “Sometimes they’re at weird angles and then you turn the page and it’s moved on to a different piece but the first one isn’t done yet.” You ramble. “I love them and I think they’re pretty but I also despise them.” you reason. Ryland imagines you getting frustrated at a booklet of instructions. He glances at your bookshelf. Among rows of art history books and what he doesn’t know are smutty romance books he finds a deck of tarot cards.

“Do you know how to use these?” He asks, holding it up.

“Not well but I can muddle through” you admit. “I don’t know that I buy into it, but it’s fun at parties.”

“You go to a lot of parties?” He holds the deck of cards out to you and you take them.

“Nope, just middle school dances. You?” You counter, fidgeting with cards now.

“No—well I guess in college but no one ever told me my future at those.” He gestured to the cards. “Show me.”

You have him sit on your couch and you sit on your knees opposite him on the other side of the coffee table. You tell him to shuffle the deck. You eye his hands the whole time he shuffles. You tell him to pick three cards from the top and lay them out horizontally, face down.

“Ready?” You ask. Ryland nods. You flip the card on his right over.

The Magician.

“Okay this makes sense for you. This is your past. This card can symbolize intelligence and using knowledge to shape your reality. It represents a time where you had the most control over your life. You’re a doctor that’s basically a magician.” Ryland smiles at you and playfully rolls his eyes.

“I mean if you say so.” He concedes. You flip his next card.

Two of cups.

“This is your present. This one can represent emotional connection, mutual respect, or a partnership with something in your life or someone.”

“No way nobody respects me.” Ryland laughs. “I think your cards must be broken.

“What ever gave you that impression?” You inquire.

“I’m not exactly respectable. I can’t even get a twelve year old to listen to me.” He bargains. You know for a fact that this is not true. Thanks to your mild stalking you’ve watched Ryland break up several fights in the hallways just by walking by. The students want his approval. You can’t blame them.

“That’s not true Ryland. The cards have spoken and they’re never wrong.” You demand.

“You just said you didn’t buy into them!” He runs his hand through his hair and pushes his glasses up on his nose.

“Well I do now that they’re proving to be extremely accurate.” You conclude. Flipping over his next card.

The Hanged Man

“Gee I sure hope they’re not if that’s my future” he deadpans reading the card.

“It’s not terrible.” You reassured him. It could've been the tower you think to yourself. “It represents feeling trapped, maybe a sacrifice or having to change your perspective.”

“So I’m not going to be hung in the town square?” He questions. You laugh and reassure him. You stack the cards back up and join him on the couch. He leans back and puts his arm up on the couch as if to make space for you. You notice. You awkwardly scooch closer to him and slouch into his side. His arm wraps around you. Is this really happening?

“Thank you for being my stylist fortune teller today” He whispered. “I really enjoy your company”.

You swallow. You almost want to cry. All you’ve ever wanted was to be someone’s choice. Someone’s preference. And here Ryland was choosing to let you drag him shopping, choosing to talk with you, choosing to sit on your couch.

“I enjoy your company too Dr. Grace.” You taunt.

“No no you can’t do that.” He laughs dragging his hand over his face, his glasses falling askew. You reach up to straighten them.

He looks down at you. Your eyes settle in his through your lashes. He looks at your lips then back up at your eyes. You look down at his. When he leans in you reach up to grip his neck pulling him in as if to confirm that you want this. And boy do you want this. His lips land on yours softly, hesitantly at first. As if he’s testing out his hypothesis. The hypothesis being that you reciprocate. You’re the one to deepen the kiss, pushing yourself up to reach his shoulder to grasp. An effort to ground yourself and attempt at feeling his biceps. Rylands hand finds your jaw, he cups your face gently. The kiss deepens. You swing a leg over to straddle him. He moans into your mouth at the contact. He runs his hand down your sides and they settle on your hips. You almost whine when he pulls away.

“Wait, I just want to make sure—“ he breathes.

“I’m sure if you are. Cards on the table, I really really like you.” You assure breathlessly. He smiles, kissing you again.

“You saw my cards already. But yeah I really really like you too” He trails kisses down your neck.

“I’m such a bad host. I didn’t even give you a tour.” You joke, running your hands through his hair. “Let’s start with the bedroom.” You quip.

He picks you up and you wrap your legs around him. He carries you as you point in the direction of your bedroom, giggling when he bumps into the coffee table, knocking all the cards onto the floor. That’s tomorrow’s mess.

The Fool.

Is the card face up on top of the pile.

“Cards on the table

Mine play out like fools in a fable.”

disclaimer: I haven’t read the book and it’s been a few months since I watched the movie I’m just SICK OVER RYLAND GRACE (and I’m watching every Ryan gosling move ever made bc I’m going crazy) so if timeline or plot doesn’t add up sorry. I’m also not certain about the characterization at one point I felt like I accidental turned him into Simon from Alvin and the chipmunks. I think I fixed it lol but he might be too cool now idk.

Random notes: Patrick is based on a kid from my art class in high school. He had absolute chicken scratch handwriting and was terrible but tried so hard. Hannah is my bestie that taught me the science of thrifting. Ty girlie <3.

Also just to cite my sources I did google the oil paint solvent situation and used wikihow for that and thetarotguide.com for the tarot stuff.