Boo

you groaned. “i got a terrible grade on my exam, which basically means i need a perfect score on the next one if i don't want to fail the whole course. and you know what's even worse? she tells us our grades one week before the final exam.”

your forehead found its familiar place against his chest.

“it's not fair.”

ryland wrapped his arms around you automatically.

“okay,” he said. “we can make you a study program.” his fingers combed gently through your hair.

you froze. slowly, you lifted a hand and pushed against his chest until you could look at him.

“a study program?” you repeated.

ryland blinked.

“yeah?”

“ryland, what?”

“if you struggled on the last exam, we can prepare you better for—”

“‘we’?” you interrupted. “ryland, don't use your teacher voice with me.”

his expression immediately tightened.

“what?”

“you know exactly what i mean.”

you bent down to grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you headed towards the bedroom.

“a study schedule? seriously? i'm not twelve, ryland.”

“that's not what i meant.”

“you always do this.” you dumped your things beside the bed and started straightening the blanket just to give your hands something to do. “i swear, you always do this.”

“do what?”

"talk to me like i'm a kid."

ryland rubbed the back of his neck.

"i don't do it on purpose. you know my job. i spend most of my day with kids."

you laughed, short and humorless.

"and i spend most of my day with diplomats and international policy analysts. funny how i don't come home and talk to you like you're a fucking ambassador."

"that's not the same."

"why not?"

"because teaching is a profession—"

"oh, wow,” you stared at him. “oh, wow!”

the realization seemed to hit him half a second too late.

"no, that's not what i—"

"and mine is what?" you snapped. "watching the news and talking about how it makes me feel?"

his mouth opened, then closed.

"you're really on a streak today, honey."

ryland exhaled sharply, “i didn't mean that your degree isn't important."

“but that's what you said.”

“that's not what i meant.”

“but that's exactly what you said.”

"you're twisting my words."

you laughed again, bitterly. “am i?”

ryland crossed his arms. “you know what? you're the one that told me before that you weren't even sure your major was going to get you a job,” he mumbled under his breath, bitterly.

the second the words left his mouth, his eyes widened. you felt something in your chest crack, you'd told him that on one of your worst nights. curled up beside him at two in the morning.

terrified about your future, terrified that everyone around you seemed smarter and more prepared than you. you'd trusted him with that fear.

and now he was throwing it back at you.

“alright,” you said, dryly.

ryland's face immediately fell.

“no, no. that's not—”

“go fuck yourself, ryland.”

“i didn't mean it like that.”

“no, really.” you shook your head. “go fuck yourself.”

you walked past him.

“sweetheart—”

“don't even.”

he stopped. you reached the bedroom door, hand hovering over the knock.

“seriously,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “just leave me alone.”

the door slammed behind you. you let out the longest sigh you could manage before collapsing onto the bed. and outside the bedroom door, you could hear ryland pacing.

——

twelve hours later, you were still angry.

the two of you spent most of saturday moving around each other like strangers sharing the same apartment. every interaction was reduced to the minimum.

he drank his coffee standing by the counter instead of sitting beside you, and by dinner, the silence had become exhausting.

you picked at your food while ryland washed dishes afterward. the only sounds in the apartment were the running water and the occasional clink of ceramic plates.

you hated how empty the apartment felt. dropping heavily onto the couch, you grabbed the controller and turned on the tv. anything to stop thinking about the fight.

behind you, ryland continued washing dishes.

a few minutes passed, the sound of running water stopped. he lingered in the kitchen.

you could practically hear him thinking. the floor creaked beneath his steps. suddenly, there was a familiar weight sinking into the opposite end of the couch. you didn't even glance at him.

ryland sat there quietly, pretending to watch whatever random show was playing. testing the waters. you refused to acknowledge his existence.

then you heard him sigh, loudly. your eye twitched.

another dramatic sigh.

without a word, you stood up. the movement immediately caught his attention. you grabbed the remote, clicking the television off and heading towards the bedroom.

behind you, ryland groaned. “oh, come on.”

the bedroom door wasn't even halfway closed before he appeared behind you. you could feel his eyes on you. the guilt was practically radiating off him.

he cleared his throat, you started scrolling through your phone, videos at full volume.

he sighed again. “are we really doing this?”

“doing what?” you asked, finally looking up.

“the silent treatment.”

you stared at him, mouth shut. ryland stared back.

“you know,” he said carefully, “for someone studying diplomacy, you're surprisingly bad at conflict resolution.”

the glare you sent him could have vaporized steel. ryland immediately pointed at you.

“okay. see? that was a joke. that was a joke.”

you grabbed a pillow and pointed it at him. “i’m going to count to three,” you warned. “one. two—”

“okay! i'm sorry! i'm really sorry!”

the pillow still flew across the room, hitting him square in the face. his glasses tumbled off and landed on the carpet.

ryland gasped. “you— you knocked my glasses off!”

“you don't even wear them properly!”

he pointed at himself, still in disbelief. “you just threw a pillow at me.”

“and you deserved it.”

ryland stood up. “you are impossible.”

you scoffed. “then don't date someone younger!”

the words slipped out before you could stop them. ryland's expression tightened. you hated how quickly the hurt flashed across his face.

your fingers curled into fists.

“apologize.”

“i just did.”

“no.” you shook your head. “that was a pity apology.” you sat back against the headboard. “i want a real apology.”

“i’m sorry, sweetheart—”

you immediately held up a hand. “nope.”

his mouth fell open. “what do you mean, ‘nope’?”

“start over.”

“what?”

“i didn't like it.” you pointed at him. “start over.”

“i can't believe you.”

“you can't believe me?” you shot back. “you spent twelve hours hovering around me like a weirdo instead of apologizing like a normal person.”

“you are the pettiest person i have ever met.”

you looked towards the mirror hanging on the wall. “look in there before making accusations,” then you pointed at the bedroom door. “now get out, or apologize”

ryland didn't move.

“seriously?”

“seriously.”

he folded his arms; you folded yours harder.

“what do you want me to do, huh?” he gestured wildly. “beg? get down on my knees? ‘cause at this point, i'll do it.”

you blinked, and the annoyance in your expression slowly disappeared. a small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

“actually, yes.” you pointed towards the floor. “kneel.”

“you can't be serious.”

“you didn't understand me the first time? i said kneel. k-n-e—”

“okay, okay, i got it,” he interrupted. “i can't believe this is my life.”

“still not kneeling.”

with another groan, ryland slowly lowered himself onto his knees. “there. happy?”

“no.”

he stared at you. “no?”

“no.” you crossed your arms. “apologize properly.”

“i’m sorry for talking down to you.”

you didn't correct him this time, so he continued.

“i know that's what i did, even if i didn't mean to.” his voice had lost its usual defensiveness. “i heard you were stressed, and instead of listening, i immediately tried to solve the problem.”

you shifted slightly, closer to him.

“i do that a lot.”

“yeah,” you muttered.

“yeah.” he nodded. “i know your degree matters to you. i know you've worked hard for it.” his expression tightened. “and bringing up what you told me about being worried about your future was a terrible thing to say.”

the fight suddenly didn't feel quite as funny anymore.

“i shouldn't have thrown that back at you.”

you looked down at your hands. “i told you that because i trusted you.”

“i know, i'm sorry,” he muttered, impossibly soft. he looked genuinely miserable while saying it. “i was frustrated, and i said something cruel. you didn't deserve that.”

the silence stretched between you.

“you're still a bad boyfriend.”

ryland let out a laugh. “that's fair.”

“and annoying.”

“also fair.”

“and kind of an idiot.”

“definitely fair.”

you felt a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. ryland immediately spotted it, eyes lit up.

“don't look so proud of yourself.” you squinted your eyes at him again.

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

“i’m just relieved you're smiling again.” ryland looked down at himself, still kneeling. “can i get up now?”

“hmm. you haven't really made it up for me yet,” you said, tilting your head with a teasing smile.

he exhaled sharply through his nose as he slid both hands under your thighs. in one swift motion, he yanked you forward and off the edge of the bed.

With the safe return of the beetles, the Saving Grace has become a luxury starliner meant for tours of the solar system. Despite the fact that the ship is equipped for a hundred years of food and supplies for a max capacity of 1000 passengers, designed with entire greenhouse floors dedicated to crops, miniature forests, and mental health wards in case of a ship or engine failure of any kind that leaves the ship stranded on the edge of the solar system, the World Governments refuse to send the ship beyond our solar system.

Massive protests are held. Riots fill the streets. Why won’t they go get our savior, Ryland Grace, or at least bring him good supplies? Why won’t they go on an ambassadorial mission to Erid?

Too dangerous. Not enough astronauts with the coma genes necessary for a journey that long.

A crew of bipedal robots keeps the ship in order. There are swarms of guardbots, utilizing weapons powered by astrophage. Astroblasters, or simply blasters for short, capable of vaporizing someone on contact if turned to the highest setting. The ship pilots itself based on coordinates, and has a fully operational medical bay. It is equipped with starships small enough for groups of people varying between 1-5 people, meant for exploratory missions to the surfaces of other planets for fissionable materials. New exosuits have been developed with fully intelligent systems that monitor life support, suit integrity, atmospheric anomalies, and jetpacks meant for very short flight.

If the ship were to go dead, its prime directive is to return to proper functionality and return to Earth for full repairs, but fissionable materials brought to crewbots– if requirements are met– can be used in place of Earth-made materials. If a threat were to infiltrate the ship, guardbots would run defensive and offensive operations, but a crewbot or medbot would ignore them and run as intended, treating threat or friend the same. It can recognize animals and differentiate pets from pests– so if someone's dog or cat gets loose, a guardbot won't harm it, but if it sees a rat, it will be vaporized. The ship itself doesn’t know the difference between friend or foe, but will always course-correct to return to Earth.

The first day of launch is May 16th a little over a year from now. Day one, everyone's gonna EXPECT something to go horribly, catastrophically wrong. This has never been done before, but neither has a heist on this scale. 

There will be hundreds of human guards outside, watching for the slightest sign of dissent.”

Stepping back from your huge whiteboard covered in various colors of dry erase marker, you circled the passenger quarters on the middle deck of the ship. “Once we're here, we can hide in our rooms and trigger the ship's fire alarms. We can call in a bomb threat here and here, and the automated systems will believe the ship is under attack. They'll forcibly disembark the crew, evacuating everyone on board. That's where we hide in these vents here, using the coolant from the personal air conditioning units in each suite to hide our heat signatures from the guardbots. We'll stay hidden for 30 minutes until the ship enters lockdown mode, and after that we'll have to fight our way to the control room, where I can input new coordinates to take us to Tau Ceti.”

Aggressively, you circled a large red orb on the far edge of the whiteboard. A red orb 6 lightyears away where the love of your life currently is trying to save an entire alien species.

Done with your half-assed presentation, you turned to face your rapt audience: Your mother. 

She sat with her hands folded in her lap, scrutinizing the plan with squinted eyes and a frown. She said nothing, however, prompting you to continue.

“We’re gonna need a lot of training. A lot of it we won’t be able to do professionally, but some of it– fighting, weapons, that kind of stuff– we can. I already went and got my EMT certification; not exactly medical school, but the best we can do right now. Otherwise, we’ve got deep pockets. I’m more than confident we can do this.”

You were talking to a very silent crowd. Your mother lowered her gaze to her lap sullenly. She'd always been… as supportive one could be of their child going on a suicide mission. But she knew how much you loved Ryland. Enough to dedicate your whole life to a lost cause, apparently.

No one in their right mind, no matter how much they loved their partner, would risk a global terrorism charge by stealing a starliner to go rescue them. By the time you got to Ryland, he’d be much older than you, or possibly dead. So why go at all?

Because Earth was dying. After the astrophage farms in the Sahara, the bombing of Antartica, and World War III, astrophage became commonplace. The very reason your lover had been shot out of orbit was being used for everything. Bullet trains that could get you from San Francisco to New York in five minutes. Those astroblasters utilized by the militaries and guardbots on the Saving Grace. A genuine spaceforce; the first war fought in space looked like a meteor shower. It was an incredibly dangerous power; there were a lot of accidents in the first few years of astrophage technology development. Lots and lots of people died. Contaminants made certain areas toxic. Whole countries were blown off the map. Apparently that didn’t matter to anyone as development kept steamrolling. Smog from the Saharan astrophage farms– which had been added to– blanketed the lower atmosphere in a choking blackness that made daylights eternally gray and nights without stars. You couldn’t even look through a telescope at Tau Ceti anymore and pretend to see the Hail Mary. And that was only in the last four years.

The construction of the Saving Grace had given people hope when it was to be used as an escape capsule, but it was only built for 1000 people, max. The elites. The rest of you were supposed to suffer. The beetles returned early last year, and now that the sun was “saved,” it was just a starliner– a very expensive starliner. 

Which was where you got stuck. You couldn’t find another way aboard except for direct entry, and you’d studied the plans of the ship since Stratt had sent you all of Ry’s video logs. You’d cried yourself to sleep every night then, grieving him all over again. But… Once you had this idea…

“Y/N…” Your mother said softly, as though she were trying to break the news to you very gently. “Have you even talked to him since Grace left?”

You drummed the marker against the palm of your opposite hand, biting your lip. “Well… No, but–”

“So you’re just going to drop this plan on him and expect him to go along with it just because that’s his brother?” Your mother had a very, very valid point. 

Colt Seavers wasn’t a very forgiving person. At least, not that you’d seen.

The stuntman was Ry’s identical twin brother. Sort of. Colt was beefier, his dark blond hair accented with frosted tips and he usually had more of a beard than Ry had. You could always easily tell them apart, but it wasn’t exactly like they were attached at the hip.

When you’d met Ry, they were at odds. Their parents had died about a year before you met them, and Colt had apparently not shown up because of the production of the movie Metalstorm. It put a bit of a wrench in their relationship, to the point that Ry officially changed his last name to his middle name: Grace. It was kind of a dig at Colt, who’d always made fun of his middle name when they were kids. It was no different than Colt’s middle name, Ry would always mutter; despite the fact that Colt would cheesily tell you his middle name was “danger,” Colt’s middle name was actually Hope. You always found that morbidly funny. The motto had been coined shortly after launch: Believe in the Hail Mary, full of Grace. And now, Colt was your last hope of getting him back.

Granted, the brothers had made up after finding out the sun was dying. 

And every. Single. Time. He was the most arrogant, annoying dick you’d had the displeasure of knowing. He always greeted you with condescension, like you were some sweet little thing made of glass. You could be sweet, but the second he started treating you like you were just a dainty thing that needed to be taken care of, oh boy. Ry had never seen you so angry. You could be dainty, but you could take care of yourself. It was something Ry had always admired in you, but Colt made it his mission to ragebait you into losing your cool, and the worst part was it always worked.

You really did like Jean-Claude, though. He was only a puppy last time you saw him, but you loved that dog. 

Last time you’d seen Colt hadn’t gone very well, either.

“Y/N–” Your mom sighed, standing abruptly from her chair. “Do you know where he is?”

Ah, a moment of small triumph. “Yes, I do. I got his location from Jody. He’s in L.A. right now.” According to your mutual friend, he hadn’t done any stunt work since Ry had been forced onto the Hail Mary. He’s been living in a hotel and drowning in grief, booze, and clubs. 

Your mom glared at you from the kitchen island. “After last time, I don’t exactly expect him to help you at all. That boy can’t even help himself. And I thought you hated him, anyway?”

“I do,” You scoffed, tossing the marker back into the cup and joining your mom in the kitchen. “But he’s the only part of Ry I have left.” 

“It’ll hurt,” She warned, “He’s got Grace’s face, and his voice.” You’d already thought of that. You weren’t sure how you were going to handle it, but it probably wasn’t going to go well at all.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t know how I’m gonna deal with it.” You rubbed your hands down your face. “I’m leaving for L.A. tonight. Colt won’t answer his phone.”

“Have you gotten anyone else on board?” Your mom started stirring her tea, using the cup to warm her hands after a moment. “If Colt does go, you two will be the only humans for… How long?”

“Four years,” You answered, holding back the disgust and anxiety clogging your throat. “Four horrible, awful years of isolation with Colt Seavers. Because, no. Stratt’s number doesn’t work anymore, she’s probably off-grid somewhere.” No surprise there. She was wanted worldwide. “Jody’s response was asking if I needed to be committed to a mental institute.” 

“Maybe you do,” Your mom sighed. She hated this. You knew she did. After Ry was gone and you shakily returned from Baikonur alone, you’d lost your house, your job, everything. Stratt had set you up with a considerable sum of money, but you’d stowed it safely away and only bought a kitten, a ragdoll mix you named Tau, and moved in with your mother to process the grief. And Tau only came along because your mother forced you to buy her as emotional support. You’re glad she did. The cat followed you everywhere now.

Like now, as she wrapped around your legs and yowled for a snack, despite the fact that you’d just fed her this morning. “Goodness, Tau-Tau. You’re gonna get chonky if you keep this up.”

Yowl. Absolutely no shame for her biblical levels of greed.

You smacked the kitchen counter decisively. “I’ve gotta go pack to see my lost boyfriend’s identical copy who hates me. I’ll probably return empty-handed.”

Your mom only shook her head as you made your way up to your room.

When you got off the plane, the first thing you did was try Colt’s number one more time. You knew it was in vain, but you listened to it ring, and ring, and–

“Hello?”

He sounded… Gruff. Tired. There was loud music behind him, like he was at a bar. He probably was, honestly. But… God, he sounded just like Ry. Of course he did. Your heart clenched as your breath hitched. “Colt?”

“Yes. Obviously. You’ve called me six times today. What do you want?”

“You’re so snotty, for absolutely no reason. Rude-ass.” Defense was your only protection right now. If you didn’t snark, you might sob, and then this phone call would be ruined.

“Did you seriously call me just to berate me? What do you want?” You could feel him pinching the bridge of his nose– no, no, that was Ry. Tears stung the corners of your eyes. This isn’t Ry. 

“No. Sorry.”

“You’re apologizing? Who the hell is this? This isn’t Y/N.”

“Shut up, Colt.”

“Nevermind. There she is. Sorry, I was confused.”

“We need to talk.”

“Do we? I thought the only reason we communicated in the first place was jettisoned into space against his will.”

You sighed through your nose. This was going about as well as you expected. “That’s what we have to talk about. Please, Colt? I’m in L.A.”

“You’re– what– ughhhhhhhhhh–” His huff turned into a trailing growl of frustration. “Why?”

“I have a plan to get him back, Colt.”

There was silence on the other end for a minute. Well, at least, silence from Colt. The music still raged. You wondered if maybe he’d put the phone down and walked away– “You’re fucking crazy. I’m hanging up. Go back home.”

“Hang up on me, and I’ll find you anyway and beat your ass back to stardust,” You snapped, harsher than you meant it. Adrenaline flooded your veins. You really did not want to drive aimlessly around the bad parts of L.A. looking for him. You had his location from 2 days ago, and according to Jody he didn’t even have a car right now, so surely he’s not gone far; but still. “Colt, please. Please, talk to me. Let me tell you my plan. If you don’t like it, I’ll go back home and you’ll never have to hear from me again.”

“...Must be pretty important if you’re begging like that.”

“I’m not begging.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Colt–”

“Go home, Y/N.”

“You owe me,” The tears came now, harsh and hot and unforgiving as you struggled to keep your voice straight. “You left me, Colt. I had nothing, I had no one, Ry was gone and I had no idea how to get out of Baikonur because Stratt and her fucking gang of goons left in a hurry to oversee the launch. I was trying to grieve and survive and I thought you would stay. We weren’t close, I won’t pretend to that, but the least you could have done was helped me. I could’ve helped you. But no, you went and beat the shit out of Stratt’s guys and it’s by her few good graces you weren’t arrested for assault. I didn’t even have a car, Colt. You fucking drove away, you could’ve at least taken me to the nearest city. I walked for two days to find a town and I almost got assaulted by a bunch of guys because you weren’t there. I watched the Hail Mary launch alone. So before you tell me to go home, the least you could do is listen to me.”

Silence again. Your haggard breaths felt relieving almost as you tried to stop your sobs. You could still hear the music of the bar, but it felt distant as you relived the memory of Colt abandoning you just because Ry was gone. “...I’m at the Vienna Pub. I’ll text you the address. They close at one, but I’ll wait outside for you if you’re not here yet.” You sucked in a breath of relief. “...Do you want me to… I dunno, do you want me to stay on the phone until you get here?”

The thought repulsed you. That’d be awkward. A spark of satisfaction lingered in your chest that you made him feel bad for leaving you that day. “No, thanks. I’m on my way.” You snatched your luggage and rushed for the entrance.

“Just… Keep your doors locked. There’s a lot of weird people around here. Look around at stoplights. Text me when you’re here, I don’t know what you’re driving.”

“It’s a shitbox. The cheapest thing I could rent.”

“Sounds like you to drive a shitbox.”

“Fuck off, Colt. And for the record, I don’t need you to be my guard dog now. You’re a few years too late, buddy.”

“Well, for your records, I’m sorry.”

“You can’t apologize when prompted to, asshole.”

“I really am… Sorry.” Colt repeated. “...I wasn’t really thinking.”

“I already knew that. There are never any thoughts behind your eyes.”

You heard him sigh again. It reminded you of when Ry would get frustrated with one of his students. You wiped your tears away and sniffed heartily as you started searching for a taxi. “Are you crying?”

“Allergies,” You lied, which he didn’t buy.

“I’m sorry for not talking to you, too. There, that one was unprompted.”

“You want praise for apologizing? Taxi!” You waved down the yellow car nervously. Your phone dinged and you glanced at the text to see Colt’s number and an address.

“No, I’m genuinely sorry for not talking to you. I’d just like it to be acknowledged.”

“It’s okay, you only ignored my 200 calls that first year Ry was gone.”

“Every time I thought of calling or texting you, all I could see was him,” Colt admitted softly, “I just… It would’ve been weird talking to you without Ry’s input.”

You climbed into the taxi and paid him, shielding the phone against your chest as you asked to be taken to the rental place. “And how weird do you think it’s going to be for me, huh? It’s not like you’re his identical twin or anything.”

Colt hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that is weird.” 

Anxiety twisted in your stomach. “I don’t know how I’m gonna handle it. It might not be great.”

“You can’t really handle much, so it’s not a surprise.”

“Fuck you, Colt. I can handle quite a bit.”

“Sure.” 

“You’re ragebaiting me again.”

“And what if I am? You can’t threaten me until you get here.”

“Yes I can–”

“Oh, yeah, I guess. Stardust. Right. My bad.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No. Tipsy, yes. I’ve had a few drinks.”

“Sounds like you always have a few drinks.” 

“Since Ry, I always have. It helps.”

“Guess I’m driving.”

“I’d rather walk. You drive like you have one eye and a peg leg, so no thanks.”

“I really am going to kick your ass when I get there. After I’ve had a good cry because you look like him.”

“At least you’ve got priorities. So what’s this plan of yours?”

“I’m not gonna tell you in the car, dumbass.”

“You’re the dumbass. You said you weren’t gonna stay on the phone with me, but I tricked you into… Twenty minutes of conversation. Really, it’s just insults, but.”

You paused, trying to comprehend what he was saying. Oh. Wait. Yeah, yeah he did. “You motherfu–”

“One second– what?” You heard him turn his head away from the phone. “I did not spill that drink on you, dude. No, I’ve been perfectly still.” 

Your heart dropped. The last thing you needed was for him to get in a fight. “Colt?”

“Listen, if you’re just looking for a fight, just say so, man. Okay, you know what– Y/N, how far away are you?”

You panicked. “I-I don’t know, like thirty minutes? Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. I’ve gotta go. Hurry up, stardust.”

You didn’t have time to tell him not to call you that or any nickname before he hung up. You let the phone drop. Great. Perfect. You might have to explain your plan from the hospital, but hey, at least he was talking to you now.

When you pulled up in front of the bar, you saw no sign of Colt. Rain had started on your drive here, and now it was pouring. You didn’t want to find him dead in an alleyway somewhere, and worry started to claw at your chest. You didn’t hate Colt that much. You texted him, with a picture of your car that you took before you left. 

Where are you?

The passenger door ripped open and you bit back a scream moments before a bloodied, scruffed-up Colt fell into the seat, keeping his eyes ahead as he hurriedly shut the door. He was sopping wet, frosted hair dripping into his eyes. “I thought I told you to keep your doors locked.”

He didn’t look at you for a minute. Long enough for you to take him in, to see Ryland in him even though they were so different, long enough for your carefully-rehearsed mantras about how this is Colt, not Ry to fly directly out of your head and fall apart. When he looked at you, finally, really looked at you with those deep blue eyes that were a copy of the ones that had been so full of love for you, that’s what did it. You whipped your gaze away, fully aware of Colt’s intense gaze on you.

“Sorry,” You choked, your leg beginning to rapidly bounce as you struggled to regain control of your emotions. Your vision blurred as you stared at the steering wheel. “You just… Yep. Yeah. This is a lot harder… A lot harder than I thought it’d be.”

You jumped when you felt his hand on your back, rubbing gently; he squeezed your shoulder. You didn’t even have the strength to tell him to fuck off, you just put your face in your hands to try and hide your tears. Ry, Ry, Ry, you could only think of him, memories you’d suppressed for fear of feeling his loss as palpably as you were now. 

“Y/N,” Ry– no, fuck, Colt, Colt, Colt. Not Ry. Not. Ry. His voice was surprisingly soft, no hint of sharpness in his voice. This wasn’t the time for grudges. You knew you didn’t like each other, but you’re human. And you both lost the same person you both very deeply loved. You risked a glance at him and broke all over again. It was hard to tell with the blood and dirt and cuts on his face, but he was definitely crying, too. 

“You are four years late to comfort me, Colt.”

That didn’t seem to stop him. He pulled you in for a hug you didn’t resist, squeezing tightly enough to try and hide his own tears. “I know. I’m sorry. I know.”

Even though you were both grieving humans, there was only so much hugs you could take from a person you can’t stand.

You both pushed apart, wiping your tears away. You took in the deep cut on the bridge of his nose and his rainsoaked clothes and reached into your glovebox, taking out a handful of napkins to throw at him. “Really?”

“Clean yourself up. When’s the last time you ate?”

Colt frowned at you, relenting as he took a couple of the napkins to his cuts as he looked in the mirror. “I dunno. This morning, I guess.” He shot you a glare. “God, you’re still so damn bossy. I don’t know how Ry dealt with you.”

“Ry didn’t consider it ‘dealing with me,’ was the first step,” You quipped, pulling out of the parking lot and simultaneously putting in the directions for the nearest Waffle House. Even if Colt didn’t eat, you were starving. “We’re going to Waffle House.”

“Okay. Am I being kidnapped, is that what this is?”

“For now, yes.”

“Glad I understand the situation.” He shoved the unused napkins back into the glovebox unceremoniously. “You gonna explain your daring plan to travel across the universe to get Ry back?”

“It’s 6 light years. Hardly across the universe.”

You saw Colt roll his eyes out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, excuse me, I forgot you’re a science teacher too.” You deigned not to respond to that one. “It must be really out there if you’re coming to me for help. And this is all if he’s not dead, right? Which I’m sure he is.”

“He is not.” Your vehement reply was almost coded into your being, now. Every time someone dared to suggest that Ry was dead, you very kindly explained why he still has enough food. For now. 

“Oh? Really? When did you two talk last? Because last I checked, he’s in fucking space.” 

“Did you watch any of his video logs?” You retorted, glancing at him. Your heart clenched when you looked at him. “At all? He should still have enough food, as of right now. After that, he’ll figure something out.”

“Will he? Kind of sounds like he’ll starve to death.”

“Did you watch them?”

Colt stared out of the window, shaking his head. “...No, I didn’t watch them. I learned everything I needed to know from the news. That he turned around for that alien.”

“Rocky.” Okay. Wow. Dissing Rocky was not cool.

Colt turned to you incredulously. “He named it?”

“Him. Yes. He named him, but he already had a name, because he’s a sentient creature.”

“That… That’s something he’d do.” Colt’s head fell toward his lap; you glanced over to make sure he wasn’t passing out, but then you saw him rubbing his thumb over something small, metallic–

Oh.

His Hail Mary pin.

Ry gave you each one. He’d been so excited about those. Colt’s was rubbed to its gold base, so clearly fiddling with it was a common thing for him. Believe in the Hail Mary, full of Grace. Your chest hurt just looking at it. “No. I didn’t watch them. Every time Stratt sent something, I sent it right back. Eventually they stopped coming.”

You both remained silent on the rest of the drive to Waffle House. When you pulled in, you managed, “I have his videos for you, Colt. I’ll give them to you.”

“I don’t need them.”

“Shut up.” You unbuckled and got out without even waiting for him, rushing for the diner in the pouring rain so you didn’t get too terribly soaked. Once in the lobby, you waited for Colt to step out of the car before you tapped the lock button.

Once inside, you found a table in the far corner of the room and waited for someone to come take your order. Colt shrugged off his jacket, clearly still soaked. He kept glancing at the notebook you pulled out of your own jacket; you’d tried to shield it from the worst of the rain, but some droplets did get through. Luckily, your notes seemed undamaged. “So what’s the plan?” Colt asked. 

“It’s only the biggest heist of all human history.”

Colt rolled his eyes. “Y/N–”

“The plan, in a nutshell, is to book passage to the Saving Grace.” His head fell into his hands, fingers clenching in his blond hair. “Once we’re on board, we’ll trigger the ship’s fire alarms and call in a couple of different bomb threats. The guardbots–”

“Y/N– stop–”

“–Will forcibly evacuate all passengers, but we can hide in the vents in our room with the coolant from the personal air conditioning units so they can’t use their heat sensors to find us. Then we have to fight our way to the control room, where we can input the coordinates to Tau Ceti. But the ship–”

“Y/N.” Colt slammed his hand on the notebook, silencing you as the waitress approached the table. She looked tired, understandably so. She didn’t seem to notice how tense either of you were.

“Hello, I’m Lacy, I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you two started on something to drink?”

Colt spoke first. “Just water please, thank you Lacy.” 

“Same,” You croaked, hating the fact that Colt was right to get you to shut up. “Thanks.”

Colt watched her walk away, and once she was out of earshot, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “So you really are crazy.”

“Probably, yes,” You agreed. Thinking of stealing a whole-ass starliner was definitely insane. 

“So did you just pull this idea out of your ass or something?” Colt demanded, eyes flicking around to watch for the waitress. “You just woke up one day and decided to steal the only functional starship we have? Are you serious? This is what you came to L.A. for?”

You slid him the notebook. “This has everything you need to know. Stratt, when I could still contact her–”

“You talked to her?”

You hated Stratt. You had to. You had to have someone to blame. But you also couldn’t fault her for wanting to save humanity. She cared for Ry too, in her own kind of way. To Colt, you only lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “She could get me the information I needed. She wasn’t on board with it, but she felt like she owed me. Can’t be because she shot my boyfriend into space against his will or anything.” You tapped the notebook pointedly. “I’ve studied ship schematics, how it works, the centrifuge center which makes the artificial gravity, the robots, the ship’s computer systems, everything. I’ve figured out what training we can feasibly get to help us and where we’ll get it; I’ve already got an EMT license. I’ve been working some hospital shifts to get accustomed to emergencies, but it will only be you and me here. We can bring our pets when we first board, thankfully, so at least we’ll have that. And if you’re worried about getting bored, we’ll have mental health rooms with real grass and trees and everything, any video game, book, or movie ever made, an entire floor of arcades, there’s an entire casino, there’s rooms with ziplines and miniature roller coasters and all sorts of other rides. It’s essentially a cruise ship, but in space. And about twice the size of a cruise ship. The ship is built to sustain a max capacity of 1000 people for 100 years, in case the ship goes dead on the edge of the solar system. It has crops, bots to maintain them, livestock, whatever, you name it, it’s got it. It’s everything Ry should have had, but didn’t because they rushed the Hail Mary.”

Colt just… Listened. He flipped through the notebook as he listened to what you were saying, dread in his eyes. The waitress came, dropped off the drinks, and took your food orders, and he still wouldn’t say anything. “...What’s the goal of your plan, here?” Colt finally said, leaning back in his seat. “Just… Go get him? Hope he wants to come home? If he’s not dead? Go live out the rest of our days with him? How old’s he even going to be, huh?”

“Not that much older–”

“So what’s the goal?” Colt countered again. 

“We can either bring him home, or stay there with him,” You explained quickly, feeling rushed. 

Colt shook his head, dropping his gaze back to the notebook. “How long will we be out there?”

This was the tricky part. “So, we won’t experience as much time as Earth years. It’ll be… Different. We’ll be following the Hail Mary’s course, and we can be in a coma for most of that time.”

“How long, Y/N?” 

You shifted in your seat. “...Four years.”

Colt ran his hands down his face. “You want me to spend four years alone with you of all people on a starliner in the middle of nowhere to go save a dead man?”

“You don’t know he’s dead,” You retorted softly, but the argument sounded weak even to your ears. Neither of you said much else as you ate. You paid separately, of course, which the waitress judged Colt for with her eyes. Not very gentlemanly of him, but you can’t blame him. He quietly told you the address of his hotel, which you agreed to drive him to; it wasn’t far at all, but it was still raining. As much as you dislike him, you can’t fathom forcing him to walk home in the pouring rain.

Even though he allowed worse to happen to you, but that was beside the point.

You were nearly there before he spoke again.

"So... you want me to help you steal an entire spaceship and travel to god-knows-where in search of a dead man? And spend four years alone? With you?” Colt repeated your haphazard plan doubtfully, and highly paraphrased.

"You don't know he's dead," you snapped defensively, tired of him saying that. "By my calculations he should have enough food to keep him alive still. And when you say it like that, it sounds impossible."

"Because it is impossible," Colt mumbled softly, tracking raindrops down the windshield with only his eyes. "He went back for that alien." After watching the logs, you thought Rocky was amazing. You wouldn't have left him to die that horrible, painful death either.

"Rocky," you corrected snottily. For the second time. God, does this man ever listen to you?

"He's probably dead by now. He chose an alien--"

"Rocky."

"--Over coming home." He turned his deep blue gaze on you and for a brief second, a pang of grief stabbed at your chest. He looked so much like Ry it hurt, even if he was rougher and scruffier. Colt's voice softened a bit, like he was trying to lessen the blow you'd already been dealt. "You know that, right? He made his choice. And it wasn't us."

You two regarded one another carefully. Years of hate and distaste thrummed between you like an active bomb, just waiting for one of you to press the button and blow everything to hell. You've both done it before. You were both ready for it.

But... he was the last bit of Ry you had left. And you were his. It was a tentative relationship built on eggshells and thin glass over the course of the last hour, and each of you were carrying a sledgehammer.

Ry is still alive out there. You're certain of it. Or, you're not, but you know Ry, and you know the odds. If anyone could survive out there-- even against his will-- it would be Ry. In Ry’s final log to you that Stratt had sent, his words still rang in your head: "I’m sorry. I love you. Live for me.”

So you will. Quite literally giving up your entire life to go get him and bring him home, even if it meant you'd be the only one alive on a ship full of robots. Even if Colt wouldn't help you. Even if Ry was already dead (he wasn't, he can't be), and even if he didn't want to come home. The Eridians seem nice. Surely, it’s better than Earth as long as you’re with Ry. You hated the idea of abandoning your mother, but Ry was a part of you. 

You pulled up in front of Colt's motel then, parking near the door to his room. Paint peeled off of old walls, and you're pretty sure the group of people beside you were engaged in suspicious activities from the way they scattered. A grimace scrunched up your face at the sight of the decrepit place, which was conveniently next to the hotel you’d chosen. "You've been living here? When you've got all those royalties?"

"You act like I'm some big movie star," Colt scoffed, pushing open his door before the car fully stopped. "Most of it stays in the bank, anyway." Ah, yes. Good. He hadn't spent his last dime, the second biggest reason you needed his help in the first place. The tickets were too much for you and your science-teacher-turned-medic-and-factory-worker-just-to-pay-the-bills-salary.

Colt started to step out of the car until you lunged across the center console, snatching his jacket in your fist. He probably could've just easily pulled out of your grip, but he froze.

"The Saving Grace leaves port on the 16th of May next year on her maiden voyage. Everyone's going to be on edge, waiting for something to go wrong. It'll be the perfect time. Ticket sales open at midnight tonight. If you don't help me buy them, I'll find another way to get on board." You shoved the USB stick full of Ry's video logs for Colt and the napkin with your phone number in his pocket before he could resist. You wanted to watch them yourself, but it felt like intruding on a highly private moment. You could never bring yourself to do it. "Just watch these, will you? For Ry. Not for me. I'll be at the Hyatt across the street. Room 325. If you make up your mind, call me. Or just show up, I don't care. I'll be there till noon tomorrow."

Colt didn't say anything at first. He stayed where he was for a minute, hand stuck in his pocket like he was going to take what you'd put there and throw it back at you. A muscle ticked in his jaw; another thing Ry didn't do. They were very different if you looked past the surface level, but it was said surface level that tore your heart to shreds every time you looked at him. "We'll never even make it to the ship."

"If you help me, and we actually buy the damn tickets, we'll already be on board before they realize what we're doing." You let go of his jacket. “Duh.”

Colt turned to look at you over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. "You want me to give everything up for a suicide mission and a dead man on the hopes that your plan works."

You chewed your lip, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel as you mulled over a good response. "...To be fair, Colt, I think we've both pretty much given up on everything else, anyway." You live in a hotel and drink your grief away. I live with my mother and want to steal a starliner. Neither of us are dealing with this in a healthy manner.

Colt said nothing in response. He stayed utterly still for a moment before he abruptly got up and slammed your door before storming into his motel room. He didn't glance back once, and threw the door close so hard it rattled his windows.

You sighed, puffing air into your cheeks and letting your head fall back against the seat. To no one, you begrudgingly mumbled, "Whelp... That went well."

Colt peered out of his curtains and waited for you to leave. He watched your tail lights disappear around the corner before he moved, releasing a deep sigh as he sat on the edge of the bed. A soft bark brought his attention to Jean-Claude, who trotted up to him with his leash in his mouth. “Oh, hey. Yeah, I guess I’ve gotta take you out, huh?” He clipped the leash to the harness and begrudgingly stepped back outside, thinking over your conversation as he walked.

He’d missed you. He wasn’t going to lie. You got on his nerves more than anyone ever had, ever, but you were Ry’s girl. You were a piece of him whether he could admit it or not, and he really didn’t want to admit it. He hated what he’d done to you in Baikonur. He hadn’t thought that one through, at all. He supposed, maybe, because you were Ry’s partner on the Hail Mary project, that Stratt would have had the decency to give you a ride home instead of just filling your bank account; he wasn’t sure if she gave him as much money as she did you, but even added together it couldn’t put a price on Ry’s loss. He’d only wanted to get away. He wanted to be nowhere near that damn ship when it took off, carrying his brother to the stars. Maybe he should’ve explained that to you, but he doubted you’d care either way. He knew you hated him.

Colt didn’t exactly hate you, though. He just loved pushing your buttons, because you fired back so quickly. Although you did annoy the hell out of him.

You looked drawn, like you’d spent every day since Ry left working on this plan. Knowing you, you’d probably spent an unhealthy amount of time on it. 

As he walked back to his room, his hand found the USB in his pocket. He’d been blocking losing his twin for so long. He couldn’t stand the sound of his own voice or reflection anymore, because all he saw was Ryland. It hurt him all over again to see you, without Ry glued to your side.

He’d never watched the logs before. After hearing Ry’s decision blasted on every news channel for weeks and hearing him hailed as a hero, Colt had a little thorn of resentment buried in his chest he couldn’t get rid of. They weren’t close after their parents died, but you? He chose to leave you too? It pissed him off. A part of him wanted to go with you, if only to punch his twin right in the face.

But, you’d never make it to the ship. It was a fool’s hope. That thing would be so heavily guarded you’d be able to see the defense from a mile away, not to mention all the defense you couldn’t see. And fighting an army of robots equipped with vaporizing guns didn’t exactly sound appealing, either.

Colt locked the door behind him and took Jean-Claude’s leash and harness off. The dog climbed up onto the bed and laid down with a huff– what would he do while Colt was in his coma? Would Jean-Claude be put under, too? 

His hand found the USB again. He could almost hear Ryland in his ear, “Would you just watch it, man? It’s not gonna bite you.”

“Do it for Ry. Not for me.” 

Colt stifled a groan and set up his laptop. When he inserted the USB, it brought up a list of hundreds of videos. Ry had cataloged everything. It made Colt grin a little; that was Ryland, for you. Hesitantly, he hovered the mouse over the first video and hit play. 

“So… I met an alien.” 

Immediately, the tears came. Colt slammed the laptop shut and paced away, trying to get himself under control. This was precisely why he’d never watched them in the first place. But… 

Do it for Ry. Not for me.

Colt growled with frustration as he sat back down and opened his laptop, met with the face of his twin peering over the rim of his gold-framed glasses. Almost like Ryland was judging him for shutting the laptop. It made him chuckle slightly, but the tears were still coming. Sensing he was needed, Jean-Claude came and laid at Colt’s feet. “Okay. Okay, you can do this.”

He hit play.

For the next six hours, he watched Ryland’s journey on the Hail Mary. Rocky made some videos too, but Ry was always there. The worst one was seeing him remember you and Colt. That one was bad. Colt had to pause it again while he tried to keep himself together. Tiredness creeped into his bones, but he pressed on. He watched Ry’s decision to save Rocky, and still didn’t get it– but it was something Ry would do. 

By the time he got to the last video, Colt felt drained. He’d been crying all night, and despite how much water he kept down, he still felt dehydrated. His eyes were swollen and hurt to move. 

“This one’s specifically for you, Colt.” Ryland sat in the pilot’s seat, in a white flight suit. Confident. He very rarely saw him like that. “So… I know you’re probably gonna hate me for making the choice I did.”

“Yes. Good call.” Talking to the videos as though his brother could hear him made him feel slightly better about all of this.

“You probably won’t get it. I don’t expect you to. Just make sure you don’t die from whatever stunts you’re pulling, please? For the record, I don’t hold a grudge against you. Whatever happened during Metalstorm to keep you away from Mom and Dad’s funeral, it probably sucked. So I’m sorry I held it against you.”

“Apology not accepted. You need to tell me to my face.”

“I’m glad we were friends again toward the end, man. We had a good run. I will never forget you, or everything you did for me. Whether it be picking me up when my bike was in the shop or keeping bullies away from me in high school, you were always there. Thanks. Just do me a favor, okay? Well… Three favors.”

“Maybe.”

“Live. Do whatever you want to do, whatever makes you happy, but don’t mourn me too bad. I’m okay. I made peace with it.”

Colt’s breath hitched. Talking to the video wasn’t working anymore.

“I know by the time this video reaches you, you’ve probably already put yourself through hell. Pull yourself together. I need you to be okay without me. The second favor, I need you to check on my kids. They’re probably grown up more by now, but I need to make sure they’re okay. Please. Check on them every so often.”

Colt let out a sob. He had. He couldn’t not. He’d go to San Francisco every so often and check up on the class Ryland taught, and had anonymously given them each funds for college. Ryland loved those kids so, so much.

“My third favor is kind of the one I feel like you’re going to have trouble with: Y/N… She’s not going to handle any of this well. She might try to do something stupid. Or reckless. Or both. I know you two were never on great terms, but for my sake, please… Take care of her, Colt. Make sure she’s safe. For me. As long as you’re there, I know she’ll have someone looking out for her. Keep her out of trouble. And if she’s intent on getting in trouble, just be there for her, please. Take care of Y/N.”

Colt’s heart dropped. He can’t ask that. He can’t. He’s not going to steal a starship to go on a suicide mission–

–Ry was on a suicide mission. He’d been forced to go. He had no choice.

“I love you, man. For better or worse. Take care of yourself.” Ry smiled then. A soft, warm smile. There were tears in his eyes. “This is Dr. Captain Ryland Grace, signing off.” 

Colt threw the computer against the wall, shattering it before he sank to the floor. He missed his brother. He missed coming over every so often to see him and bicker with you and go on tense dinner outings because you three would just playfully bicker and make fun of each other. He missed picking Ryland up from school if you were at work, or sometimes even picking both of you up. He missed it. He missed all of it. 

He shouldn’t have left you in Baikonur.

He shouldn’t have let Ryland join the project.

Ryland didn’t have a choice in being forced to another solar system.

But Colt does.

Jean-Claude nudged up under Colt’s arm, and he scratched behind the dog’s ears.

Take care of her.

Colt fell back against the bed, not moving from the floor. He fell into a fitful, restless sleep as he tried to come to a decision.

You bounced your leg impatiently, checking your watch again. 11:52. 

Surely, Colt would at least text you his answer, right? He wouldn’t just entirely leave you hanging, right–

Well, no, he did once. Who’s to say he won’t a second time?

Anxiety twisted in your stomach. You were waiting in the car, since check out was at 11. You’d been here… 54 minutes now, hoping Colt would pull through. You were asking a lot; giving up a semi-regular life on Earth for either death or isolation with the one person you really couldn’t stand and danger at every corner was a lot. 

58 minutes now. 

Colt’s not coming, you realized with a sinking feeling. Could you even do this without the tickets? You watched them sell out and couldn’t even buy one. They were just too much. Even if you spent everything in your bank account, you would come up short by quite a bit. 

12:05.

12:10.

You started your car, dread filling your stomach as you hit reverse. Okay, so you can’t buy the tickets. Surely there’s another way–

–you caught a glimpse of a surprised Colt in your rearview mirror seconds before you hit him. He went down like a sack of potatoes as you screamed. You threw open your door and rushed around to the back, kneeling beside Colt as he groaned and Jean-Claude barked unhappily. “Oh my God, Colt, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you!”

“No shit,” He ground out. He was carrying a huge duffel bag, and your heart skipped a few beats.

He’s coming with you, and you’ve just injured him.

“I knew you drove like a dumbass, but damn.” 

You frowned. “You know what? Stay right here, I’m going to finish running you over. Put you out of your misery.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t hit Jean-Claude,” Colt grumbled, getting onto his back and rubbing his hip where you’d hit him. 

Your heart sank. “Yeah, I love your dog.” You extended a hand toward Jean-Claude, who tentatively licked you. “Guess he’s mad at me.”

“Well, yeah!” Colt hissed as he stood, bracing himself against the trunk of your car. 

You ignored him. “So you’re coming?”

“No. I came over here specifically to get run over by a stupid driver.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No. Give me your keys.”

“Excuse me–”

Colt held out his hand, glowering at you. “We need to go get my truck out of the shop. We’re not taking a rental car all the way back to Minnesota. And you just lost driving privileges.”

“I barely grazed you,” You huffed, reluctantly tossing him your keys. “And I can drive separate–”

He sighed, snatching them out of the air despite the fact that you threw them away from his outstretched hand on purpose. “You just hit a pedestrian. In your notebook do you not say that we can just stay with your mom while we do whatever training you’ve figured out and wait for the ship to launch? Wouldn’t it be easier if we rode together?”

You frowned, opening your mouth to speak, but he cut you off again. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “If we’re going to spend four years alone together, you’ve gotta learn to survive a road trip first, stardust.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You have officially cemented me calling you that into my psyche. It’s your name now. Phone contact and everything.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that your response to anything you can’t think of a good comeback to?”

“Screw you.” 

Colt walked around to the driver’s side door. “Would you just get in the car?” Reluctantly, you made room for Jean-Claude and Colt’s duffel bag in the car, making sure to buckle Jean-Claude in before you even got in the passenger seat. You couldn’t hide your smirk, though. He was coming with you. Your plan was looking up.

Colt was grinning. “What’s so funny?” You demanded, biting your cheek.

“I really did change your contact to stardust. Just now.” His chuckles made you want to punch him. 

Oh boy. Maybe this was a bad idea. Now you really want to hit him. “Did you buy the tickets?”

“Yes, I bought the tickets. Lower-class was all I could afford, but I doubt it’s going to matter once we get on board. If we get on board.” Colt made a point of turning around in his seat to see out the back windshield. “Do you see what I’m doing? You see how I’m looking before I pull out so I don’t– ow–”

You smack his chest hard, making him recoil. “Shut up, Colt.”

Colt pulls out of the hotel with that stupid grin on his face, but you can’t hide your own any longer. This might just work. You glance at one another, making brief eye contact before tearing your gazes away abruptly. It still hurts to look at him. “You missed me,” Colt said, but as a statement rather than a question.

“Just a little,” You admitted after a minute. Bickering with him was always fun, but he really did piss you off. “I wouldn’t miss you if you hadn’t left me at Baikonur.”

“I walked right into that.”

“Yes, yes you did. You can’t say you didn’t miss me.”

“I didn’t. There, I just said it. Don’t dictate what I can and can’t say.” You glared at Colt as he slid his deep blue gaze over to test your reaction. “...I missed you a little bit.”

You smiled again, turning to look out of the window as your heart started racing. This is it. You’re going to see Ry again. You’re going to steal a starliner.

Reality sank in a moment later, followed quickly by terror. Oh.

We’re going to steal a starliner.

Well… If you survived the roadtrip, that is.

The rec room aboard the orbital training station was buzzing with laughter and terrible singing. It was yet another “crew bonding night” before the Hail Mary mission launch: a slightly forced but genuinely fun tradition. A makeshift karaoke machine had been set up, and the international crew had been going at it for nearly two hours— including Doctor Stratt, who you never would've taken for a Harry Styles girl.

Ryland Grace was on his fourth (or was it fifth?) drink, and feeling dangerously relaxed, like he might make a joke or— heavens forbid— take his glasses off. He knew that he couldn't talk earnestly to you sober, to tell you how he felt about you and how he'd like to take you out once you were off the station. He'd already made enough of a dick of himself during meetings, where you'd make eye contact with him or ask him a question and sending him stuttering and blushing. Boy, did he have a crush on you. And how couldn't he, after nights spent poring over research papers alone with you, or walking round the station (he'd lamely asked if your hands were cold as a means to hold your hands on one such occasion). You were beautiful, clever, and outspoken: he was putty in your little hands, and he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Tonight, you were sitting beside him, laughing as one of the Russian cosmonauts finished a dramatic rendition of Sweet Caroline. Ryland had been watching you the whole night: the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, how relaxed you looked not wearing your jumpsuit with your hair down, how you might react when he asked you out. He loved the way you looked in your research gear, but he liked being able to see your eyes clearly without the reflection of his own face clouding them; even after a month of spending time with you, it sent a thrill down his spine to be brushing elbows with you.

So, Ryland needed some liquid courage, and courageous he was feeling after a couple of drinks. Still, the question of how to ask you out, how to show you he wanted to be more than your "favourite lab partner" (as you'd called him, one day) played on Ryland's mind.

Suddenly, he stood up. Fuck it, he thought. He figured that he'd be off of this station in a few weeks, and some of these people would be shot into space before they could truly grasp what he'd done. The world might even end, soon: now was not the time to play coy.

“Alright, my turn,” he announced, a little too confidently. He glanced over at you as you raised your eyebrows. "Really?" "Yeah! I'm a—" he paused to hiccup, " a fun guy, actually." "Not all just brains then, huh?" you smiled. He just shot you a wink— more of a blink, really— and you laughed adoringly into your cup. His colleagues cheered and whistled as he made his way to the makeshift stage.

Ryland almost never volunteered for stuff like this, but you weren't complaining: any reason to ogle him in his unreasonably snug shirts was a good time, as far as you were concerned. So what song would it be? You'd been egging him on to perform Whoomp! There It Is since his first consultation disaster, but you were surprised to hear the familiar slow notes of Leonard Cohen’s I’m Your Man begin playing through the speakers. A few people whooped at the song choice, pleased to hear something a little more old-school: the median age in this room was probably fifty, after all.

Ryland adjusted the microphone, swaying slightly, and looked straight at you across the room. “This one’s for you,” he said dramatically, pointing with the mic. “Yeah… you know who you are,” he smiled toothily at you.

Your eyes widened as you began to laugh. The rest of the crew turned to look at you with amused, knowing grins.

Then, Ryland started singing.

“If you want a lover… I’ll do anything you ask me to…”

He kept his eyes on you the entire time, occasionally gesturing with his free hand for emphasis. Your colleagues were grinning like idiots; someone wolf-whistled. You cheered him on, so pleased to see him coming out of his shell.

“If you want a partner… Take my hand, or take my arm…”

At the chorus, Ryland closed his eyes and really committed, pouring far too much feeling into it. You buried your face into your hands, amazed and embarrassed, as he pointed unwaveringly at you, slow-dancing with the mic.

“I’m your man…”

Li-Jie laughed so hard he snorted his drink; Ilyukhina nudged your shoulder with a smirk. "He's cute, no?" she cooed to you, her Russian accent thick as ever. "Yeah," you replied. "He's cute."

When the song finally ended, the room erupted in applause and teasing cheers. Ryland gave a slightly wobbly bow before walking straight back to you, ignoring the playful jabs from the crew as they went off to get another drink from the bar.

He dropped into the seat beside you, cheeks flushed, glasses slightly fogged and askew on his face. “So?” he whispered, "Your... evaluation?” He propped his elbow on the table and it slipped immediately; he readjusted so your heads were close, a sort of secret meeting taking place between the two of you. “What am I evaluating, exactly, Doctor Grace?" you giggled, tilting your head. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy despite the alcohol. “Well," he began, "I’ve been thinking about it for... since we met. Figured if I was gonna embarrass myself, I might as well do it properly." He paused. "With Leonard Cohen, that is." You threw your head back to laugh, then leaned back into him, your foreheads almost brushing. "I don't think you embarrassed yourself, Ryland," you smiled. "Quite the opposite, actually." “Yeah? 'Cause I meant every word,” he said, unusually excited. "I mean, obviously we should probably start with a coffee, or something. But that's less romantic than 'I'm your man', right?" "Right," you laughed. He exhaled in relief, grinning like a proud child.

Ryland doesn’t think of himself as strong: he never used to go to the gym because the one time he went, he slipped straight off the stair master and never went back.

Of course, aboard the Hail Mary and on Erid, it’s a different story: Ryland woke up from the coma in decent shape, found that being in even better shape helped you two to navigate space life much easier, and started doing a home workout routine once a day, or jogging along the coast. Muscles for Ryland were not an aesthetic choice; it was just practical to be able to move heavy stuff when you’re one of two people on a space craft (though, once he gets word that you really like looking at his thick thighs and biceps, he starts putting extra work into the more visible muscle groups).

You first discovered your penchant for his strength when you were struggling to move one of the heavy supply crates in the sleeping area. You huffed and puffed, pushing with all your body weight against the box. Ryland walked in mid-conversation about Eridian atmospheric models, still talking animatedly. He stopped short when he saw you panting: you'd always been to proud to ask for help. “Oh, here. Let me get that." He reached down with one arm, gripped the side of the massive metal crate, and lifted it effortlessly onto the shelf while continuing to talk. “—and that’s why Rocky thinks the methane levels might spike next cycle. What do you think?” His bicep flexed and his shirt rode up, revealing a fantastic V-line as he adjusted the crate’s position with one hand.

You just stood there, staring, heat rushing to your face. Ryland finally noticed your silence. Blinking innocently behind his glasses, he furrowed his brows. “Y/N? You good?” You nodded and closed your mouth, a little dazed. “Yeah! Sorry. Just— you’re really strong. That box was like... thirty kilos.” Ryland looked genuinely surprised. “Am I?” He glanced at his arm like he’d never considered it before. “Huh. Anyway, about the methane…”

Later that week, you were trying to reach a book that had fallen behind the small library corner you and Ryland had built in the sleeping area of the ship. It was a bit pathetic since you hadn't been given many books: it was mostly made up of instruction manuals and physics textbooks, but nonetheless, you made it cosy.

Ryland walked past on his way to the lab, but froze and back-tracked, unsure what you were doing. He leaned against the doorway for a moment, amused by your lying down on the floor, groaning and trying to grab the book that had fallen down the back. Finally, you stopped and dropped your head onto the floor, sighing in defeat. "Ryland! Ry!" you shouted over your shoulder, hoping Ryland would hear you from the lab, where you thought he was. "Need some help?" he replied, arms folded over his chest. You almost jumped out of your skin. "Grace! Don't sneak up on me like that!" you huffed. "And yes, obviously, I need some help, please." Ryland obliged, smiling, and strode toward you. He placed one hand on the side of the tall bookshelf and lifted the entire thing a few inches off the ground so you could grab the book trapped underneath.

You peered up at him as he towered over you: his bicep strained visibly against his sleeve as he held the heavy piece of furniture, lightly huffing in effort. He looked down at you; you continued to ogle up his shirt, effectively lying between his legs. "Uh, Y/N?" "Yeah?" you replied, still admiring the view up his shirt. "This is pretty heavy." Your eyes snapped up to his. "Right— sorry." You grabbed the book and rolled out from under the shelf, cheeks burning. Ryland set the shelf back down gently and cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm gonna just... I'll be in the—" "Yeah." You both walked away briskly, unsure what had transpired.

Once you'd finally recovered from that indiscretion a good few hours later, you returned to the lab. Ryland, of course, had forgotten all about it, too immersed in his work. "There she is!" He scooted his wheelie chair back and plucked the goggles from his face. "Wanna help me with this? New paste! Might not taste like—" "Dogshit?" you asked, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Yeah," he nodded, "might not taste like dogshit." You laughed: it was so rare to hear Ryland swear, but you loved to make him blush.

And so you got stuck in helping to reorganise the samples, until one of the large diagnostic machines froze up. Ryland walked over to where you were smacking the machine, half-listening to him explain the new nutrient formula to you. “Oh, stupid thing, it keeps jamming,” he said, interrupting himself. He squatted down next to you, gripped the side of the heavy machine with one hand and tinkered with the underneath, muscles shifting under his shirt and jeans as he repositioned it perfectly without so much as a strained groan. "Try it again?" he instructed, peering up at you over his glasses. You fought to follow his instructions instead of just ogling him for a moment more. "Uh— yeah, s'working now," you stuttered. "Awesome. So, like I was saying, if we adjust the nitrogen ratio by point zero three percent, we should see better growth in the—”

God. You wished he'd cotton on, already.

You were enormously relieved to land on Erid, having been sharing such a close space with Ryland over the past few years. You thought you'd finally gotten away from your perversions, that your fantasies about his thick biceps were just the product of spending too much time with him. Sadly, that was not the case, and his strength continued to be one of your biggest weaknesses.

On one such occasion, you and Ryland were moving supplies off of the Hail Mary and into the biodome. You realised that you’d overpacked the large, garden-refuse style bags, and were now fighting to lift even one up.

“Fuck! Ow,” you cried out: you’d dropped the bag on your foot, leaving you hopping on the spot and cussing in pain. Ryland exited the spaceship, one big bag slung over his shoulder, and headed back down the Xenonite tunnel to the dome. He caught sight of you hopping and immediately furrowed his brows. "Oh— ouch. You ok?" "Yeah, sorry. Just dropped this fucking heavy bag on my left foot—" Before you could finish, Ryland took the bag from you in the arm already carrying one, tucking his arm through the carrier handles. Then, without a second guess, he scooped you up with the other arm, carrying both you and the heavy bags like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Ryland," you moaned, "I can walk.” You protested weakly, face burning as you felt the strength in his bicep supporting you against his side. “I know,” he said, completely oblivious to how affected you were. “But you looked hurt!”

Weeks later, you couldn't take it anymore: you'd taken to openly ogling him whenever he did something remotely related to strength, accepting your fate in the most pathetic way possible.

During a walk near one of the cliff faces in the Biodome, a heavy branch had fallen from a nearby 'tree' (or what Eridians had scrambled together to resemble a tree— to their credit, it looked like the real thing) and blocked the path. Ryland was in the middle of excitedly telling you about a new theory when he noticed. “Oh no, hang on a sec,” he said. He reached down with both hands, gripped the trunk, and rolled it clear off the path. His bicep bulged under his sleeve as he casually moved the heavy obstacle aside and set it down, much as your eyes bulged in surprise. No matter how many times you'd seen Ryland exert his strength, it always amazed you: he just didn't seem the type.

He wiped has hands on his jeans, barely throwing a glance over his shoulder as he kept walking up the path, talking like nothing had happened. “...which is why I think the atmospheric nitrogen might actually be—” You stopped in your tracks, unable to contain yourself any longer. "Would you stop doing that?" you hissed. Ryland turned quickly, tilting his head with an adorably concerned expression. His eyebrows were stitched together in worry. “Huh? Did I say something?” You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "No, Ryland, sorry. It's just—" you paused, suddenly embarrassed. "You are like— built. Like you do all these things, like picking me up and throwing a tree trunk off the path—" Ryland scoffed, interrupting you. "It was hardly a trunk—" You continued, ignoring his logic. "—and it's distracting! You don't even seem to know that you're like... freakishly strong, and It's driving me crazy!" You ceased your barrage, suddenly out of breath. Had you actually just told your only surviving crew-mate, and only human friend for the foreseeable future, 'distracting'? Ryland, too, didn't move; he blinked down at you.

“god, what’s gotten into you? you’re so needy,” you sighed. “i mean, even more needy than usual.”

he couldn’t help but whine at your cruel and indifferent tone of voice, sounding as if you didn’t care about his growing problem at all. normally, he wouldn’t be bothering you so much when you were already weary from hours of last minute work you were finishing up on your laptop at the last minute, but he just couldn’t stop himself. his face was shoved into the crook of your neck as he inhaled your addicting scent with his glasses pressing into your skin, his arms were wrapped tightly around your torso to pull you even closer than what seemed to be possible, and his was humping your leg like a damn dog in an uncontrollable and suffocating heat.

“i can’t help it…” he whined. his pace was inconsistent, but no matter how slow or fast he was going, the sizable bulge in his sweatpants was in desperate need of your attention that was nearly entirely focused on grading these last few papers.

ryland’s been acting clingy all day for some reason, and as you mentioned earlier, even more clingy than he usually is. he’s been constantly lingering around you and unable to keep his hands off, giving you the bedroom eyes and practically begging you to fuck him, but does he have to have a reason to be feeling horny for his lovely girlfriend? he thinks he’s been relatively well-behaved up until now where he’s at his wit’s end, his patience stretching thin, and his desire growing by the second. 

would it kill you to put aside your work for just a second so that you can help him out? his erection has grown to be almost painful from the constant friction, the angry red top leaking pre-cum like crazy, dripping down the shaft, and starting to stain the inner fabric of his clothing. he was half-tempted to pull his sweats down and just start casually jerking off right there and then, but you both already know it wouldn’t have been nearly enough.

you didn’t quite do it on purpose, or maybe you did, he’ll never know, but you’ve completely ruined him to the point that he couldn’t even come close to an orgasm without your help. without the feeling of your walls clenching around him, your hands massaging his cock, or his mouth taking you in, he was a complete lost cause. hell, even your voice would be enough for him, listening to you tease and taunt him for being such a useless whore that he couldn’t even come by himself, but you were remaining radio silent aside from the tapping of your keyboard, sparing him nothing but the occasional glance to see what a wreck he was becoming, growing worse by the second. 

the pleasure came to him like the ocean waves, washing over him before receding just as quickly, never fully reaching him in a constant push and pull that you were becoming increasingly tempted to join in on. it’s one of the most entertaining things in the world to see your buff and nerdy molecular biologist be such a mess who was just aching to come, but you had promised your students that these grades would be out by tomorrow…

so, just to keep the edge off for him, you relented by placing a cheeky little kiss on his lips and pouting at him, “aw, you big baby, just let me finish up here, okay? it’ll only be for a couple more minutes, ten at most, i promise.”

you weren’t exactly sure what his reaction would be, if he was going to be a brat about it by shoving your laptop aside and straddling your lap as he’s done before, or if he was going to be obedient and wait for you as you said, but you certainly didn’t expect him to fall silent. it made you tilt your head in slight confusion, considering he’s been a whimpering disaster the past fifteen minutes who has been begging for your attention nonstop, but upon closer inspection, you couldn’t help the amused smirk that flashed across your face.

“was a little kiss really enough to do all that?”

he didn’t answer you, practically shuddering from the sudden release and red as a tomato from embarrassment, but now, you couldn’t resist ignoring him for any longer, tossing your device aside to pounce on your boyfriend like he’s been wanting so badly all this time.