#rkhum

it'll be good for morale, stratt said. you're the most personable in the team, stratt said. i'm not really giving you a choice here, stratt said. i don't know exactly when my life became so dictated by the astrophage crisis — no, that's a lie, i recall the precise day on which stratt sauntered into my classroom with that gosh darn paper, but i'm not sure when i became about three other roles on top of leading astrophage expert. time to add pr spokesperson to my resume.

ryland won't do public speeches or presentations, that much became clear after one particularly unexpected board meeting, but those desperate enough for a scoop might have private discussions in which he can elucidate some very tightly controlled details about the project. it is well on the way now, and he can speak with confidence on the progress they're making and the scientific backing behind the mission. when he heads to designated meet - up spot today however ( it's always a quiet greasy spoon diner or tucked away coffee shop, a level of seclusion ryland appreciates ) he is barely through the door before stopping short. he's in the habit of scouting out his company, typically easy to spot even without a description — journalists just have a type about them — and when eyes land on equally matched gaze, ryland's face sinks.

@rkhum

It takes a lot to really get Nadine’s attention. Not a lot to get a passing glance, or to get a response, but to really draw them in? Well, he’s done just that. They turn their whole body to him, take a quick sip of their drink, (which is fucking nasty), and raise both eyebrows.

“You’ve got quite the positive view of humanity, haven’t you?” Though, they’re already grinning. There’s something kind of amazing about it, because Nadine feels the same way sometimes. Being around other people is sometimes just watching, knowing way more than they should. Never getting to really be a part of the ecosystem themself.

timing. both lean in, both pull back, both try again at the exact wrong moment. — @rkhum (rex).

he hadn't realised how fond he could be of camping until it had become commonplace, an activity no longer associated with bugs and weird sounds but rather the snuggling of bodies in the cold, the laughter over makeshift campfires, shared snacks and hands rubbed and blown warm, fingertips kissed warmer, and stars pointed out amidst fireflies that wish to mimic the astral lights above. now it is almost ritual, a couple of excursions under their belts and a cozy closeness that had evolved with each visit : ryland's head is in rex's lap, truthfully getting a really good look at the underside of that moustache, but he doesn't mind. it is a comforting place to lay, his hands clasped together atop his chest, getting a little romantic about the sky that frames the other, bashful when he inevitably looks down and catches his admirations.

ryland goes to sit upright as rex equally leans down to close the distance, and it is a moment of astonishment as they recuperate from a near bashing of heads instead of the softer meshing of mouths that was likely intended from both parties. he laughs, a warm and bubbly sound, as he shifts to sit back up, twist himself around to get a better vantage point and try again. they nearly do, a shiver running the length of his spine when rex's fingertips find his cheek, lips seeking and barely divided with a readiness to welcome their match—

a fox shrieks. a fox fricking shrieks, and i know it's a fox because i have exactly one entire brain knocking around in my skull, but rex's ears prick up and i know the moment's gone. he's up and at it in a flash, chasing the screams of some vixen that is probably getting way luckier than i am right now, and all i can do is sigh into the cold air and watch it leave me like dragon's breath.

first it was an owl : now he's convinced the entirety of the outdoor wildlife is against him. he makes a mental note to himself — absolutely no more camping under any circumstances — and tries calling out, a weak bleat that he knows will go essentially unheard. ❛ it's a fox ! ❜ it comes out singsong and petty all at once, a strained amount of aggravation seeping into the words. his next sentence is louder, hands cupping around his mouth to cry out.

❛ going once— ! going twice ! ❜

the lack of pristineness ironically does not diminish the gift's value, in fact only raises it with the knowledge of the effort that it took to compile. the makeshift bags numbered and separated according to the carefully crafted manual . . . he is no expert, but can only imagine the precision and care with which it took to even replicate the model he recognises clear as day. ❛ this is . . . ❜ he pores fingertips over tiny pieces shaped like plastic flames, holding them through transparent containers as carefully as if they were ice shards that might shatter. he sees a nasa panel, astronaut nano figures, black jets and a familiar brick orange hue. a hundred gears and levers for him to sink his teeth into, a hundred thoughts of consideration for him. not mr. grace, not dr. grace, but ryland.

it's the artemis space launch system rocket. i'd know it anywhere, get giddy with excitement the more i sift through the individual sections and match them up accordingly. it's easy to get lost in the instructions, to want to build it right here and now, and i surely will — but there is just one more priority i have to get out of the way first.

snuggle. receiver snuggles into sender's side. — @rkhum (rex).

he can't blame the crisp hiemal chill for his shuffle closer : while the air certainly carries a breathy coolness to it, his cheeks are warm. they sit atop a blanket in the clearing, the view of the stars truly something serene to witness out here with less light pollution. he can't even blame the diminishing space on an attempt at balance, their arms overlapping as he stretches to point out constellations — everyone talks about orion's belt, but actually if you look closely, see, there's all of orion — and he certainly can't blame rex for it when it is ryland that has moved pressed palms until they plant in the blanketed ground behind rex's back instead of his own.

it was subconscious to an extent : i hadn't really realised how close i was until it was done, but i'm not exactly pulling away or rectifying the issue. i don't even know if i'd be so hasty to call it an issue. i wonder if it's as noticeable as i'm making it in my head, or if this is a socially acceptable distance to share between friends that rex isn't even thinking twice about. i need to learn how to keep my cool.

❛ the belt actually points all the way down to sirius, too. the brightest star in our sky. ❜ he rambles in an attempt to distract from something between them that maybe he is the only perceiver of, but equally simply because he rambles. it is what he does, when not assessing his words like a chessboard, when speaking of things he is passionate about, to people he is passionate about. he wonders how close their hands are, wonders if should he make a wrong move he might find fingers that are not his, get a static shock. he's always been a curious person, and right now it is damning, a curse.