squid

This was getting embarrassing, because it wasn’t even anything dramatic. You hadn’t kissed him. Hadn’t flirted intentionally. Hadn’t done anything except exist near him in ways his stupid brain apparently found devastating. The problem was the little things.

The way you leaned against doorframes while talking to him late at night. The way your voice softened when you got tired. The absentminded touches to his arm during conversations like physical affection with him was the most natural thing in the world. The way you sometimes looked at him.

Ryland was doomed. And he knew it.

He stared blankly at the monitor again, trying to focus on astrophage data instead of wondering what it would feel like if you fell asleep against his chest. Your body would be warm, your breathing slow and steady. Maybe he'd be able to feel your heartbeat. A strange feeling twisted deep inside him.

Bad. Terrible. Inappropriate.

His stomach twisted. Because the worst part? Sometimes he thought you trusted him enough that if he reached for you… you might actually let him. That thought alone made guilt crawl up his spine immediately. He shouldn't have been thinking things like that.

You were his friend and his partner. The only other human being for light years. Trapped with him inside this metal can in the middle of nowhere. You were supposed to be safe with him. And meanwhile Ryland was over here imagining the warmth of your hands against his skin at two in the morning like a complete disaster.

He exhaled sharply. Nope. Absolutely not.

“Focus, Grace. Focus.”

The lab doors slid open quietly behind him. And Ryland nearly launched himself out of his chair. You blinked at him sleepily, your hair a mess. You couldn't have been awake for more than a few minutes.

“Okay. That reaction was... weird.” You smiled faintly.

“Oh my God,” Ryland breathed, hand over his chest. “You can’t sneak up on people in space.”

“Relax, Grace. It's not a Xenomorph or anything.” A mischievous grin flashed across your face. You were wearing one of those oversized sweaters that always made Ryland’s brain stop functioning correctly.

Sometimes he wondered if you wore them on purpose because some subconscious part of you knew exactly what they did to him.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

“Fantastic,” he lied instantly.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re here alone talking to a monitor at two in the morning. It sounded a little emotional for working.”

Ryland looked away immediately. If he ignored that comment hard enough, maybe you'd let it go. You wandered closer anyway, carrying one of the ship’s terrible coffee pouches in your hand before settling beside him at the console.

Too close. Your shoulder brushed his lightly. Ryland forgot every language he’d ever spoken. How this kept happening, he had absolutely no idea.

“So,” you murmured sleepily, glancing at the screen, “are we saving humanity or having a breakdown tonight?”

“Can we do both?”

“Of course. Both sound pretty tempting.” A soft laugh escaped you and there it was again. 

That warm ache in his chest. That horrible, wonderful feeling that filled him as if he were a teenager all over again. You smelled faintly like soap and recycled ship air and something entirely, uniquely you. Ryland became painfully aware of every inch separating your bodies. His pulse stumbled hard.

You turned your head toward him at the exact wrong moment, suddenly very close now in the dim light. And you had to notice something was wrong with him. You were smart. Observant.

“Ryland?”

Oh no. Bad. Very bad.

You were looking at him with sleepy concern, completely unaware of the catastrophic spiral happening in his head. He could kiss you right now. The thought arrived so suddenly it almost knocked the air out of him. Now. And the truly horrifying part? He thought maybe you’d let him. He could practically see it playing out in his imagination already...

Ryland pulled back so quickly that his chair scraped sharply against the floor. You blinked in surprise.

“Did I do something?”

God. Immediately guilt flooded him so hard it made his stomach hurt.

“No.” he said too fast. “No, you didn’t do anything.”

Your expression softened with confusion. “Then why are you looking at me like I caught you committing a crime?”

Because it felt like one. Because every soft thing he wanted from you felt dangerous in the small loneliness of space. Because sometimes at night Ryland imagined touching you with such terrifying tenderness it made him feel guilty afterward. Because he imagined you, the two of you, in situations that left him breathless… He laughed weakly under his breath, scrubbing both hands over his face.

“Do you ever have thoughts so embarrassing your brain should legally apologize to you?”

“Sometimes,” you answered, and somehow he could tell you were telling the truth.

“That’s reassuring.”

You studied him quietly for another moment. “Ryland...” The softness in your voice nearly killed him instantly. “You know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?”

He looked at you then. At your tired eyes, your concern. How instinctively kind you always were with him. And suddenly the guilt became almost unbearable because God… He wanted too much. Not just kissing you. Everything. 

He wanted sleepy mornings with you. Wanted your legs tangled together under blankets. Wanted to hear you laugh beside him for the rest of his life. He was always wanting more, but every day he pretended that friendship was enough. It wasn't. He was greedy for everything that had anything to do with you.

Ryland swallowed hard. “You’re gonna make me insane,” he admitted quietly before he could stop himself.

Your breath caught slightly and the room went still. Even the ship seemed quieter around you. As if everything had paused for a few heartbeats.

“Ryland…” you whispered carefully.

He immediately panicked. “Okay, wow, ignore that. That sounded significantly more emotionally revealing than intended.”

But you were still looking softly at him. And Ryland suddenly realized with absolute terror… Maybe he wasn’t the only one thinking dangerous thoughts in the dark.

Ryland wished desperately that he could take the words back. Not because they weren’t true. That was the problem - they were too true.

The lab suddenly felt unbearably small around both of you, dim monitor light reflecting softly across your face while you kept looking at him like you were trying to understand something fragile.

“Ryland…” you repeated his name quietly.

His pulse was so loud he was convinced the entire ship could hear it.

“Nope,” he said quickly, standing too fast again. “Actually, let’s all collectively pretend I didn’t say that.”

You blinked up at him from the chair, surprised. “Why?”

“Because.” He gestured vaguely with both hands. “Words are dangerous.”

A tiny confused smile pulled at your mouth. “That sounded dramatic.”

“I’m in space. I’m allowed one dramatic moment.”

Usually the jokes helped him recover but tonight they weren’t working. Because you were still watching him. Still soft and patient. And now there was something else in your expression too. Something careful. Ryland’s stomach flipped painfully.

“Oh no,” he muttered, “You’re thinking.”

You blinked. “You say that like it’s threatening.”

“It is when you look at me like that.”

Your brows pulled together slightly. “Like what?”

Like you finally saw him too. Like maybe the thing ruining his sleep for weeks wasn’t one-sided after all. Ryland laughed nervously under his breath and looked away before you could read too much from his face.

As long as it existed only inside his own head, Ryland could control it. But if it had taken root in yours too? If you were thinking about it as well?

“This is a terrible idea,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

He swallowed hard. “You and me.”

Silence. Your voice came quieter this time. “Why?”

The question genuinely startled him. Ryland looked back at you in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

He stared at you for a second like he couldn’t comprehend the answer wasn’t obvious. “Because we’re trapped alone together in space,” he said carefully. “Because emotions get weird in isolation. Because if this goes badly, we still have to save humanity afterward.”

You listened quietly. Ryland rubbed exhaustedly at the back of his neck.

“And because I…” He exhaled shakily. “I don’t trust myself around you anymore.”

You took a deep breath. The honesty in his voice seemed to hit you harder than anything else. “What does that mean?” you asked gently.

Oh God. He really should stop answering questions honestly around you. But it was too late and you were close. And Ryland was tired of carrying this alone. The universe was conspiring against him.

“It means,” he admitted quietly, “sometimes you stand too close to me and I forget how to think.”

The room fell still again. Ryland watched the exact second your expression softened completely. Not uncomfortable or frightened. Just warm. And that look again. The one that seemed to peer straight into his soul.

“You know,” you murmured after a moment, “you could’ve told me.”

His laugh came out weak. “Yeah, because that conversation would’ve gone smoothly.”

“You think I’d make fun of you?”

“No.” He shook his head immediately. “That’s the problem.”

You looked at him carefully then. “So what is the problem?”

Ryland opened his mouth, then closed it again. Because the real answer was terrifyingly simple: If you wanted him back even a little, Ryland didn’t think he’d survive it gracefully.

And judging by the way you were looking at him right now, soft-eyed and nervous and slowly standing from your chair, he was beginning to think that might actually happen.

You stepped closer carefully. Giving him room to move away. He didn’t. He couldn’t. And he didn’t want to.

“Ryland,” you whispered, “look at me.”

Reluctantly, he did. And God, that was worse. Because now you were standing right in front of him in the low golden light, close enough that he could feel your warmth again. Close enough that he noticed your breathing hitch slightly too. Not just his. Yours. Something in his chest nearly stopped.

“You’re not the only one thinking dangerous thoughts,” you admitted softly.

Ryland stared at you. Like his brain had completely lost the ability to process language. “W-What?” 

A nervous little laugh escaped you. “That bad, huh?”

“You…” He stopped, completely overwhelmed for a second. “You can’t just say things like that to me.”

Your smile turned shy around the edges. “Why not?”

Because he was already hanging on by threads. Because every lonely, guilty little fantasy he’d been trying to bury suddenly felt horribly possible now. Ryland looked at your mouth for one disastrous second too long. You noticed. And when you stepped just slightly closer again, his entire body went still.

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered.

Oh, he was doomed. Completely. Because instead of stepping away, Ryland’s hand lifted carefully toward your face like he physically couldn’t help himself anymore. His fingers brushed your cheek gently. Almost reverently. And the expression on his face right then - soft, stunned, wanting - looked exactly like a man realizing he’d crossed the line a long time ago and never actually wanted to go back.

Your eyes fluttered slightly at his touch. That tiny reaction nearly destroyed what remained of Ryland’s self-control. Damn, he should stop. He knew he should stop. Every rational part of his brain was still screaming warnings at him: bad idea, complicated, dangerous, mission-threatening. But none of those thoughts survived very long when you leaned into his hand so instinctively.

Like you trusted him there. Like you wanted him there. Ryland’s breath left him shakily. He wanted so badly to feel wanted by you.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

Your expression softened immediately. Something achingly tender flickered across your face then, because suddenly you understood: he’d been fighting this alone for a while. Maybe a long while.

You lifted your hand carefully, fingers brushing lightly against his wrist where it rested against your cheek.

“You’ve been scared of this,” you realized quietly.

Ryland laughed weakly under his breath. “Scared feels too calm a word.”

The honesty of it made your chest ache. Outside the tiny windows of the Hail Mary, stars stretched endlessly through the dark. Cold observers of whatever was happening between the two of you. But inside this tiny lab, everything suddenly felt unbearably close.

Ryland looked at you like a man standing too near the edge of something life-changing. And maybe heartbreaking too.

“I kept trying to convince myself it was isolation,” he admitted. “Or stress. Or shared trauma. Or the fact that you're literally the only person my brain sees anymore.”

A tiny smile touched your mouth. “And?”

His thumb brushed lightly beneath your cheekbone. “And then you'd laugh at something stupid I said and ruin the whole theory.”

You laughed quietly at that, and the fondness that crossed Ryland’s face afterward was so open it almost hurt. There it was. The thing he’d been trying to hide. Not just attraction. Adoration. The kind that sneaks up slowly until suddenly someone's existence starts feeling woven into every part of your day.

Your voice came softer now too. “You really thought you were alone in this?”

Ryland hesitated, then gave a tiny helpless nod. Your heart nearly broke for him. You stepped closer again until barely any space remained between you at all. And Ryland let you. God, he let you. Like he was finally too tired to keep resisting something he wanted this badly.

“You know what’s funny?” you whispered.

His eyes flicked nervously between yours. “What?”

“I thought you were avoiding me because I made you uncomfortable.”

Ryland looked horrified instantly. “What? No.”

“You kept pulling away. And I didn’t want to make things harder for you.”

“Because I was trying very hard not to kiss you constantly.”

“Oh.”

His face flushed immediately afterward. “Oh my God, I said that out loud too.”

A helpless laugh escaped you. Ryland looked seconds away from combusting.

“This is awful,” he muttered, closing his eyes “I had dignity once.”

“You’re very cute when you spiral.”

He looked at you. “Cute?”

You smiled. And then you kissed him. Not dramatically or rushed. Just gentle. A soft press of your lips against his that completely erased every thought left in Grace’s head. He froze instantly. Not because he didn’t want it. Because he wanted it so badly he almost couldn’t process it happening.

Your hand slid lightly into his curls and that finally broke him. Ryland kissed you back with a quiet sound against your mouth that felt dangerously close to relief. Weeks of restrained wanting collapsed all at once. His hand moved instinctively to your waist, pulling you closer carefully but urgently at the same time, like he couldn’t quite believe he was finally allowed to have this. Allowed to have you. In the way he'd been longing for.

The kiss deepened slowly, warm and aching and impossibly tender in the dim lab light. And underneath everything else, underneath the desire and nervousness and loneliness, there was wonder. Pure stunned wonder. Because Ryland had spent so long feeling guilty for wanting this that he never prepared himself for the possibility that you might want it too.

When you finally pulled back slightly, his forehead dropped against yours immediately. Breathing uneven. Still holding you like letting go would physically hurt.

“You realize,” he whispered shakily, “this is probably going to make me insufferably in love with you now.”

Your laugh brushed warmly against his lips. “Probably?”

Ryland closed his eyes briefly. “Okay. Catastrophically.”

You smiled against his lips, still close enough that Ryland could feel every small breath you took. And the terrifying thing? He already knew he’d never recover from this.

His arms tightened slightly around your waist as if his body had decided for him that this was where you belonged now. Which was dangerous. But when you brushed your thumb gently along his cheek, Ryland melted instantly anyway.

“This is so unfair,” he whispered softly.

You blinked up at him. “What is?”

“You being real.”

A laugh escaped you quietly. At that moment, he thought you looked even more beautiful.

“I’m serious,” he murmured, forehead still resting against yours. “You can’t spend weeks looking at me like that and then kiss me. My nervous system isn’t built for it. I’m far too weak.”

“You seemed pretty eager.”

“I have never been calm a single day in my life.”

“That’s true.”

Ryland let out a soft groan of betrayal while you smiled warmly at him. The ship hummed quietly around you. Dim lights. Soft shadows. Endless stars outside. And somehow, despite floating alone through space at the end of the universe, Ryland had never felt less alone in his life.

The realization hit him suddenly enough to steal his breath for a second. Because this wasn’t just attraction anymore. It hadn’t been for a while. You noticed the shift in his expression immediately.

“What?” you asked softly.

Ryland hesitated. Then laughed quietly under his breath like he couldn’t believe himself. “I’m in so much trouble.”

Your hand slid gently into his curls again. “Why?”

He looked at you for a long moment before answering honestly. “Because I think if you asked me for literally anything right now, I’d do it.”

The tenderness in his voice made your chest ache. You brushed your nose lightly against his. “That sounds serious.”

“It is serious.”

His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth again before returning to your eyes. “You kissed me and my brain immediately started planning emotional permanence.”

You laughed softly, warm and breathless. Ryland looked at you like hearing that sound might genuinely keep him alive. God, he was gone. And maybe the most dangerous thing was that he was starting to realize he didn’t mind anymore. Because for the first time in a long time, wanting someone didn’t feel guilty. It felt safe.

You squeezed his hand gently. Ryland looked down at your joined fingers for a second before speaking more quietly.

“You know what the worst part is?”

“What?”

“I think this ruined friendship for me forever.”

Your smile softened. “Ruined?”

“Yeah.”

He looked back at you, fondness written all over his face now. “Because now every time you touch me, my entire soul leaves my body a little.”

You leaned closer, smiling helplessly. “That sounds dramatic.”

“I’m in love with you,” he said immediately. “Everything is dramatic now.”

Silence. A stunned one. Ryland froze the exact second the words left his mouth. His eyes widened behind his glasses. The realization crashed straight into his heart.

“Oh no.” Your heart nearly stopped. Ryland looked horrified with himself. “That was supposed to stay inside my head significantly longer.”

And somehow, impossibly, that was the moment you kissed him again. And he stayed there. Maybe this feeling was reckless, irrational, and completely opposed to everything logical. But he wanted to hold on to it. And he wouldn't let anything tear you out of his arms.

He began protesting but that didn't seem to matter as the query died right in the air as you settled back into position, holding Ryland’s gaze as best you could, using your tongue to unfold the arms of his glasses and placing them on your face. They were comically large, this was not the first time you had worn them, but it was the first time you had worn them in this context. And boy oh boy… Ryland’s mouth dropped, slightly agape and his jaw slacked, his brows furrowed in a way that was more bewilderment than his lack of sight.  

The blonde felt his cock twitch at the sight of you between his legs, his golden frames teetering right at the edge of your nose. Great googly moogly. His brain went into overdrive as you leaned forward, lowering your head back to where you had been before and eagerly took the head of his cock into your wanting and hot mouth.

Not just his brain. Specifically, his amygdala decided that you wearing nothing but his glasses was enough to get him to that crested edge. His orgasm felt imminent as you kept your eyes locked on his, drawing down his cock, your tongue sweeping along the underside and took pleasure in watching his unfolding over the rims of his frames. 

The sound that Ryland made was nothing short of a strangled, sharp gasp that almost flirted with being painful. His entire body went rigid, his hand flying from the security of your hair to grip the sheets on either side of him, his knuckles turning a sickly off-white with intense exertion.

Ryland couldn’t stop himself - his hips bucked involuntary, a single, hard thrust that you took with as much grace as you could, the gag hitting the air and mixing with the visual of you sternly looking at him from over his glasses as a warning of ‘don’t do that again’. He wasn’t going to but… It was hard not to when you kept looking at him like that! In his own glasses!! 

It was remarkable to watch him come undone with just your mouth and a shift in perspective, Ryland’s eyes now squinting to see the finer details of your work as you slicked your mouth up and down, your hand coming to grasp the base and rub at what you were unable to fit. You watched, fascinated as the confusion in his eyes that had been so evident only moments before were instantly replaced by a raw, unfiltered shock of acute arousal. 

“O-Oh my stars.” He breathed, the words barely audible in the tugs of moans spilling between them and the juicy sounds from your mouth swallowing and suctioning along his cock like it was your lifeline. His eyes widened as they fixed on the sight of your lips stretching around him. It’s the look on your face, he’d told you many times before, that did it for him more times than anything else. The sight of his pleasure becoming yours. This… The entire situation was something else entirely. This felt like a claim on his darned soul. 

You hummed softly around him, churning your hand to meet your lips as you picked up pace, the motion more erratic and less about staving off the inevitable. You must be able to feel hos his cock was twitching uncontrollably against your tongue, the stream of pre-cum spilling and exploding down your throat, his eyes squeezing shut for a second before forcing themselves open. Ryland couldn’t bear to miss a single second of this. Not this, no no sir.

The poor scientist is on a razor’s edge, his control completely shattering the simple and very intimate act of you wearing his glasses. And the sight of Ryland, through his own lenses, looking down at you like you were the only thing in the universe that mattered was more than enough for you as another groan of desperation left him. 

“Y-You can’t J-ju… I-I’m gonna…” He stammered, his words dissolving into a guttural plea of tiny ‘please’s as you peeped at him from over the rims once again, your motion causing them to shine and capture his attention once again. Ryland’s so close, his entire body is coiled tight like a spring, all because of a silly pair of glasses and the way you’re looking at him through them.

You were fortunate enough to feel the moment his control snapped like a rubber band. It’s in the sudden tension in his thighs, in the way his breathing hitched in the hollow of his throat and stopped all together for a few moments before he forced an unwanted inhale. Ryland’s eyes were dark behind your shared blurry vision, locked in some dance with yours, pleading now and severely overwhelmed. 

“Please…” He whimpered. The word was fragile and broken and was the only encouragement you needed.

You took his cock deeper into your mouth than before, almost to the point where every motion downward was threatening to cause another gagging moment, your movements sure and steady and eyes never leaving his. You hummed again, that low, deliberate vibration mixing with your hand and mouth giving Ryland the final push he sought, but never really needed. He’d have come undone just at the sight of you in his glasses alone, the rest was just icing on his cake.

His back arched and contorted, a beautiful, taut sensation in your capped vision, his muscles spasming with need as a choked, breathless cry escaped his parted lips. You tasted the rhythmic pulse against your tongue as the salty and unique flavor of his cum exploded onto your taste buds and down your throat. Ryland felt his entire body shuddering against yours with the sheer force of it, his hands tangled so deeply into the sheets they were beginning to feel like second skin. His eyes finally relinquished observation, now tightly squeezed shut, his expression a perfect picture of blissful surrender at the hand of your skillful mouth. 

For a suspended moment, the only sound in the warm and raunchy room was his ragged breathing as he slowly, bonelessly and defeatedly sank back against the headboard, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. Gently, your mouth released his softening cock, and with a swift motion, you pressed an all too lingering kiss to his hip before sitting up. You still tasted him in your mouth as you plucked his glasses from your nose, folding them with the same kindness you had used to take them. With a smattering of kisses against his chest, you leaned over and placed them on the side table along with the alarm clock he’d made. 

Ryland was still taking his time to reboot, blinking a few times as the world came back into fuzzy focus, his eyes finding yours immediately and they were filled with a dizzying amount of adoration as he grasped the back of your head and pulling you down for a slow kiss that tastes like his cum and of the shared intimacy of the moment.

“I love you…” Ryland murmured against your lips. 

You smile into the kiss, feeling the tickle of his stubble against your lips. “I love you too, Ry.”

Taglist: @strigiform-titan @whats-my-hyperfixation @negativefoursanity @everythingismadeofchaos @t0nystank @greenlalianime @my-cat-can-slay-dragons @gardenavenue @whore-msc @goslingcore @rivercattail @ambertiger5 @starsbelongtotheworld @emmyishere77 @wayward-avenging @rocktthehouse @unabashednightmarepizza @lowbudgetdoll @lastminutescience @anixszci @lov3lanuage @hailholyground

This was supposed to have been a normal, average check on the ship after passing through a minor asteroid field. You hadn't anticipated your foot becoming entangled in the tether, nor a stray meteorite knocking you clean off the hull and causing you to get yanked back by your leg. Nothing is broken, you think, but it burns like hell. You've certainly torn something. If it weren't for the whole no-gravity-in-space thing, you probably wouldn't be standing.

The asteroid field had knocked out the surveillance systems, so you were on your own until you got back inside the Hail Mary. Neither Grace nor Rocky knew what was wrong with you, and apparently the meteorite that knocked you off the ship damaged your comms, too.

"Y/N," Rocky's translated, computerized voice trickled through the radio roughly in a series of broken bits of speech. "Un... See... What..."

It was loud, and too much. Every step was like fire. Maybe you were close to some cameras by now.

Your vision blurred as the pain worsened. Okay, maybe you did break something. Hopefully not, but sharp, hot tears came suddenly as the adrenaline finally wore off and your body began to tremble uncontrollably from the pain. The tether was still wrapped around your leg, but you couldn't think straight to remove it. Logically, you knew you had to, but your head was still spinning from how quickly you'd been snapped back toward the ship.

Movement caught your eye, and you braced for another meteorite. Immediately, you relaxed. Grace.

He'd hurriedly put on his EVA suit to come get you, glasses askew inside the helmet. The second you saw him, his face dropped. You couldn't hear him as he tried to speak, but he was talking fast, brow furrowed. It might be a bit useless, but you gestured helplessly to your wounded leg. The utter silence besides your breathing was starting to freak you out.

Grace went into action like a sleeper agent, rushing over like he was a trained astronaut and cutting the tether free from you. The relief was only brief-- the pain came back full force and you cried out, glad he couldn't hear it. You couldn't focus on much of anything now; Grace clipped you to him and began helping you back to the airlock.

Once the door was sealed, you saw the stars begin to move outside as Rocky put the ship in centrifugal mode, probably using one of the handy probes you'd made him for just such a purpose.

Gravity, however, was the last thing you needed right now.

There was a sudden rush of noise and chaos as you both fell to the floor; Grace might have done a little better if he didn't have your full weight in the suit, but also if you wouldn't have started screaming.

You couldn't help it. You tried not to, tried to force yourself to stop, but the excruciating damage had left your leg utterly limp and filled with an intense pain the likes of which you'd never felt. Grace yanked off your helmet. "Y/N, I need you to tell me where it hurts. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong." He was trying to be strong, but his voice was shaking.

Gasping for breath and coherency, you managed to put together a string of words behind clenched teeth. "Meteorite knocked me off the ship. Leg got tangled in tether. I think it's broken."

Grace braced you with one arm behind your back. "This is gonna hurt, I'm sorry!" He swept an arm under your knees and lifted you, suit and all, carrying you to Armando as fast as he could. Rocky rolled along behind him, wise to stay out of the way.

"What happening, question?!" His voice broke, clearly terrified. "Why Y/N screaming, question?!"

"She might have a broken leg, bud," Grace explained quickly as he laid you down on the table. Several robotic arms reached out of the ceiling for you, eager to help as Grace stepped back.

Wildly, you snatched his hand. You two had always had clear, unbroken boundaries. Physical contact was limited and you stayed civil, but your jobs were to put the mission first and... whatever was between you both second. You weren't trying to be the next Adam and Eve, but feelings had begun to sprout regardless. You both tried to keep it professional. At least until this was all over, and distractions weren't going to matter anymore.

Now, though, you didn't care. "Please stay with me," You begged, feeling the tears run towards your ears as Armando placed a mask on you. A gentle gas began filtering through the tubing system to your lungs. "Don't leave me, Grace."

Grace hesitated, eyes wide, then reached behind him and snatched a chair. He swung it closer and sat down, clenching your hand tightly in both of his. "I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

You woke up three days later.

Or, it was around three days. Armando said you slept for 68.5 hours and it repaired a badly fractured leg, and that you'd be fine in 6 to 8 weeks. Light activity preferred. You were gonna be on some heavy painkillers. In no uncertain terms were you to even leave the bed without assistance, since the cast wasn't as sturdy as it would have been on Earth.

Inwardly, you wondered what this would do for the mission. You couldn't spacewalk, floating around would be a pain, or even getting to the control room in general. It was a tight fit on a normal day. With a cast it would probably be impossible. God, and Grace would have to help you. What you could do by yourself right now was limited. Just when you'd both decided that you didn't need any unnecessary proximity so you could get the mission taken care of without any distractions. What would this do to the ship? Would you have to remain in 1g? Or would 0g work, too? Would you still be pressing on to Tau Ceti E?

You tried to reach up and pull off the mask, but your limbs were still tingly and uncoordinated. You smacked yourself in the face by accident, clawing for the straps. Only oxygen was coming through the tubing, and you needed it off.

A small gasp came from your right. "Amaze! Y/N awake! Bad bad bad hurt. Better now! Grace not leave for long time. Rocky force Grace to change clothes. Grace!" You heard (and felt) the rumble of his xenonite ball as he careened for the entrance to the medbay, but you could only focus on getting the damn mask off your face. You were struggling with the strap, trying to get it off and vaguely aware of Rocky urging Grace to come quickly.

You were starting to panic. Your breath came in short, sharp bursts. All you could hear was your own labored breathing as the images of struggling for the airlock alone flashed through your head, your leg throbbing in pain as you remembered being violently yanked back towards the ship--

Grace. Gentle but fast, he slipped the mask off your face and pulled the tube from your throat, making you gag-- when had Armando put that in? As you coughed and spluttered on the bed, Grace was trying to talk to you. "Rock, just stay still for a second, okay? Y/N-- Hey-- it's okay, it's okay..." You heaved horribly as you struggled to come back to life, curling up on the cot. You felt an IV still in the crook of your left arm and shuddered at the sensation of icy fluids being pumped into your veins. Every breath was shaky.

Then you felt his hands on you. One squeezed your arm as he leaned over you to try and see your face, the other rubbed soothing circles in your back. You'd never been so glad for physical touch. "Breathe. Just breathe. You're safe now, Rocky's here; we've got you."

He sat with you until you were able to function a bit easier, although it came slowly. You're not sure how long you were disoriented. You peered at Grace over your shoulder, slowly flopping onto your back. He looked a mess, blond hair sticking in every direction and glasses ever-so-slightly askew. It bothered you. It always bothered you that his glasses were crooked. You always tried to remind him that farsighted and sloppy were two totally separate things.

Without thinking, you reached up and straightened his glasses with a frown. To your utter surprise, his hand found your elbow and traveled up to hold your wrist, keeping you close to him. You flushed, his deep blue eyes not breaking contact with yours. "Uh..." You croaked helplessly, "The morphine made me do it."

Grace smiled, something a bit lopsided but relieved as he chuckled quietly, almost to himself. He blinked rapidly as his eyes glistened. "I couldn't see you on the cameras," He managed softly, voice cracking. "I lost sight of you. Then Rocky saw it." He swallowed hard, caressing your hand still near his face with his thumb. "The meteorite. I tried to warn you. The radio wasn't working. He said it hit you, but after that we still couldn't get through. I went to get in the suit but I wasn't fast enough. Your leg..."

"Mangled," Rocky added sullenly, "Rocky had to learn new word. Leg bent in all ways."

Grace still hadn't broken eye contact with you. "Yeah. That. I'm..." You watched, stunned, as tears started streaming down his face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I sent you out there by yourself, and that I wasn't quicker coming to get you."

"Grace," You choked, "It wasn't your fault. It could've happened to any of us. I was just unlucky enough for it to happen to me." You let your hand relax in his grip, letting your knuckles brush against his temple. "...Now you've gotta take care of me, I guess. I'm sorry I didn't see the--"

"Is no one fault. No apology." Rocky sounded irritated. "We take care of Y/N. Y/N can only walk in 0 gravity. Grace must slow mission down."

Rocky-- thankfully-- was entirely unaware of what was happening between you and Grace. You two had had moments before Rocky had ever come aboard, moments where longing stares left the two of you in awkward silence and the brush of his hand against yours felt like it lasted forever. It led to a couple of awkward but factual conversations about what it meant that you two were having these emotions in close quarters, that you'd eventually die together and that the mission came first-- which required utmost focus. Nothing could happen before then.

That seemed to completely shatter now.

Careful of your IV, Grace cautiously pulled you up into the sitting position and wrapped his arms tightly around you in a warm hug, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. You didn't hesitate to throw your arms around his neck, hiding your face in his body and getting as close as humanly possible.

Now Rocky noticed.

His five feet started excitedly tapping. "Oh oh oh! Hug! Good good good! Hugging not done alone!" A bit more quietly, he added, "...Can Rocky get hug too, question?"

Grace laughed into your shoulder as he pulled back to look at him. "Yes, Rock. You get one too." He held you close still, taking a deep breath and avoiding your gaze by staring at the fabric of the blanket. "Can I be totally honest about something?"

"What?" Your stomach twisted nervously. You weren't sure why.

He forced himself to look at you. "I don't want to wait for the mission to be over. I almost lost you today. If something goes wrong on this mission--"

"Oh thank God," You let yourself fall limp against his chest, surprising him. He let out a soft "Oh" as you chuckled. "It's been pulling me apart to wait. So can we go on a date now? Like with tube-spaghetti and fake moonlit water habitats and everything?"

He chuckled, rubbing your back. "Yes, and yes. I'll wear my best jumpsuit."

"What is date, question?"

You looked over at your rock-faced friend and gestured vaguely at the arm with his marriage signet. "Did you and Adrian have a courtship faze?"

"Yes," Rocky hummed thoughtfully, "Many days. Sing very long. Try to impress--" He went absolutely straight as he realized what you meant. "Amaze! Excite! Grace will impress you will tube-spaghetti!" He started doing jazz hands, dancing in place a little. "Excite excite excite! Finally!"

"What do you mean, 'finally'?" Grace challenged, taken aback.

Rocky ignored him. "Rocky want hug now. Y/N need rest, need sleep for big date."

Grace still hadn't let go of you. "I have an idea, but don't crush us, okay?"

"Rocky understand."

"What's your idea?" You challenged. Grace grinned smugly at you as he reached under the cot and pressed a button. Slowly, the cot began to sink to the floor. There was a mattress under you, thankfully, albeit a thin one. Grace held up a finger for you to wait as he stood and walked away, inadvertently freezing both you and Rocky.

You glanced sideways at your alien friend and opened an arm toward him. "C'mere, bud." Excitedly, Rocky rolled over. You felt the heat of his body through the xenonite. It was comforting.

When Grace returned, he had his own mattress and tons of blankets, all of which he piled together before gently moving you aside and adding yours to the pile. Carefully, he scooped you up afterward and sat you on the makeshift bed, which was extremely comfortable. "Here. Now Rocky can sit with you and keep you warm. You can watch her sleep, right?"

"Yes," Rocky answered, curling up in his ball as close as he could get without burning you.

You hummed gratefully, patting his ball. "Like my own personal radiator. What about you, Grace?"

"I'm going to let you sleep," He answered, confused. Clueless, more like.

You heaved a deep breath, pressing your palm harder against Rocky's ball for good luck. "Can you stay? Just for tonight?"

Grace hesitated a moment longer before making his way over, to the delight of Rocky, who began trilling excitedly. He set his glasses to the side, out of the way of Rocky's path, and slipped under the covers beside you a bit awkwardly. His cheeks were flushed as he refused to look at you. "Okay, yeah. I guess I need sleep t--" He froze as you scooted closer, pressing your body flush against his the best you could with your injured leg. Instinct seemed to take over; he slid one arm under your head, and the other around your torso.

Now, you were both fully snuggling close together, boundaries be damned. Beside you, Rocky kept the both of you very warm and cozy as the ship dimmed its lights. You dozed off as Grace played with your hair drowsily. In your half-asleep, medicated state, you smiled warmly.

...Maybe this ship isn't half bad.

"Nope." He shook his head.

"You could at least consider it."

"I did."

"When?"

"Just now." He turned and smiled at you as though he'd made an excellent joke.

You didn't smile back. "Ryland..." you sighed again.

He pointed a spoon at you. "Careful. You're using my full name. That's how I know I'm in trouble."

Still nothing. His smile faded. Leaning back against the counter, Ryland crossed his arms and waited. He knew where this was going. You'd been having versions of this conversation ever since the email arrived.

"Okay," he said. "Go ahead."

"You are one of the smartest people I've ever met."

The sincerity in your voice was unmistakable, but Ryland rolled his eyes anyway. "Oh, God."

"And every time someone offers you an opportunity…"

"There it is," he muttered.

"...you immediately run away."

His jaw tightened. You noticed it instantly. His arms folded more firmly across his chest, his T-shirt stretching across them. "I don't run away."

"You do," you groaned. "So many people would kill to have your brain, your skills, your opportunities..."

He turned away from you, suddenly finding the coffee far more interesting than the conversation. He didn't answer. 

And then you said it. The thing you'd regret the moment it left your mouth.

"I just think you're wasting yourself."

Silence. Heavy and immediate. Ryland wasn't even pretending to make coffee anymore. You felt it yourself, the invisible line you'd just crossed. There was no stepping back from it now.

"You think I'm wasting myself." His voice was calm and quiet. That somehow made it worse.

A stone dropped into your stomach. You swallowed hard. "Ryland, that's not what I meant."

"No?" He turned around.

Ryland wasn't angry. He looked hurt. Maybe even disappointed. In you? His best friend?

"You know what's funny?" he asked with a quiet laugh.

His eyes met yours and suddenly you felt smaller.

"I spend every day teaching kids who think they're stupid. I spend every day trying to convince them they matter. That science can be exciting. And fun. That they're capable of more than they think." 

You opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going.

"And I love it."

"I know you do," you said, almost pleading.

"Do you?"

The question hit harder than anything else he'd said. Because suddenly you weren't sure. He shook his head.

"Everybody hears 'middle school science teacher' and immediately starts talking about what I could be doing instead."

"That's not fair."

"Maybe I don't want to spend my life chasing grants. Maybe I don't want conferences."

"Ryland..."

"Maybe I like my life exactly the way it is."

The room fell silent. You could hear the hurt beneath every word. Years of people telling him he could do more, be more, achieve more. As if who he already was could never quite be enough. 

You stood and stepped closer. Your heart hammered against your ribs. "I wasn't saying your life isn't enough."

His eyes lifted to yours. "Then what were you saying?"

And that was the problem, you didn't know how to explain it. How to tell him that watching someone you cared about turn down every opportunity was frustrating. How to explain that believing in him wasn't the same thing as wanting to change him. That you saw something extraordinary in him, and if only he'd let himself…

"I just..." You swallowed. "I want you to see what everyone else sees."

Something flickered across his face. A mixture of emotions you couldn't quite identify. Then he said quietly,

"That's the thing." Your heart sank. His voice sounded different now. Softer and more vulnerable. "The only person's opinion I actually care about..." He stopped, looked away, then started again. "The only opinion that matters to me is yours."

The kitchen became impossibly quiet.

"Ryland..." Your voice broke into a whisper. Tears stung your eyes. Your throat ached.

"I know." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I know that's pathetic."

"No. It's not."

His laugh was hollow. Then he looked at you again. And suddenly all the walls he'd spent months building seemed to crack. Just a little. Because of you.

"You know what really hurts?" You already knew. But he said it anyway, and hearing it out loud was somehow worse. "It hurts because it's you."

Your chest tightened. Tears slipped down your cheeks.

"If anyone else said that, I wouldn't care." His eyes never left yours. "But you're supposed to be on my side."

The words hit like a punch. Because you were on his side. You always had been. You just hadn't realized that this conversation was never really about careers or research positions. It was about him. And how desperately he wanted you to understand him.

For a long moment neither of you spoke. Then Ryland shook his head.

"I can't do this right now."

"Ryland, please..."

But he'd already turned away. Both hands braced against the counter. Head lowered. And somehow you knew that anything you said now would only make things worse.

You didn't even dare touch him, though you wanted to. Desperately. 

What you didn't know was that Ryland wasn't upset because you'd pushed him. He was upset because he was in love with you. And hearing you imply he wasn't enough hurt a lot more coming from the person whose opinion meant everything.

There was nothing left to do. You bit your lip.

"I think I should go." The words barely came out above a whisper.

When the door finally closed behind you, Ryland felt as though you'd taken a piece of him with you.

“Fuck— babe,” Ryland pants, watching you ride his hard dick like you were competing for a medal. His head falls back, deep grunts and groans leaving him. He’s just graduated his course, flying colours and straight A’s, and you had wanted to congratulate him personally after the celebrations.

Each motion gives a lewd squelch, you’re moaning like you’re starring in a movie. You leave Ryland breathless. His eyes fall shut, shuddering a little as you fuck yourself on his lap. Without thinking, his palms reach up, cupping your breasts; massaging like he was kneading dough. “Mmm, baby— you’re so good to me.” He moans, thrusting up into you.

As his hands fondle your chest, your own head tilts back, letting out a noise of raw pleasure. “Ry,” you croon, your hips speeding up, guiding his right hand back down to your hipbone. You loved when he cradled you, and he was eager to please. His right hand shifts, easily sliding over your hip to rub your clit with his thumb. That has you coming undone, a squeal escaping you. Fuck, he could cum right now… just watching you bounce on his cock, watching your tits move in sync with your hips; all for him.

“My scientist,” you coo, your weight falling forward a little, your hands resting on his chest to support yourself as you ride him. He’s a biologist now, and you’re happy that all his sleepless nights and days spent stressing over tests was worth it.

“Ohh— fuck…” Ryland gasps, his hips beginning to buck regularly, meeting you halfway. “Ahh… babe, I’m gonna…” his words fall short, a strangled groan leaving his lips as his eyes screw shut. One last time, he thrusts upwards, his breath hitching… and then…

Nothing.

Ryland is confused for a moment. His eyelids flutter open, groggy and heavy. He’s confused and pent up; blinking sleep out of his eyes. A wet dream…? seriously? Was he a teen again? Glancing under the covers Ryland cringes at the mess he’s left in his underwear. Sitting up, he strips them off, dumping them in the laundry hamper and heading to the bathroom to clean himself up. Pulling on some fresh boxer shorts, he pads back to bed.

As he approaches his bedside, giving the clock a spare glance (5:56AM), Ryland pauses. You’re there, snug and snoring away quietly. Your mouth is slightly open, face smushed against your pillow, a strand of hair caught between your lips. A small smile pulls at his lips, and he slides back into bed beside you, relishing the warmth he had left behind.

He hesitated for a second before stepping inside. Carefully, he lowered himself beside you. Your attention drifted back to the screen as though the story had truly captured you. The characters touched each other gently, naturally, like closeness was the simplest thing in the world.

Ryland swallowed. “You like this movie?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “I think I’m just trying to remember what it feels like.”

“What what feels like?”

You shrugged, letting out a soft sigh. “Being close to someone. Wanting someone.” A quiet laugh escaped you, though it sounded more sad than amused. “Honestly… I barely remember anymore. I don’t even remember the last time I felt like that.”

Silence settled between you, broken only by the soft music from the movie. Ryland stared down at his hands for a moment. 

“Yeah,” he murmured eventually. “Same.”

You looked over at him in surprise.  “You?”

Grace snorted softly. “Trust me. My life before this?” He gestured vaguely toward the screen. “Definitely not like that movie.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re telling me the charming science teacher wasn’t constantly surrounded by women?”

“Wow. Okay. First of all, rude.” Ryland scratched the back of his neck, visibly embarrassed. “And second of all -  absolutely not.”

You laughed quietly, and something in his chest loosened at the sound. He liked hearing you laugh. Probably more than he should. Ryland relaxed a little.

“Maybe,” he said after a moment, “when you go long enough without something… you kinda learn how to live without it.” He shrugged faintly. “You still feel the absence. You’re just used to it.”

You considered that for a moment before nodding slowly. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

He glanced sideways at you. For the first time since waking up aboard the Hail Mary, you looked calm. Vulnerable, yes,  but comfortable around him. The realization made his heart skip painfully.

Don’t make it weird. The thought appeared instantly. Unfortunately, it stayed there.

Very slowly, hesitantly, he shifted his hand until his fingers brushed lightly against yours. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you looked at him.

Ryland immediately looked terrified. “Sorry… I mean, unless you don’t… I wasn’t trying to…”

You turned your hand over and gently slid your fingers between his. He froze completely. The movie continued quietly in the background, but neither of you were really watching anymore.

Ryland stared at your joined hands like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. Here. In the middle of nowhere. Then he looked at you. You were smiling softly at him. Warmly. Ryland smiled back, a little uncertain, a little stunned.

His attention drifted briefly to the screen, where city lights blurred gold against the night rain. He no longer had any idea what the movie was about or whether he’d even seen it before.

He was holding your hand. That was the only thing that mattered.

When you shifted beside him, Ryland tensed instinctively, convinced you were about to pull away. Instead, your head rested gently against his shoulder. His breath caught immediately. It felt like his entire nervous system short-circuited.

“Oh,” he whispered faintly.

His shoulder was warm and solid beneath your cheek. You could feel the heat radiating from him through the thin fabric of his shirt. And Ryland didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned slightly closer, unconsciously seeking more of your warmth. The realization filled your chest with something soft and aching.

Outside that little room, the Hail Mary drifted silently through the endless dark, the low hum of the ship surrounding you both. The hope of all humanity rested on your shoulders. But here, for the first time in a long time, you simply felt safe. Human.

Ryland cleared his throat before speaking quietly. “You know, statistically speaking, this is probably the nicest evening I’ve had in… honestly, several years.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s kind of sad.”

“No, no, don’t say that.” He glanced down at your intertwined hands again. “This is good. Really good.”

Eventually, the credits began rolling across the screen. Ryland glanced reluctantly toward the door. “I guess we should probably sleep. We’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Mhm.” You stayed where you were. “Do you want to go now?”

The credits rolled slowly onward. And Ryland realized, with sudden painful clarity, that he wanted to stay here as long as possible. Hold onto this moment with both hands.

He shook his head. “No. These credits are extremely interesting. Very scientifically important.”

You laughed softly. The piano music filled the room as the final scene faded to black. Neither of you moved. At some point during the movie, Ryland’s thumb had started absentmindedly brushing across your knuckles, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. And honestly? This was the best thing that had happened to him since waking up alone on the Hail Mary.

You liked him. You stayed close to him. You didn’t look at him strangely when his jokes failed spectacularly. Your warmth beside him already felt dangerously important.

“Ryland?”

Your quiet voice pulled him from his thoughts. He looked down, only now realizing you’d lifted your head to look at him. Sleepiness lingered in your eyes.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated before speaking. “Do you think maybe…” You swallowed nervously. “We could sleep next to each other?”

His eyebrows shot upward, and you rushed to explain.

“I mean… not like that. We could just push the mattresses together. I just…” You looked away briefly. “I hate being alone here. It’s terrifying.”

He understood immediately. “I’m pretty sure HR would have concerns about this.”

You smiled. 

“But scientifically speaking,” he continued, slipping easily into lecture mode, “there are studies showing people sleep better beside someone they trust. Lower stress levels, better recovery, improved mental stability…”

“I was literally about to say that.”

“Well, good. Nice to know we’re both committed to science.”

You stood up almost at the same time. Your fingers remained intertwined. Grounding. Safe. Real.

As the two of you walked back toward the sleeping quarters together, warmth spread steadily through Ryland’s chest. For the first time in a very long while, hope didn’t feel impossible anymore.

“You don’t look fine.” Your eyes scanned him carefully, searching for more cuts, more bruises.

Holland shrugged and tossed his jacket onto a chair, nearly losing his balance in the process. “The other guy looked worse.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Was it supposed to be?”

You stepped closer and quickly pulled the other chair out for him. “Sit down. I’ll get the first aid kit and…”

“I said I’m fine.” This time his voice was firmer.

“Jesus, Holland, you’re bleeding.”

“And you’re overreacting.”

There was something rough in his tone that made you stop mid-step. Still, you quickly convinced yourself he was just exhausted. It was well past midnight, and the state he came home in made it obvious the night had gone badly.

Carefully, you reached for his hand. “Please, baby. Let me help you.”

But he yanked his arm away so sharply you actually flinched backward. “I said stop.”

Silence. Time seemed to freeze for a few heartbeats.

You swallowed hard. “Why are you acting like this?” you asked quietly, even though it felt like you were standing on thin ice.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m doing something to you. I don’t know…”

Holland let out a bitter laugh and headed for the kitchen. “Because apparently everyone thinks I need saving these days.”

You frowned, confused, but followed him anyway. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s in your eyes.”

He grabbed a glass and filled it with water. That was when you noticed the skin on his knuckles had been split open.

“Holland… Sweetie…”

He swallowed a few mouthfuls before setting the glass down against the counter with a sharp clink.

“What?” he snapped suddenly, spinning around toward you. “You got another speech prepared? Gonna tell me I drink too much again? Or that I get punched too often? Or maybe I screwed something else up, huh?”

Your lips parted in surprise, and for a moment you couldn’t answer.

“I’m worried about you,” you finally managed quietly.

“Yeah? I’m getting a little tired of that, sweetheart.” His jaw tightened. “You turning me into some kind of fucked up project you wanna fix?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You really don’t know?” His eyes darkened as he looked at you — anger, frustration, fear all tangled together. “You’re always trying to fix me. Change me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You think so?” He planted his hands on his hips, staring at you.

“Yes.” You stepped closer despite every instinct telling you not to. “I love you. I’m trying to help you. Support you.”

“Help me? Support me?” Holland mocked with a sharp laugh. “Wow. That’s sweet. Here I was thinking you were just trying to repair everything broken inside me.”

“Holland…”

“No, go ahead. Be honest for once. I will too.” His voice rose as he held up a hand, ticking points off on his fingers. “You want me sober. Responsible. Reliable. Someone you can count on. You want me to…”

“I want you alive!” you cut in suddenly.

That shut him up. Tears burned painfully behind your eyes already. Your throat felt so tight it hurt to swallow. How had things gotten this bad in only a few minutes? You were standing there like enemies when all you had wanted was to help him.

But Holland was too angry now, too deep inside whatever panic had taken hold of him. He had latched onto one fear and refused to let it go. When he spoke again, his voice had gone cold.

“You want me to be someone else. Someone better. For you.”

“That’s not true,” you whispered. “You know it isn’t.”

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” He stepped closer. Slow. Predatory. “The way you look at me. The way you lecture me. I see the disappointment every time I screw something up.”

“I’m not disappointed in you.”

“You should be.”

You felt suddenly small in front of him. Vulnerable. He had to see it, but he kept going anyway, and every word hurt worse than the last.

“You know what?” His jaw clenched tightly. “What you’re doing to Holly… that’s not fair.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

“She got attached to you.” His gaze dropped away like he couldn’t bear looking at you anymore. “You let her think you’d always be around. That she could rely on you. That you two were… friends or something.”

“I never lied to her. How can you even say that?”

Dragging Holly into this felt like a punch below the belt.

Holland shook his head. “You’re playing house, and eventually she’s gonna need you. Then you’ll leave.”

“That’s cruel.”

“Cruel?” he scoffed. “You know what’s cruel? When you finally realize I’m exactly as messed up as you expected, that you can’t fix me, and you leave anyway.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly with the back of your hand.

“You wouldn’t be saying this if you weren’t drunk,” you said, voice trembling with emotion. “I don’t know what you’re so scared of that you’re trying to hurt me first, but this isn’t you.”

Something flickered across his face for half a second. Regret or pain. But the damage had already been done, and when he spoke again, it felt like the final blow.

“Maybe you should find somebody you actually deserve.”

The world stopped. The silence afterward was terrifying.

You stared at the man you loved as if he had suddenly become a stranger. Your mind went completely blank. You couldn’t force a single word out.

You didn’t hear the floor creak behind you.

“Dad?”

Both of you turned toward the hallway. Holly March stood there in her pajamas, eyes still sleepy, but awake enough to understand exactly what she was seeing. The shouting must have woken her.

“What happened?” she asked quietly. “Are you fighting?”

Neither of you answered. It was you who moved first. Slowly, mechanically, because you couldn’t feel anything anymore, you reached for your coat hanging beside the door. That sobered Holland up almost instantly.

“Wait,” he said.

You ignored him, trying to push your shaking hands through the sleeves.

“Dad? What’s going on?” Holly’s gaze darted between the two of you, panic and confusion spreading across her face.

“She’s leaving,” Holland muttered.

And the second the words left his mouth, he felt sick. Because it sounded real. Too real. The moment you grabbed your keys, he finally stepped toward you.

“Hey, hey. Wait a second...”

But you couldn’t even look at him anymore. You didn’t want him near you. Didn’t want him touching you, speaking to you, looking at you.

Holly shifted nervously on her bare feet. “But… you’re coming back, right?” she asked softly. “You’ll come back to us?”

That stopped you for a moment. Your fingers tightened painfully around your keys. You didn’t know what to say. Promises would’ve been cruel. Giving her hope only to rip it away later. Your silence was enough. Holly’s eyes widened. She didn’t move as you opened the door, letting freezing night air spill into the house.

“Baby,” Holland tried again, his voice quieter now. Almost pleading. “Please.”

But it was too late. Too many blows had landed for you to stay. A moment later, all they heard was your engine starting and your car disappearing down the empty street.

Holly slowly turned toward her father, fury burning in her eyes. “You ruined everything,” she said accusingly.

“Holly…”

“I hate you!” she screamed. “You always do this! She loved us! She was ours! And now we’re gonna be alone forever because you can’t stop being scared!”

“Baby…” Holland looked at his daughter with naked shame. He stepped toward her, but she backed away.

“You said those things to her… How could you?” Her voice cracked. “You wanted her to leave! You’re a fucking coward!”

And the worst part was that  she was right. He knew she was.

He watched Holly disappear into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her, and all he could think was that she was absolutely right. He had been so terrified of getting hurt that he struck first. Even when you were vulnerable. Even when, like always, you had only been reaching for him. You had never done a single thing to hurt him, and he had thrown every cruel word he could find directly into your face. 

Holland collapsed heavily onto the couch and dragged both hands over his face, feeling them shake. Then he looked up. Your sweater still lay over the back of the couch. Your earrings rested on the coffee table. The book you had been reading while waiting for him was still there.

Everything was there except you.

And suddenly the house felt unbearably empty. He sat alone in the dark, feeling like someone had ripped his heart out and thrown it into a blender. Every word he’d said echoed mercilessly in his skull until it made him sick. He couldn’t believe this had happened. That he had done this. But he had, and now he had to live with it.

He ruined everything.

Exactly like he always knew he would.

holly was reteaching him how to drive a car by spewing unsolicited advice at every street sign. they were cruising by yet another beach. a particularly bad investigation hit him and healy last weekend, and it left him bruised up like a dropped mango. he had a black eye and a trickle of purple dots from the neck to the chest. doctors also suspected his ankle might have been sprained, but so far there had been no clear signs, which was enough for him to pop a few pain pills and call it a day. his hands were good too. at least, his left hand was. the knuckles on his right were wrapped in gauze that would not stop staining. no matter. he kept that hand on his lap as he drove with his left. but the suckiest part was that they didn't even solve the case. a man named mr. watkins was still missing and they had ran out of clues.

"i don't think jess is gonna notice one cookie out of a dozen missing," he was telling holly, ignoring her backseat driving.

"it's called a dozen for a reason, dad. it's a number. and i baked enough cookies specifically for me and her family."

"ah! it's actually 'her family and i,'" he corrected and beckoned his hand again. still, nothing dropped.

"no, it's 'me and her family.' the choice between 'me' or 'i' depends on how the sentence would sound without the additional object."

holland readjusted in his seat. "... you and her family," he muttered.

if his memory served him right, jess' place would be two streets down to the left, then another three streets until they got to a two story house on the slope of mitchell drive. he turned down his music to focus a little more, but suddenly two hands grabbed his shoulders from behind. "w-wait, that's her house!"

holland screamed and his head whipped to check all surroundings, then followed holly's pointed finger to see a different two story house, five streets before the expected destination. his daughter's grip was so tight, he pulled over regardless and turned into a calmer street to park by the sidewalk. "you sure? i could have sworn it was a little farther down."

but holly was adamant. "nope, this is it," and she jumped out of the car like a bat out of hell. holland looked around again.

"but we saw that motorcycle accident by the four-way stop," he said, half to holly and half to himself. weird. normally, he didn't doubt holly on these things, but the motorcycle was a pretty vivid memory. they saw it together two weeks ago, right after healy told him the story of his worst crash. it made holland want to puke.

just like that, holly was gone with the bag of cookies in her hand. he settled into the driver's seat and watched her carefully tread up to the stairs, but still keeping her head high. he thought to say hello to the parents. surprisingly, he hit it off with them last time. maybe he should go after holly, he thought. he rested his arm on the outside of the car and saw the door open after three polite knocks.

jess' parents didn't greet her at the door, though, unless jess' mom got a new haircut, hair color, style, and shoes. from afar, he couldn't see much. the woman was young, maybe his age (jess' parents waited a long while before kids), and dressed casually. she spoke to holly with a calm expression, but guarded in a way. did they get jess a babysitter? no, holly baked for their family. and he wasn't even sure this was the right house. but again, it was hard to doubt holly when she was usually right about everything.

you were the one actually at the door. you were trying to do your own research on your latest case, but someone knocked at the door, not like you were expecting anyone. your new air freshener already got delivered yesterday. still, you opened it and were met with a sweet, blonde teenage girl.

"excuse me," she said politely, and asked if this was the house of a person with the same name as yours. naturally, you said she had the right person, and she nodded, pleased with herself. "my name is holly march and i'm looking to ask you a couple questions about a man named mr. watkins."

you huffed out a laugh, intrigued but incredibly confused. the girl was well spoken, but she couldn't have been older than twelve, and what was her involvement with mr. watkins? "i'm sorry, i'm not too sure i follow," you said politely.

she seemed to grow irritated and covered the reaction poorly with a deep breath. "mr. watkins was an insurance agent on the edge of california that went missing approximately a week ago. i'm trying to find information about his most recent whereabouts and what occurred before his disappearance, and i was told you might have some intel."

you smiled at the bizarre nature of this conversation. she was talking about a real case that you were very well aware of, but she sounded like a spy in a children's television show. "i don't think i have any information you would want," you replied, still trying to figure out how in the world this girl got your address. "barely learned anything about the guy when i was involved with his family."

"miss, if you would cooperate, i promise this will be both quicker and easier for the both of us," she insisted, and you bit back the bigger smile that threatened to appear on your face. this girl was half a foot shorter than you, not to mention with a bag of cookies in her hands.

you pointed at them, unable to resist. "you gonna bribe me with these next?"

she didn’t find it funny. you did, though. and luckily, you didn’t have to answer to whatever scripted lecture she was going to put you through, because holland finally figured, ‘yeah, there’s no way this is where jess lives. i commented on the front yard ‘cause of their dog statue outside and they said it was the shining star of their decor—so where the hell is it?’ and he walked over.

his footsteps grew closer, which caused holly’s shoulders to tense and refuse to turn. something was definitely wrong. he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pride. this was why he was a detective. he reached the stoop of the house and invitied himself onto it. he placed his hands upon holly’s shoulders in claiment. “deepest apologies, this is my daughter, i don’t know what she’s—!”

and he froze. quite possibly the most gorgeous woman in the world was standing in the door way, smiling, and looking directly at him. your hair framing your face, your clothes fitting you in all the right ways, the twitch of your nose as you smiled a second longer. you had a way of making casual wear look worthy of a editorial. he didn’t even know if you put on makeup today. maybe it was just your natural glow. was he crazy for already thinking about what to wear for a proposal? holland had a specific type. it wasn’t rare, but he knew what got his attention. and you seemed to had hit the jackpot without even knowing you were on a game show, called “can we kill march with just a look?” he had yet to say anything. but the importance of talking in a conversation hadn’t hit him yet, and instead, he just grasped holly’s shoulders even tighter to ground himself.

your smile never faltered, even as he gaped at you so obviously. instead, you leaned against the door frame and said, “hello.”

“hi,” he squeaked. a beat passed of the two of you just looking at each other, but holly seemed to have other plans that revolved around the logistics of the situation.

she squirmed out of her dad’s touch and announced your name with a tinge of defeat. “she’s another detective in LA looking into mr. watkins' disappearance,” she sighed.

holland was about to cum in his pants. he wiped any possible crumbs that were left on his mustache from breakfast and let out a hiccup of a laugh, nervous and completely out of his depth. “detective! what do you know, a chance to… network, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.” you didn’t miss the way he breathed out those last words. he did, though. he was too caught up in how pleasurable it was.

you crossed your arms and nodded. "nice to meet you too, detective...?"

"march! detective march!" he then felt his suit pockets, knowing damn well he had the flyer healy gave him. "uh, i work with my buddy, healy, we're new on the scene. or, not new, we were just—! we both did our own thing, and now we're together, heh! er, not together, i'm not—! not like there's anything wrong with that." he found his saving grace in his inside pocket, pulling out the small yellow sheet and unfolded it. "we're called the nice guys. it's funny, 'cause!" he cleared his throat. "we can do it the nice way or the... you get it. i thought it was cool. when i first heard it, i mean, i didn't make it up. just in case you didn't... think it was cool." and he finally held it out for you to inspect. "in which case, i can be swayed to think the same."

in his peripherals, he could spot holly visibly upset. he just hadn't had a lot of time recently on the playing field, that's all. he watched you carefully as you checked the paper front and back, then looked back up at him. "i like the graphic. you wanna trade?"

"trade? what do you mean, trade?" he stammered.

you pulled out your wallet and, from that, a business card. white, sleek, semi-matte, with your name and contact information. "i don't have a cool picture of myself on it, but since we're meeting," you offered, then held it out.

he took it with both hands and bowed in thanks. "great! contacts!" he then shook his head. get on track, holland, jesus. "um, again, sorry for bothering you. my daughter's very independent, and my partner and i have been struggling with a watkins case for a while now. she could be a detective someday, not like i recommend it," he said.

you held up a hand and replied, "it's no problem, really. i actually had a mrs. watkins reach out to me and i looked into it for a while, but i had to decline further investigation. i'm just too busy."

"ah, me too. everyone's dying in LA," he replied, leaving out the important fact that this was the first case he and healy have had in a while. they accounted it to a dry spell, or so they thought. "but um, how far did you get with your investigation?"

"i was talking to watkins' ex-wife."

holland paused. "he has an ex-wife?"

you smiled. his somewhat pathetic nature was unknown to him, but you still couldn't help it. there was a level of charm that his stammering held. "how about this: come inside for a drink, i'll tell you what i know, and i'll even throw in a little check-up 'cause those bruises aren't looking great."

holly's eyes lit up for her plan, albeit taking a turn or two, worked out. meanwhile, holland touched his eye unconsciously with his gauzed hand and looked down at his unbuttoned collar, the other bruises on full display. how badly did he look standing next to you? "that's... great. that'd be really great. i hope we wouldn't be disturbing your boyfriend or anything."

"i don't have a boyfriend."

a tiny, passable, desperate noise slipped out of his mouth, which he then stuffed with his gauzed knuckles until he bit down too hard and agitated the wounds; he pulled his hand out after. "that's... wow. me neither."

it took him a second for him to realize it, a second you willingly gave him. when he exclaimed, you just opened the door and said, "come in, detective march."

still recovering from his fumble, he walked in and his daughter followed. "you can call me holland, i don't mind." he turned around and began to walk backwards to keep his eyes on you. "but would you like me to keep formalities with you?"

"you can call me by my first name," you assured, and gently nudged him to turn back around. the brush of your hand made him squirm, but hopefully he hid it well (he didn't). "take a seat. make yourself at home."

your house was nice. extremely comfortable and stylish, but personal. he didn't have the time to look closely at any framed photos, but he spotted a few pictures of family and friends, vacations and award ceremonies. blankets were folded neatly across the couch, shoes were in line at the door, and was that an oil diffuser in the corner? "lovely place you got," he called out, tracing the edges of his gauze with his free hand.

you busied yourself going through your bathroom and office, collecting journals, notes, and your first aid kit that was under the sink. you replied, throwing your voice down the hall, "thank you! i paid it off a year ago." you balanced the items on top of each other, then walked back with the stack of items and placed them on the kitchen island. "want a drink?"

"oh—!" he raised his hand but soon pulled it back. did he really want to drink around you? one drink would turn to two, and then he'd be begging for you to drink his third with him. "i'll just have water," he corrected. he adjusted his hips and leaned back, his arm behind him, and zoned out watching you gather your things.

matter of fact, all he did was watch you. when you replaced his bandages, when you reported what you knew on the watkins. more so whenever you brushed your hair away from your face or laughed at a note you couldn't make out in your books. you were probably telling him really important stuff, but he decided quickly that since holly would remember everything, why bother paying attention? they were on a first-name basis now, he didn't have to be overly professional.

in the midst of you rewrapping his gauze and explaining the last conversation watkins had with his ex-wife, holland blurted out, "so no boyfriend." you raised your brow at him.

"no boyfriend. not for a while," you replied. "the last one didn't like my work hours. said i was putting myself in danger. i think he just didn't like that i came back unharmed from the danger all the time. made it look like i had my shit together. how horrible."

"you really do," he breathed out and held back the urge to look you up and down. no biggie, he could just stare into your eyes. "you got a good job, comfortable life, great house."

"where do you live?"

"not too far from here. got a nice place myself. this is kind of my area. which is why i was so confused when my daughter here tried to trick me into thinking this was her friend's house for me to drop her off at. i know all of LA like the back of my head." he tapped his temple, but in doing so, unraveled the gauze yet to be secured. he panicked, little oh, oh no's leaving his lips, but you grabbed them calmly and rewrapped the losses.

"back of your head, huh? here i thought the saying was back of your hand," you teased. the tiny, little gears in holland's head clicked about, but you continued speaking. "well, mr. march, after i wrap this up, you can take my notes with you back to mrs. march and enjoy a lovely early dinner."

he jumped on the opportunity you gave him, spurting out, "oh, there's no mrs. march." you raised your brows again, this time in acknowledgement. "she died. house fire."

after a quick pause, you dutifully focused on the gauze. you really shouldn't have entertained the flirting, now, huh? you replied with a solemn tone you quickly mustered. "that's horrible, i'm so sorry."

but he shook his head. "no, no, no! it's alright! it was a long time ago. and truth be told, i think she would've taken me down with her if i was home when it happened." he looked up in thought. "both of us knew the relationship would only end if one of us died. we would've done anything to keep arguing with each other."

"huh." you took in this information as you finished securing the gauze. when it was done, you gave it a gentle pat and said, "well, at least you both made peace with it?"

"of course. if it was me that went down, i wouldn't have been too bitter, so i'm sure she was alright going down." a beat passed and he turned his head back to you with a sudden, sweetie-pie smile. "thank you for the check up."

he was a real character, wasn't he? "anytime." this reply caused many scenarios to flash through holland's mind: him appearing at your door, bloodied and bruised, saying in a deep, gravelling voice that he had nowhere else to go. you taking care of him in the bathroom. a steamy make out session in the tub. but he blinked and was back in reality.

"so, if i have any questions or if i can't make out a word or two in your notes?"

"you can call me."

"i'd be happy to come over—i mean, call you," he corrected. you stood up and packed the books and printed packets into a box for him, then escorted him to the front door where you said your goodbyes, not like holland wanted to leave. he had the thought of pretending to faint so you had to take care of him more, maybe bring him to a bedroom, but holly was too excited about the new information.

"been great meeting you. uh, parting gift!" he looked to his daughter and whispered, "the cookies, holly."

she clutched them to her chest. "but they were just a decoy. i was gonna bring them to maxine's tomorrow."

"yeah, you should've thought about that before bringing us to this lovely woman who really helped us out, now give her the cookies."

it wasn't like you couldn't hear, but it felt like familial matters that you shouldn't be intruding on. holly sighed and held out the bag, which you took with a sincere thanks and an additional vague apology, to which holland just waved his hand in dismissal. "you did more than enough," he told you.

you took one final look at him. he wasn't all that bad looking. the mustache, the suit, the slicked back hair that had easily fallen down in the past hour you've been together. again, the messy, pathetic nature of it all was a little endearing. he definitely noticed you looking too, because he gave you some eyes of his own, looking you up and down and smiling with a little more flirt. "get home safe," you said.