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"But what if I close my ears?" another boy said, pressing his hands to them. "I can't hear anything now, miss!" he screamed, setting off a wave of sweet giggles from his classmates.

The small green ball flew his way, and the boy caught it in one hand, scowling. "Hey, miss, that's not fair!"

"That was not, I do admit," you slipped off the desk, walking around the classroom. All small pairs of eyes followed you like puppies. "But you see, in space, there would be no need to cover your ears, because there is no air or matter for sound to travel through. Even when you're sleeping, there's always something out there, right?" Your eyes met a few nodding Einsteins before drifting towards the window. "You can hear the crickets singing under your window and the wind swirling between the leaves. But in space, there's nothing. Simply an empty, endless realm stretching beyond our comprehension."

A few droplets of sweat coiled on your temple, and you quickly brushed them with a thumb. Glasses sat crookedly on your nose, hair slipped away from a pin-up, and so you pushed them behind your ear.

"Miss, the space sounds so scary," the girl with round frames sighed. "I don't want to be an astronaut anymore."

You chuckled, coming to the previous boy and stealing a soft lump of earth from his sticky fingers. "The space may feel lonesome if you're there alone. But now, astronauts usually go in groups." The ball landed back on your desk, brushing gently against the wooden spaceship. "But even if you were alone, I think the view would be worth the night spent in loneliness."

And as it would soon turn out, nothing was worth the years spent alone. On the huge spaceship, with endless darkness spreading across the little window and years spent somewhere doing God knows what.

"The sun is dying," the government envoy had said. "Can you help us save the world?"

She caught you right after one of the classes, with a half-empty cup of instant noodles and cheeks peppered with crimson chilli-oil kisses. Arrived with a tall, muscular man and a printout of the PhD dissertation, placing a copy on your messy desk.

Your forehead crinkled, eyes landed on a neat, Times New Roman formatted title, An Analysis of Water-Based Assumptions and Recalibration of Expectations.

"That's not mine," you mumbled, going back to the cup of noodles. You hadn't eaten anything for a whole day, and your stomach was already pressed against your spine, with hunger twisting your weary mind.

"That's your name, isn't it?" she said, pressing a neatly trimmed nail against the smaller letters beneath the title.

You didn't even spare her a glance and simply shook your head. "No, I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

Both she and the man sighed, rolling two small chairs from the children's desk to sit in front of yours. With eyes fixed on your face, grimacing in ignorance, and a few locks of hair slipping into the cup.

"I'm Yuki," she said, crossing her legs before looking at the man with the dullest, most bleary eyes you have ever seen. "And that's Choso. We're from a… well. Now you only need to know that we work for NASA."

And that meant one thing – trouble.

Seeing your utmost disinterest, she continued in a warm tone. "Listen, we know your dissertation was a fantastic breakthrough that the supervising committee didn't appreciate. But–"

"A small correction," you interrupted, with eyes still glued to an almost empty cup. "They did not not appreciate me, but completely failed me. My research was proven wrong, and I spent almost five years chasing something that was never there. So no, it wasn't a breakthrough or anything."

Her long fingers clenched into a fist, and a tongue nervously filled a creamy cheek. "Listen, in our current world situation, we believe that your research wasn't pointless. The hypothesis that life can exist without water–"

"Which was ultimately proven that it cannot," slipped in a whisper, gaze still following anything but those two.

"Right," she sighed, staying shockingly patient. "But the thing is, it actually may."

And for the first time in the past five minutes, you finally looked at her. With eyes hidden behind librarian-like glasses, a white shirt neatly pressed against your body, and chilli oil still coating lower lip. You brushed it quickly with a tissue before clearing throat.

"You have five minutes."

But Yuki needed just a second.

"There are some… microbes, the nature of which we aren't yet sure, that are slowly eating the sun. If we don't do something, in thirty years the global temperature will drop enough to kill every life on Earth."

A long, heavy silence stretched between the three of you, though she was the one doing the talking. The man in a suit sat in silence. He was rather handsome, with dark hair falling long down his neck and purplish under-eye bags framing his deep, doe-like eyes.

Feeling your eyes fixed on his face, Choso wriggled in place. "We believe that you are one of the few scientists who can help in research on those microbes."

A deep sigh slipped past your lips as you took off your glasses and closed eyes. A pulsing headache was filling your mind, weighing down an already overstimulated brain. A few short strands of noodles clung to the bottom of the plastic cup, looking up at your weary eyes, pleading to go home.

You finally murmured, throwing the cup into the bin, "I don't see how that's my problem. I'm just a physics teacher, the academic environment pushed me away, and I believe there are many more qualified scientists for this role."

Yuki's forehead furrowed, lips pressed in a line. "Not your problem? The world is dying, and you think it's not your problem?"

You could almost see a grey smoke drifting above her head, eyes shining like two coffee beans. Golden hair brushed against her suit-covered breasts, with a few straight strands sticking to soft cheeks. She appeared magnificently commanding, exuding a dominant aura of someone beyond the law. Even sitting on a small children's chair, you felt goosebumps cover your bare shoulders.

You leaned back in a chair, the hard backrest digging into your spine. "I just don't understand why it should be me. This," you pointed at a three-hundred-page dissertation, "was just a foolish fantasy of my younger self. And trust me, I felt how stupid it was," your eyes fell to your fingers, playing with a soft, earthy ball. "No one treats me like a scientist anymore."

And then, Yuki stood up.

Suddenly, reaching over the desk right to your shirt, before pulling you closer with a single move. Eyes fixed on yours like a deadly viper, and a sweet note of heavy perfumes hit your nostrils.

"Try it," she gritted through her teeth. "Accept my offer till I'm still begging. I don't want things to get messy, but I really need your help on this one."

And so, feeling rather threatened, you nodded swiftly and followed the kind smile that lifted up her lips.

Now, three years later, reflecting on that time, you never felt as happy and alive as you did then. Surrounded by the world's most exceptional scientists, working on alien, new microbes – the freshest discoveries in current scientific research – spending days and nights fuelled by bitter coffee, sitting in the labs.

The time didn't matter, as long as you could work on your research. To once again feel like a valuable input to the academic environment and a student from your PhD days, when the world was most beautiful under the microscope and while collecting the newest data.

Your heart raced during the meetings as your fingers carefully noted each idea, each plan that other scientists put forward. The greatest minds in the world, flooding your own with plans and speculations you could've never thought of. Your brain fired multiple times a day, always running, always getting fed with new questions and solutions.

Why is the sun dying?

How can we stop it?

How to produce enough fuel to go all the way right to the sun?

Is that even possible?

But then it was revealed that an alien microbe was composed entirely of water, and your world collapsed. Because it finally confirmed the very point you've been secretly trying to reject for years, proving to you that cells cannot survive without water.

Your heart broke, and a wave of shame washed over your spine. The shame connected to your younger self, foolishly believing in a greatness of discovery no one has ever made. Something worth the international conferences, massive grants, Nobel Prize, and yet, you needed a single, alien cell, something not belonging to the human world, to finally prove those old geezers from your committee right.

The white, big lamp of the lab flickered; darkness spilt over the endless night. Nothing but a faint buzz of mosquitoes filled the lab, hitting the window again, and again, and again. Hungry and relentless, looking at your body hunched over the failed experiment and slightly trembling lip.

You haven't noticed someone else's presence until something cold and wet touched your cheek. Turning the head around, you noticed a can of soda and Choso's pale fingers wrapped around it.

"Thanks," escaped in a whisper, as you took the drink.

He nodded, sitting on the stool right next to you. Your lab partner, who's been through your highs and lows for the past few weeks. The biggest encouragement and life support, always reminding you to eat well and drink something other than a third coffee in a row. He was another government body, Yuki's closest friend, yet – you liked him.

He felt the most normal here, and thus, your head rested on his shoulder, while hair covered the slightly wet cheeks.

"Are you crying?" he asked quietly.

Your head shook, and a second later, a loud sniff rolled. Choso chuckled, offering a tissue.

"Thank you, Cho," you mumbled, trying to hide the streaming tears behind the wide glasses.

He nodded, waiting for you to calm down a bit. The white lamp buzzed quietly, and the screen of the computer shone bright with your PhD dissertation. The thick letters of the title, with your name written right below.

Three hundred pages of bullshit born from your silly dreams. The Nobel Prize? Dear heavens, you barely deserved to be part of the current team.

"That's not the end of the world, you know?" he said, then pressed his cheek with tongue. "Hm, no. It actually is."

You laughed disgustingly, with a snort slipping out of your nose and another wave of tears streaming down your face. "I'm sorry," slipped almost silently. "I'm sorry, I proved you all wrong."

Choso sighed, looking at your sorry state. He pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear and brushed away a single tear with a soft thumb. "No, you didn't. Now that we know what it's made of, you can think about another solution."

But there isn't another solution, you wanted to say, and instead bit down on your lower lip. The words bubbled in your throat, but a thin thread of hope still pulled at your heart. A faint wish that maybe this discovery wasn't a disaster. That the alien cell, made almost entirely of water, could somehow help with the mission.

That you could still prove yourself as a true scientist.

"Hey," Choso whispered, turning your face towards him. Deep, warm eyes shimmered with kindness as he offered a soft smile and gently pinched your cheek. "You are one of the smartest people I have ever met. I'm sure you can figure this out. Yuki believes in you. I believe in you." Staring into his eyes, you nodded with a pout. He chuckled and opened your soda with a quiet hiss. "Alright, let's call it a day and get back to it tomorrow. We still have time."

But the fact was that – you didn't.

And it was painfully obvious in how Yuki glanced into your lab every few days, asking about progress and results in halting the spread of alien microbes on the sun. Her neatly plucked eyebrows furrowed whenever you shook your head, and a short, stressed sigh escaped her rosy lips.

Try to hurry up, she would usually say, pulling a not-so-comforting smile.

Weeks went by, and everyone's stress increased. Yuki decided to set up a deadly mission, sending a team of astronauts to collect data personally.

The catch? They wouldn't return.

While there was enough fuel to reach the star teeming with alien microbes, there wasn't enough to return. Their goal was to collect the microbes, find a way to stop them from consuming the sun, and send all the data back to Earth.

The first time you heard about it, your knees almost buckled. It sounded outrageous, absolutely crazy, and the chance of finding someone mad and healthy enough to meet the requirements perfectly was already impossible.

And as it turned out, you were wrong.

The four astronauts were more than willing to sacrifice their lives for the greater good – to venture into the vast, endless space and perish there, in the company of strangers and eerie silence. To become saviours on a mission that could save the entire world.

Except, there was a risk the mission would fail.

Except, no one knew if they wouldn't lose their lives for nothing.

Because if that happened, if it turned out that all the money and sacrifices the government has invested in it would go to waste, the world would truly descend into shambles.

You stood against it from the very beginning, but Yuki had already decided. And so there was nothing left to do but help the spaceship travel the twelve light-years towards the only star that was also dying, devoured by an alien microbe.

One hundred and thirteen trillion kilometres.

An unimaginably vast distance a simple mind could not grasp, yet you had to find a way to make it work. To figure out how to gather enough fuel to propel the massive, metal spaceship through every single kilometre.

And after a few weeks of getting yourself filled with coffee and nights spent outside the NASA base, gazing up into the endless darkness, you finally got it.

"The alien microbes possess unimaginable power," you said in one breath, looking like a madwoman. With hair twisted into a messy braid, hands shaking from too much caffeine, eyes glimmering as if possessed by Einstein himself. Your fingers gripped the black marker before drawing another black dot on the whiteboard. "You see, what we can do is allow the engines to feed the alien microbes into a reaction chamber and boil them to the point of natural breeding. This way, the cells will multiply and multiply, allowing us to use them in a much more efficient way," the black marker swooshed all over the board, drawing a crooked picture of the spaceship.

At least thirty pairs of eyes, seated in a conference room at NASA headquarters, stared into it with furrowed yet hopeful gazes. Yuki and Choso, among them, tried to understand the point you were making. The crazy discovery you had made mere hours earlier, before quickly asking for a meeting.

"Our ship doesn't need turbines, generators or heat exchangers, because there's no conventional fuel. It works as a sort of ship driven by light energy–"

"That's impossible," someone among the other scientists interrupted. "You cannot fuel a ship of such dimensions with light alone."

You nodded, whispering like a psycho under your breath, head buzzing with numbers. "Yes, you cannot do it with the sources we have here, on Earth. But," you turned back towards the whiteboard. "Our ship is not like the others, and the microbes allow us to actually use the light force as a fuel. Look, for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. Newton's third law, we all know it, right?" A few heads nodded in unison. "Well, our ship will emit light in one direction, while Newton's law will push it in the other. I know it used to work only in theory, but with the amount of power packed into a single microbe, we can use it for our good. In short, the alien power goes into the ship, the light comes out, and we can move forward."

A long, heavy silence filled the room as you finished your little drawing. Black lines coated the board, crossing the black dots and twisting around the childishly drawn ship. You pushed your glasses up your nose and tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear.

That was it. Nothing else could've been done on your side. If none of the scientists and governmental bodies believed your crazy plan could work, there was no other way to put the ship on a direct course towards that star.

Yuki sighed and looked around nervously. While people whispered, shook their heads, or took notes, no one offered you a warm nod or made direct eye contact. But it also seemed that no one else had a better idea.

"Are you sure it can work?" Yuki asked, a heavy gaze lingering as warmth crept up your cheeks. "It's over a hundred and thirteen trillion kilometres. Are you sure the ship can be fuelled only by this alien microbe?"

Something weighed on your heart. Fear, panic, years spent believing you weren't good enough to become a real scientist. Those snickers from the PhD commission stating your research was useless. The rejections from one scientific conference after another, as no one wanted to accept your proposals.

Days spent on crying and staring at your dissertation, as if looking at it long enough would suddenly make it all worth it.

And then, under the cold light of the conference room, with thirty heads staring at you in blank mimicry, you needed to make a decision.

The one that would soon turn into a weight on your life.

"Yes," finally slipped. Strong and confident, as you corrected glasses slipping off your nose. "I can make it work."

But then…

But then the catastrophe came.

The betrayal.

Yuki apologising with utmost sincerity. Choso sitting quietly in the corner of her office. Three men keeping your body down.

From the moment you saw the space crew, one thought kept lingering in your mind. You dismissed it with a casual "they'll figure it out" wave, ignoring the instinct that indicated something was off – something that should have been clear from the start.

Why didn't the space crew have the scientist?

And a day before the departure, you finally discovered why.

"I'm sorry, I'm really so so sorry," Yuki said, trying to calm your wriggling body. The man's hands dug deep into your spine, keeping the hands and knees in place, with a cheek pressed to a dirty carpet. "We don't have any choice, and you wouldn't agree if I asked–"

"Of course I wouldn't!" you screamed, trying to bite the soft hand that reached towards you. "It's a fucking suicide! I'm a simple teacher; I can't go to a fucking space–ah, can you be a bit more gentle?!" But the men's fingers were already wrapping your hands with a thick rope. "Yuki, you can't do it to me!"

The woman didn't say anything. She merely opened her office door and beckoned someone inside. Wearing a white robe and holding a syringe between their fingers.

Your mind raced, breathing became almost impossible, and your throat clenched as you fought the sudden urge to vomit on the carpet. You tried to meet Choso's gaze, but he sat in the corner with his head in his hands, avoiding your gaze since you entered the office.

"Choso," you cried, as the doctor came closer. Long, thin needle shimmered under the office's cold lamp, sending a shiver down your spine. "Choso, l-look at me. You fucking coward, you bastard!" Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as the man sat like a stone figure. "You knew about it from the beginning, right? How could you do this to me?!"

Deep, warm eyes that you spent days gazing into finally looked up. Slightly wet, a bit hazy, while taking in the miserable state you found yourself in. Your glasses slightly crooked, lying a bit away from teary face. A few strands of hair sticking to your cheeks, arms twisted painfully behind back.

His fingers dug into the leather chair, as if trying to force himself to stay back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't… I couldn't bring myself to tell you…"

"That I'm going for a fucking suicidal mission?!" you interrupted, still trying to kick the men off your body. "I thought we were friends! I trusted you! And you simply sold me away?"

Yuki shivered, her gaze shifting between coldness and heartbreaking warmth whenever she looked at your writhing body. She slipped her trembling hand into the pocket of her jeans before giving the doctor a small nod.

"N-No," you cried, when the man in white bent down. A sudden, sharp pain washed over your body, tickling the ends of your fingertips. "Please, I d-don't want to, I can't…"

And then, a weariness slowly filled your mind, lulling it into a deep sleep. Your body relaxed, eyes half-closed, as if weighted by the countless sleepless nights you had spent in labs.

The men lifted you up, keeping your head steady, but you didn't feel a thing. Your feet felt funny, light, as if blending into feathers. Some hushed voices started to argue, someone's warm hand brushed your cheek, and a heavy, musky smell filled your nostrils.

And before you lost consciousness, a silent save the earth sneaked into your ear.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

"Amazing," a low sigh slipped past your lips as you watched a massive ship slowly follow yours.

Monstrous, at least twenty times larger than the spaceship you called home for the past three years, which couldn't be contained within the small window you looked through. It appeared incredibly bright, almost as if it were made of glass, yet you couldn't see anything beyond the thick walls.

It's been shadowing you since yesterday, and it has been following you since yesterday, regardless of how long you travelled or how fast you went; it remained right there. Always in your line of sight from your window, constantly mirroring every move you make. 

It was… fascinating. To say at least.

A little frightening? Sure, as you were alone on a ship, with the crew long gone and drifting silently through the vast emptiness of space.

But still – fascinating. It marked the first time a human saw an object outside Earth. Majestic and otherworldly, it looked somewhat familiar yet vastly different. A faint cosmic glow shimmered on its diamond-like walls, casting short beams through your solitary window, as if attempting to communicate. As if the creature within tried to contact.

Still drifting slowly, you bit down on your lower lip. "Maybe I should stop?" you thought out loud, as another flicker of light hit your window. "What if they'll attack me?"

But at this point, already being alone on an impossible, suicidal mission, it seemed that an alien attack would be the least of your problems. In fact, maybe it would even sweeten your life a bit, and before meeting death, you would still have a chance to make the first human contact with life outside Earth.

"Okay," You took a deep sigh, pulling down the engine handle. "Let's see what you want from me."

Your ship stopped, and the monstrous glassed vehicle followed right away. With your forehead pressed to the window, you waited.

And waited, waited, till ten minutes passed and the ship stood still. Your tongue pressed against the soft cheek as you walked back and forth, awaiting any sign of activity. Yet, the vast galaxy outside remained tranquil, a gentle glow reflecting off the smooth, wall-like surface of the enormous ship. It lacked doors and windows, being just a glassy, shimmering exterior that–

"Oh no," your throat tightened as it drew closer. And closer, closer, swooshing towards you, something long slowly sliding out of the ship's tall wall. "Oh, that's bad, fuck."

A panic squeezed your heart, thoughts rushed through a tired mind, and there weren't enough cuticles on your nails to bite them all. The window was too small to see the thing clearly, but it seemed to be heading straight towards your ship's door. A long, shining tube swooshed closer and closer until your ship suddenly vibrated, as if gently brushing against a foreign object.

Your fingers fidgeted with the plush fabric of the shirt, while droplets of sweat made your glasses slide down your temple. With unsteady legs, you cautiously moved toward the astronaut's suit and started pulling it over your body. The zipper felt heavy under your touch, and the bubble-shaped helmet was more suffocating than usual. The oxygen backpack almost doubled your load as you headed toward the door, with heavy pounding in your chest.

Your heart was always perfectly healthy, and yet for the first time in your life, you tried to remember all the possible symptoms of a woman's heart attack.

Chest pain, severe shortness of breath, nausea, radiating pain in the neck and jaw, you counted in your mind, marking each and every sign in your current state.

"Fuck, okay," trembling, glove-coated hands squeezed the handle of the massive, metal door, before you pushed it. It opened with a low, soft creek, inviting you into the endless tunnel filled with darkness.

To your surprise, gravity worked here, and thus you dropped heavily onto the hard floor. A soft oh filled the helmet as you lifted the flashlight a bit higher. Something shimmered at the end of the darkness, yet you weren't sure what.

Your steps didn't echo from the thick walls as you slowly approached the entrance to the alien ship. Thoughts clashed painfully in your mind, questions rose one by one as you breathed with a squeezed chest under the weighty kilograms of a spacesuit.

How many of them were there?

What did they look like?

Were they friendly?

How quick and painful would your death be?

Your mind tried to ignore the last one, as the chance of a cardiac arrest before meeting an alien seemed much more likely. Fingers clutched the flashlight tighter, feet moved carefully, one step after another, sticking to the tunnel's crooked surface.

"Hello?" Your voice bounced off the walls, lined with terror. "Whoever you are, I come in peace!"

Oh, what a cheesy line, you thought, biting down on your lower lip.

After a few steps, the glimmering thing came fully into view, and only then did you notice it was a thick glass wall. Or at least something similar to glass, with a hard surface that stopped you from going any further.

Glove-clothed hand touched it, helmet bumped against it, as you tried to light the darkness spilling behind it.

"Hello?" slipped a bit louder, with your fist knocking on the glass. "Anyone there?"

A silence, dull and endless, filled an eerie tunnel. Looking back, you took a note that your spaceship was still there – safe and sound – and you let out a deep sigh. It's not as if it would suddenly float away, but–

A heavy thump suddenly shook the tunnel's floor.

Your head snapped back, breath hitched, fingers squeezed with a tremble around the flashlight.

"H-Hello?"

The light reflected off something towering and shimmering, slowly moving toward you in a relaxed, unhurried manner, nearly as tall as the tunnel itself. A bluish halo beamed off the creature's body, filling the dark space with a soft aura.

You stepped back, trying to direct a flickering beam straight at the thing coming your way, but your hand trembled too much. The heart was on the verge of stopping, and dread haunted the mind as it drew closer, revealing its height. At least two and a half metres, brushing the ceiling of the tunnel's crooked walls, filling the narrow space with its wide body.

And when the light caught on their face… oh.

The pale blue skin shimmered softly under a luminous glow. It appeared unnaturally smooth, soft, and a sudden, foolish wish to brush it with your thumb swirled inside your mind. White, snowy hair touched the handsome forehead, while nearly inhumanly pale-blue eyes gazed down at your spacesuit-covered body. You looked tiny and short in comparison, with a gloved hand once more resting on the glass wall.

The creature was dressed in a white suit, clinging tightly to its body and digging deep into the hard muscles bulging under its skin. Alien's head tilted, knees bent down, and within a second, it found itself on eye-level with you.

White lashes decorating endless, luminous blue fluttered, as if trying to take in the terror twisting your face.

"⊑⟒⌰⌰⍜," a low, manly voice crept past the glass.

Your eyes bulged like two porcelain plates, fingers pressed closer to the wall.

So he was a man.

Well, you could already figure that much based on his looks, but the warm tone slipping under your bubble helmet was evidence enough.

Your mind didn't register the language at first, but when his soft brow travelled up, and lips curled in a smile, you thought that maybe he was awaiting an answer.

"Oh, um," you took a step back, waving your hand clumsily. "Hello."

The creature's head tilted again, and he mimicked your gesture.

You blinked twice, still struggling to believe the situation you're in. "Uh, okay, what now?" you whispered. "I am..." You pointed at your head and said your name clearly and loudly. "What about you?"

"⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑ ⊑⟒⍀⟒," the creature said, and a wave of different sounds and tones once again hit your ears.

You sighed, pressing tongue against your cheek. "Right, it's not going to work."

He looked at you, and you looked at him. You, with a slightly furrowed forehead and your mind rushing through all the possible ways to communicate with the alien. He, with lips curled cheekily and pale eyes fixed on your face.

"I wouldn't mind your cooperation, you know?" you mumbled, but he tipped his head left and right, like a curious puppy.

"⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒," the same sounds once again slipped past the glass wall.

His head was tipping and tilting, and a second had passed before you finally understood that he wanted to say something.

"What? I don't understand," you said, mimicking his movements.

And thus both of you were shaking and tilting your heads, going over and over the same ⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒, and I don't understand.

His brows furrowed as if irritated, and large hand touched his chest. He took a deep breath – first and second – then pointed at his head and finally at yours.

Oh.

"You want me to..." you gestured as if removing the helmet. A quiet chuckle escaped him, and eyes glinted. "But I can't breathe here."

He didn't understand and thus pointed at your head once again. "⏁⏃☍⟒ ⟟⏁ ⍜⎎⎎."

Your head shook. "Whatever you say, I cannot take it off. Because I will…" Your hands slipped up to your throat before a wave of trembling convulsions bent your body. It wriggled, shook, before, with a theatrical cough, you fell down the crooked floor.

The creature was staring at you with a furrowed forehead and a gentle flicker of amusement coiling in his spectral eyes.

"Not the best first impression, I know," you muttered, swiftly standing up. "My point is, I can't breathe without it."

But it seemed he either didn't understand or was simply relentless in his pleadings. As the long fingers hit the glass wall, pointing right at your head. Another deep breath slipped past his lips, and he nodded, as if trying to say it was fine. Whatever he filled the tunnel with, you could breathe here.

And thus, the thought of what if slipped quietly into your mind.

What if he was right?

What if he really did fill your half of the tunnel with oxygen?

But what if he was wrong, and the moment the helmet would go off, you would die in inhumane suffering?

Light blue eyes shone with anticipation, lips curled into an encouraging smile, and a finger pressed harder into the glass wall.

You took a deep breath, feeling the droplets of sweat coiling at the nape of your neck. He seemed to be a highly intelligent creature, with the ability to communicate as well as you and a rather comprehensive understanding of the differences between your species. For some reason, trusting him felt almost natural, and the assuring look of his spectral gaze made you drop your head with a sigh.

When fingers hooked on the helmet's edges, your heart was nearing its death. Chest squeezed painfully, eyes closed till the eyelids dug deep into your balls. The sweat was now dripping down your spine, wetting the nape of your neck and shirt that clung to your body under the heavy spacesuit.

"Okay," you whispered, both to yourself and him, and it seemed that he was rather amused by the agony twisting your mind. When he chuckled, your brows furrowed. "Don't laugh. There's a rather big chance this air will burn me from the inside."

And so it happened – your fingers slowly unclasped the neck ring, allowing the pressurised seal to loosen with a soft puf. The bubble helmet was lifted unhurriedly, as if your lungs were still trying to grasp the rest of the oxygen swirling inside it.

With still closed eyes, you took the first breath. And the second, and the third, and then, looking back at the alien, a sweet, loud scoff slipped past your lips and flushed cheeks.

"⌇⟒⟒, ⟟ ⏁⍜⌰⎅ ⊬⍜⎍," he chuckled, pressing his forehead to the glass wall.

Still in shock, you stepped closer, also touching the warm, crystal surface with your brows. "Sure, whatever you say."

You looked at each other for a while, with beaming smiles and foreheads almost brushing as you leaned in, a rather intimate gesture. It seemed that the first meeting with another species broke down some specific walls for both of you. The curiosity and fascination with one another blurred the lines of proper manners, breaching all the careful first steps you surely should think of.

His eyes flickered, suggesting a new idea had just come to him. He raised a finger and gestured for you to stay put. After your gentle nod, he vanished into the darkness of the tunnel, leaving you alone with your thoughts swirling in your mind.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and as you sat on the crooked floor and took off the heavy spacesuit, he finally came back, with something gripped by his hand.

You looked closer, noticing the collar-like device and a small earplug. He placed it inside his ear while wrapping the collar around the pale neck. A faint, crispy sound filled his side of the tunnel, and milky brows furrowed as he pressed onto the device in his ear.

And then, with a gesture, he asked you to say something.

"Um," your head tilted, and he sat right in front of you, waiting with a soft smile. "You are rather pretty for an alien."

His fingers still pressed the small device, and after a second, cheekiness flickered in his eyes. "Am I, question? You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

To say you froze in shock would be an understatement.

Your lips parted, eyebrows nearly touching hairline, as body leaned forward before your hand pressed against the glass wall. You didn't know whether you were more surprised by either his ability to speak your language or the casual compliment that caused your cheeks to heat up.

"You can…" You shook your head, barely breathing. "But how is it…"

He pointed at his ear. "This device recognises your language," then gestured to his neck. "And connects with this. Whenever I speak in my language, this collar converts it into yours."

A soft ah slipped past your lips, eyes fixed on the thin, crystal band made of a sort of rubber material. Your finger brushed the glass wall, as if trying to feel the device beneath it.

Your brows furrowed when another issue started to bite into your curiosity. "But how do you know my language? How did you build this translator? Our species never made contact."

He sat closer, pressing his forehead to the glass again. At this point, you started to wonder whether it was a sort of typical signal from his species, carrying a special, unknown meaning. And when he beamed with joy, you noticed little white droplets shining faintly, sprinkled around his cheeks. Was this an equivalent of a blush?

"You didn't with us," he pressed a finger to yours, and only then did you see the true, monstrous size of his hand. "But the Reds had been studying you for years."

The reds…

"Oh gosh!" A gasp ripped out of your throat as you covered your mouth with a hand. His head tilted. "The Reds, you mean, Martians?"

"Why are you shocked, question?" he asked, carefully eyeing as you quickly stood up and started walking back and forth between the walls.

Your mind pulsed, trying to comprehend everything that had happened over the past hour. The strange spaceship, the first-ever human contact with life beyond Earth, the final confirmation that aliens did, in fact, kidnap people and conduct experiments on them.

"I'm shocked, because humans never made any contact with life outside our planet," you said, biting down on a fingernail. "How long have you known the Reds?"

A low hum slipped past his lips, and smooth, blue forehead creased. "Five hundred years, I say."

"What?!" Your knees buckled as you once again sat in front of him, with hands and forehead and breasts pressed tightly to a glass wall. "Five hundred years? How is that possible? Are your planets close to each other?"

His head shook, but forehead remained wrinkled. "Humans are very underdeveloped."

You chuckled softly, noticing small, adorable language mistakes the translator made here and there. It's still, robotic voice muffled the creature's deep tone, and something squeezed your heart, as you surprisingly discovered that the honeyed warmth of his tone wrapped your mind in a rather pleasing manner.

"Yes, it seems so." Your head turned, with flushed cheeks pressed to the wall. "But till now I had no idea how far behind we are."

He stayed quiet for a moment before tapping gently on the wall. Your eyes slipped back to his, noticing the droplets sprinkled across his face, radiating adorably like flickering stars.

"My name is Satoru," rolled quietly, as the shimmering dust coated his cheeks ever wider. "Your name, question?"

When you said it slowly, he nodded, still tapping on the surface. Right against your pressed hand. "That's a very beautiful name."

"Yours is not bad either."

He hummed, as if in agreement.

Your head grew heavier and heavier, and the warmth was gently trying to coax you into sleep. As you yawned, Satoru's ghostly eyes carefully followed the exhaustion clouding your forehead.

"Are you tired, question?"

His throat bobbed when you giggled. "You don't have to add a question at the end of each ask, you know?"

You assumed that, because of his grammar rules, he needed to emphasise the difference between normal sentences and inquiries. You've noticed that his language sounded much more melodic than yours, yet it lacked the upward pitch humans use.

"But I am tired, thank you for asking." Looking over your shoulder, you've noticed that your ship was, fortunately, still there. "How about I go to sleep, and we'll get back to our talk in a few hours?"

You slowly stood up and grabbed your heavy spacesuit. Glasses slipped off your nose, and hair stuck to still-warm cheeks, as you lifted up the flashlight and… oh.

It seemed that you missed the sudden sorrow deepening between Satoru's brows. Eyes widened in panic, big palms plastered to the wall with lips just slightly opened, as he looked with a fearful expression at your attempt to move away from the wall. From him.

"Satoru–"

"Can you please sleep here?" His voice trembled, although the translator's robotic tone remained unwavering.

You looked around the tunnel, feeling the crooked ground bending beneath your feet and the dark walls emitting a deep, earthy smell. "I don't think that's a good idea, Satoru." A warm smile lifted your lips as you turned towards your spaceship. "But don't worry, I'll be back. Sleep for a bit, and before you'll notice, I'll–"

"Please," the anxiety filling his shaken voice stabbed right through your heart. "Please let me watch you sleep."

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing him in the same position. With hands pressed against the wall and eyebrows furrowed deeply.

"Watch me sleep?"

He nodded. "I… I didn't watch my crew sleep. The crew died. Satoru has been alone for the past forty years." Your lips fell open, but he quickly added, as if afraid you'd refuse again. "I watch you sleep, you won't die."

Seeing his face – filled with anxiety, pure fear, and misery – you could only smile softly and nod. As the mere thought of this man spending over forty years in space all alone tore your heart apart in the most inhumanely painful way.

"Yes, okay," barely pushed past your lips, before you cleared your throat. "Just let me bring my stuff."

You quickly changed into pyjamas, gathered a few blankets, a pillow and enough water for the night, before going back to the warm tunnel.

And then, as you drew closer to the glassy wall, you noticed a slight change in its shape. As during the five minutes you were gone, Satoru had prepared a special shelf for your body to lie right next to him. With his own feather-like blanket, he lay on his side, waiting for you to slip into the long space and hug him.

You giggled, filling the space with your own things. "That's quite intimate, Satoru."

His body was much taller than the width of the tunnel, and thus, he curled his legs a bit before trying to get even closer to you. "What does intimate mean, question?"

With head hitting the soft pillow and blanket covering your body, you turned his way. Nothing but a thick crystal wall kept you away from brushing noses with each other.

"It means that you're trying to be romantic with someone," but then you thought he might also not understand what romantic means. "Hm, it's when you do nice things for a certain person that you wouldn't do for anyone else. For example, make a special bed to be closer to someone."

A soft crease wrinkled his forehead, and the peacefulness of his eyes told you that he was deeply thinking. "I wouldn't do it for anyone other than you."

The sincerity beaming from his eyes was enough to assure you of the innocent truthfulness of his words. So you sighed, nuzzling deep into the pillow, hoping he didn't notice the warmth on your cheeks.

"That's very romantic, you know? Something you would say to your special someone."

"To your mate, question?"

You hummed, softly closing eyes. His presence somehow made your body tingle with a pleasant warmth, allowing the sleep to haunt your mind in a much softer, calmer way. In a way, you didn't feel for a long, long time, spending days in loneliness and a maddening need to feel someone else's warmth again.

You couldn't feel Satoru's heat, yet your heart fluttered fondly as his gaze truly watched you sleep.

"Yes, although humans don't mate."

"Why, question?"

When you giggled – sweetly, kindly – droplets coating Satoru's cheeks lighted up. Solely for a second, but it was enough to make him slip closer, and closer, and closer, till the glass wall was digging painfully into his body, and his heart still rushed your way.

You bubbled something under your nose. An answer he could not hear. With your lips falling open and a crystal string of saliva dripping down the soft pillow.

His finger pressed against the glass, as if wishing to brush it away.

And when another five minutes passed, a soft snoring filled your side of the tunnel. Breath calmed down, and body drew closer to his. Trying to curl into his – big, burning hot, utterly dangerous for yours.

"I watch you sleep," he whispered, brushing the glass with your pressed cheek. "You never die."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

Satoru was much more intelligent than you expected.

It's not that you treated him as beneath you, but the true power of his mind exceeded your expectations.

And as it turned out, he was in the same situation as you – researching the alien microbes that were also eating his sun. Except that his species discovered the problem forty years before yours, and thus a wave of panic washed over your mind. Because if a creature like Satoru couldn't find the solution to the problem that apparently touched not just Earth but the whole universe, you wouldn't do it either.

One difference between you and Satoru was that, as an engineer, he could actually do things himself. Simply produce them, with all the glassed walls and tiny models of planets made from a strange, gluey substance that rolled off his fingers. He wasn't a scientist like you, so when he heard that you were the "brain" of the crew, his eyes flickered. 

"We can work together," he proposed, already considering the path to the only planet not consumed by alien microbes. Since it wasn't infected, it suggested there was something in its atmosphere that enabled it to withstand the lethal bacteria. "You will be the mastermind of the entire operation, I will develop the sources. Also, I have spent forty years here, so I know how to navigate."

His eyes were fixed on creating another little planet, rolling the gluey strings between his pads, moulding them into a ball and waiting until the substance dried into a crystal orb. After a few days, your glassy wall had advanced enough to have a small opening for a shelf where you could exchange little presents.

Although you forgot that Satoru's atmosphere was close to boiling lava in temperature, when your hands accidentally brushed, a nasty, red bump was left on the skin of your thumb.

He put the ball on the shelf and moved his hand away so you could grab it.

"Which planet is it?" you wondered, brushing the crystal surface.

He tsked – something he learnt from you mere hour ago – and mumbled. "The earth, of course."

A scoff escaped your lips, and warmth spilt over the heart. "We're not that small."

"I believe you are."

"And we have more greenery."

He wondered, this time building a small spaceship. Your spaceship. "I would like to see it."

Some things have become clearer after spending the past few days in Satoru's presence. His planet was one of the closest to the sun, wrapped in a dense atmosphere that protected its inhabitants from being burned alive. As Satoru said, the days merged with the nights, and it was always rather dark – hence the pale, almost spectral eyes he and other inhabitants had. There was little to no greenery, and the water system had long been sustained by technologies developed by engineers like him.

"A lot of sand", he once said, and you wondered whether it would look like anything close to the climate of Arab countries.

His head tilted then, and eyes flickered with curiosity. "How do Arab countries look, question?"

You tried to describe the endless desert plains, the crimson sun, the curling droplets of sweat on your neck, and the nights filled with beaming joy as best you could. The feel of warm sand under your feet, sea brushing the skin sweetly and fresh dates melting on your tongue in sugary pleasure.

He listened, with eyes following the curve of your lips and fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

"I would love to see it," he muttered, poking the glass wall with his finger. "It sounds beautiful."

You giggled, following the pale blue of his skin. Soft and shiny, it reminded you more of a region bitten by cold than of the merciless atmospheric temperature of over two hundred degrees Celsius.

"You're rather pale for someone living right next to the sun."

He scoffed, with fingers still creating the small spaceship. In the meantime, you leaned against the crooked tunnel's wall, with a laptop on your thighs, trying to plan the route towards the only "safe" planet.

"I'm not pale. I'm blue."

"That was a joke," you shoot him a glance, seeing the irritated squint of his eyes. "It means that the thing I say is supposed to be funny. You should laugh."

A low, awkward chuckle rolled off his lips, and you couldn't help but burst out laughing. Satoru knew how to express his joy, but it seemed he didn't quite possess the humour you did.

The moment has passed, and a comfortable silence stretched between the two of you. He was mapping the galaxy, while you tried to work out whether your ship still had enough fuel to travel that far. It would take you months to reach that planet, but there seemed to be no other choice. After that mission, the fuel will run out, and you, just as planned, will die here – somewhere in the embrace of endless space.

A low sigh slipped past your lips, catching Satoru's attention. "Are you tired, question?"

Your head shook, and a few strands of hair fell loosely from a pinup. "I would love to invite you to my ship. There's a room where we can watch movies and stuff. I'm sure I can find something about Egypt."

And so…

You've also learned over the past few days that Satoru took everything seriously.

In the most genuine and firm understanding of this word.

Two weeks have passed since your meeting. One morning, as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed in nothing but panties and a loose shirt while brushing your teeth, a deep, gravelly rumble shook the entire spaceship.

Your heart leapt into your throat, eyes bulged, and you dashed out of the room with wet hair and bare feet. With all the prayers you've learnt as a child repeating in your mind over and over again, as you run towards the entrance of the ship.

Did you somehow get unsealed from the tunnel?

Did something hit the ship and cause the irreparable damage that would cost you your life?

Fuck, did–

But when you finally got into the room connected with an entrance, with toothpaste smeared all over your cheek and glasses falling crookedly off your nose, a low gasp slipped past your lips.

"Satoru?!"

Because the pale-bluish creature himself stood in the middle of your spaceship, locked in a…

"And you're in a ball?" Like a hamster, wanted to join, but he probably wouldn't know what a hamster is.

Standing right in front of you, fully upright, with long legs wrapped in a white suit and a muscular back bulging under the stretched material – he appeared even more monstrous than usual. A creature over two metres tall, looking all over your place with amusement shining in his eyes, his gaze following all your dirty panties spread across the floor.

"Yep, so I won't die in your atmosphere," long fingers knocked the crystal ball, before lips curved in a cheeky smile. "Can I smell it, question? I want to know how your body smells. Put it to the shel–"

A sudden warmth had hit your cheeks, and throat tightened around the remnants of the toothpaste. "Absolutely not! It's very not polite of you to ask such things."

He started walking around in a large ball that barely fit the corridors of your spaceship, its hard walls brushing against each and every machine, piece of furniture, and console on its way. He strolled freely, dropping different comments here and there, while you followed him and picked up all your clothes.

"So dirty," he snapped, pushing a loud scoff from your throat.

"I didn't expect the guests!"

But he ignored you, as your bedroom appeared somewhere within the line of his sight. Blue cheeks shone with crystal droplets, and white, fluffy hair almost stood on end with excitement. Before you could stop him, long legs swiftly moved towards your bedroom, taking in every little, dirty, detail – more panties, a small mattress, a few books lying scattered all over the floor.

"Is that our nest, question?" He looked around before parking his ball next to your mattress. He sat down, leaning against the floor, and finally shot you a look. "I like it."

With a deep, weariness-filled sigh, you returned to the bathroom, cleaned yourself, and re-entered the bedroom. Soft light reflected off the glistening droplets on his cheeks as he probed the fabric of your panties with his finger. Only then did you realise that the ball, despite being firm, was quite flexible, enabling him to slide his fingers through its surface, which was covered in a sticky, shimmering coating that shielded his skin from the oxygen.

You took the material away from his curious gaze and pushed it back into your bag.

"Satoru, what are you doing here?" slipped rather harshly as you sat down on your bed.

He seemed to be confused by your tone, tilting the fluffy head with a furrow. "Are you mad, question?"

You knew that getting angry with him, while he was still learning to recognise human emotions, was silly. Stupid, even, and you felt as if you were shouting at the poor puppy. Except that this puppy was much taller than you and probably weighed twice your weight.

With a sigh, you fell back on the mattress and covered your face with an arm. "Sorry, I'm not mad. Just… surprised. I didn't expect you would come up my ship."

He tried to roll closer, but the space was too small to allow him any other movements than going back and forth from the entrance to your mattress. So he stayed in place, trying to observe the expression on your face.

"I can't see you like that," he noted.

Another thing you've learnt about his species was how important contact and intimacy are. Not even sexual ones, but rather a simple need to always be with someone. To communicate while looking right into their eyes, to feel their skin on theirs, and to follow the movements of their lips. To feel the presence of another creature next to them, even if the only thing you did was sleep next to each other.

So another sorry slipped past your lips, and you sat again, showing Satoru your face. He slightly lightened up before pressing a hand to the crystal ball.

"You said, and I quote, I would love to invite you to my ship," he noted with utmost seriousness, and you rolled your eyes. "So I came."

Well, he was right. You did say that, and you did wish there were a way to bring him into your ship. Travelling together would be much easier if both of you were on one ship, so amidst the pure chaos and shock he caused, you quite enjoyed the fact that he could live here.

With you.

"Okay," your hand pressed to the ball, filling half of his palm. "But we need to set up some rules first. First, we don't sleep in the same bedroom–"

"But I must watch–"

"Satoru," you interrupted him, seeing the pale eyes slip into the sorrowfulness. "You have excellent hearing and even more excellent sight. I'm sure you can watch me sleep while staying next door." A grim twisted his face, and a low mumble filled his little bubble. Too quiet for the translator to catch, so you chuckled sweetly, seeing his brattiness surface. "Okay. The second rule – you can't sniff my panties. It's something… reserved only for mates."

And, well, if that didn't fire him up – with eyes suddenly beaming in excitement and droplets twinkling one by one, like a tiny mingling stars. You felt as if you had challenged him, and thus quickly added. "And because we are not mates, you cannot do it. It's too intimate."

"I want to be intimate."

A sudden flush hit your cheeks, and warmth spread beneath your chest. "No, Satoru, you don't understand. It's about sexual intimacy. Something you share while…" saying it out loud felt like giving a biology lesson to elementary school kids. "Mating… with your special someone. When you, well, have sex and stuff. Do you know–"

He chuckled low, a sly smile lifting his lips. "I know what mating is."

Something in your lower belly bubbled, seeing him like that. Tall and strong, spreading a slightly possessive and dominating aura. With eyes full of bratty cheekiness and something, something, slightly sensual dripping from his voice.

"Well, so you know that we can't do it," You moved back, taking your palm away from the crystal ball. "Let's work on our plan and try to find a way to save the world."

And with a slight dissatisfaction, Satoru finally agreed.

But the next months spent in his presence were… interesting. To say at least.

Every day brought new surprises, which sometimes ended with your body blushing from head to toes, sometimes him getting shy and flustered, while still trying to keep up the cocky demeanour.

He was nothing less than excellent when it came to engineering and helping with the travel itself, also being an amazing companion for the long, daring journey.

Soon he resigned from constant stay in a ball and filled the interior of your spaceship with long corridors of crystal, making himself at home. Whenever you were – he was right next. Be it a bedroom, control room, kitchen or…

"Satoru!" You quickly covered your breasts with your hands, seeing him walking into the bathroom with the most casual demeanour.

A plate of some weird substance, he was always eating for supper, and a white suit half unzipped, showing off his muscular, blue chest. He leaned against the door, spectral eyes slowly following your naked body. From legs up to hips, staying longer on the gentle swell of your ass and the mould of your pussy, before going up, and up, to the breasts covered by your trembling fingers. "Sweetheart is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

"Sweetheart" because he really wished to call you something human pairs use for each other. Even though at least three times a week, you needed to remind him that you, in fact, were not a pair.

A muffled, surprised scoff escaped your lips. You pointed to the exit with one hand, forgetting it was clutching one of your breasts. When the silky swell smoothly slipped from your grasp, bouncing gently before his eyes, he moved closer, already pushing a finger through the stretching wall.

"Can I–"

You smacked it, once again showing the exit. "Satoru! You can't walk on me while I'm naked."

"Why, question?" he asked, relentlessly trying to get closer to your body. With a finger poking the wall, that unfortunately couldn't stretch enough to even brush your skin. "Come a bit closer."

Something in your belly bubbled, warmth spread across your chest, and a single, dirty thought of letting him touch you bloomed in your mind. After all, sexual needs and anatomy were among the things all researchers wished to know about foreign species. And because Satoru was of the same, curious kind as you…

"It's too early, out!"

His head tilted, and lips curved into a foxy smile. "It's eight in the evening."

"No, I mean, we're not close enough to do such stuff."

He knocked on the crystal wall. "Sweetheart, but I can't get closer."

Oh god.

You sighed, finally letting the other tit bounce softly too. Leaning against the small shelf, you glanced at him with a frown. He, however, looked anywhere but into your eyes. Rude.

"Our relationship is not on that level…" yet. "What you want to do is too intimate. Sexual." And then, a sudden curiosity spiked your mind. "Satoru, how does the… mate thing look like among your species?"

His eyes finally slipped up to yours. "We choose one mate for a whole life."

Well, that was rather clear.

"What about the, you know…" You gestured awkwardly, partially at your still naked body.

"The mating," he finished. But as if feeling the spike in your curiosity, with round eyes ogling his naked chest and slipping shyly towards his hips, he bubbled a low chuckle. "Come closer, and I will show you."

What a brat!

With the last tsk and a dirty look shot his way, you turned back towards the mirror and finished your quick, morning "shower". Even while using rinseless soap and water pouches to clean your body, you still felt Satoru's presence behind you.

Deep blue eyes following the curve of your body, back muscles working beneath the soft skin, and when you bent over to rinse your face, a sudden, sharp breath escaped his throat.

You didn't have to look back to know that he was looking straight at your pussy.

"It's wet," he mumbled, coming closer. And closer, until his finger once again tried to evade the stretching wall, too short to even brush the swell of your ass.

You hummed, trying to hide an embarrassed warmth kissing your neck. "It's a natural lubrication. It usually happens when a woman is…" oh fuck it. "Excited."

He seemed charmed, completely bewitched, and some part of you wished the difference in temperature between your bodies wasn't over two hundred degrees Celsius. As the moment Satoru's hands touched your skin, you weren't sure whether calling it the third-degree burn would be enough.

"Why is sweetheart excited, question?"

With your body leaning forward and hands resting on the shelf, you looked back, eyes slightly hazy, wetness dripping down your thigh. A silken droplet swirled down your leg, and Satoru's always oh-so-attentive eyes, of course didn't miss it.

"I want the taste," he mumbled, and only then did you notice a bulge, trying to rip free from beneath the white spacesuit covering his hips.

You took a deep breath, bending yourself lower and lower, till he could clearly see your cunt shining with silky wetness.

"I'm excited," you started, voice dripping with sensuality. "Because of you."

As if awaiting this exact answer, his eyes, for just a second, ripped themselves away from your soft pussy and looked up. To cross with yours – slightly teary, a bit too warm.

"I want to–"

You turned around, once again leaning against the shelf. A low groan escaped his throat, as he no longer could see your pussy in its fullness. The little pout twisting his lips made you giggle, but a tricky, dirty thought has slipped into your mind.

"How about this?" You took a step, then another, until you stood right in front of him. Much closer than before, but not close enough to let him brush your skin. "I will let you touch me. Watch me…" You coughed, feeling this wind of bravery leave your body as quickly as it had come. "Masturbate. And you'll let me do it too."

Satoru's lips fell open, eyes sparkled in excitement. "I thought the intimacy was only for mates. Are we mates then, question?"

"Let's call it friend with benefits."

His eyes narrowed. "We don't do such things with friends."

You scoffed, pushing your hip to the side and biting the inside of your cheek. "Well, we do, so you can either accept it or not."

And seeing that this time his bratty stubbornness wouldn't work, Satoru nodded.

A few minutes later, you found yourself in the most embarrassed, going-straight-to-the-grave position you could imagine. With elbows supporting your body on the bedroom's mattress, legs spread open, and pussy pressed against the crystal wall. The slippery juices coated the surface, making Satoru breathe much, much harder than before. With fingers wrapped around the biggest, most monstrous cock you've ever seen.

You needed a moment to take in the sight that sprang up in front of your eyes after he took off the rest of the suit. Massive, veiny shaft, with a swelled protrusion at his base, probably used while mating. The blue skin was peppered with similar droplets sprinkled on his cheeks, and shimmered faintly whenever he looked down at your cunt.

Small and fluttering, with your hole squeezing around nothing and clit swelled from excitement.

The penetrative gaze of his made you warm up even more. "Satoru, touch me," slipped like an order.

His long finger brushed the crystal wall and pushed – gently, carefully, till he felt a soft button under his pad and heard a low moan escape your lips.

He dreamed of feeling the gummy structure of your pussy. To roll the clit between his fingers, without any surface protecting his body. To lower himself down and smell, lick, taste the dripping cum that in his mind was sweeter than anything he had ever tried.

And it should be noted that he had quite refined taste buds.

His other hand pumped his massive cock in slow strokes, enjoying the sight spreading in front of him much more than the feeling of his fingers wrapped around the dripping shaft.

"Does it feel good, question?" He asked, hearing another moan fill the small bedroom.

"Y-yeah, ahh, try to make gentle circles," slipped faintly, as you started to roll nipples between your fingers.

His thumb pressed against your clit harder, making your feet curl and legs spread even wider. As if trying to invite his massive cock, that would surely rip you in half.

Maybe the fact that you couldn't touch each other wasn't that bad. Because if he somehow found a way to fuck you with this size, you sure would feel it up in your throat.

And thus you enjoyed the sight spreading in front of your eyes – his beefy thighs bulging whenever you jolted under his thumb, pearly cum dripping down the blue skin, long fingers squeezing the veiny meat as he still oh-so-carefully rubbed your clit.

"It's getting wetter," he noticed, biting the inside of his cheek. "I want to taste you."

His low voice made your body melt under his fingers, forcing your thighs to spread wider and wider, while chasing the pleasure bubbling in your belly. Your hole fluttered around nothing, and a sheer sight of his cock spun your mind in crazy wish to get yourself stretched around it. To feel every vein scratch your tight walls, till the drenched head would kiss your swelling womb.

"Fuck, wait, I have an idea," you backed out, crawling towards your bag.

Crazy, stupid, nasty plan slipped into your head, as you took out a mid-size, creamy dildo. With a sucking pad at the end, and a slightly curved head. It wasn't yours, as you somehow found it among the things… oh well, does it really matter? It was clean and had been bathed in antiseptic spray multiple times; thus, using it was not disgusting at all.

But when Satoru saw it, his breath hitched. Eyes slipped down to his cock, and forehead furrowed. "Why is it so small, question?"

You chuckled, sticking it to the crystal wall. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that's the average size of a human's dick."

He followed your body as you once again spread your legs open and brushed the silicone cock through your folds a few times. Drenching it all in your juices, and Satoru, since learning the meaning of jealousy, felt something unpleasant bubble in his heart. Because he wished to be the one making your pussy flutter around his head and push it inside, till your sugary walls would clamp around his fat cock.

Your forehead furrowed, eyes glistened from prickling tears as his thumb once again landed on your clit. But this time, the pleasure was twice as intense. With a silicone dick stretching your tight pussy and his finger rubbing you in slow, maddening circles.

"I could make you feel better," he groaned, hearing another pitched moan slip past your lips. "This pathetic thing is not worthy to be inside my sweetheart."

With rising irritation, he pressed your clit harsher. Till a tremble washed over your body and back hit the mattress, as you rolled your cunt to feel the dildo go deeper. But Satoru was right – his cock would indeed make you feel better.

Your hands slipped up to your breasts, pinching the hard buds and chasing the maddening pleasure bubbling in your lower belly.

A deep frown creased Satoru's forehead, and he gently squeezed your clit. "I can't see your face."

"R-right, sorry–ahhh," A cry rolled off your tongue as you once again leaned on your elbows. "Satoru, it feels so good, mhmm."

His cock was more flushed than before, with a cherry tip spilling the heavy, thick droplets all over his hand. He pumped it madly, never once taking his eyes off your lovely face. With pleasure twisting your brows and teary eyes fixed upon his.

"S-Satoru, I, fuck, I'm going to cum," the silicone cock kissed your cervix, smooching it wetly with hefty, gluey cum sipping from your hole.

You tried to imagine getting split open on his cock. Being filled by his cum, with creamy saps stuffing your swelling womb and pumping your belly full. Getting manhandled by his muscular arms and wide back, as he would fold you into a mating press and push into the mattress. Till each and every spring would painfully dig into your spine.

So with a final cry, you came.

With a loud cry, spine arching into the sweetest curve, and a sprinkling of sweetness gushing all over his thumb, although it was a true pity that he couldn't feel it. Your body trembled and lips fell open, seeing a furrow cloud his forehead and fingers tightening around his cock.

And then, an idea slipped quietly into your mind.

"Wait a minute, don't cum yet," you muttered, taking a pair of panties lying on your bed. With a single, dirty move, you rubbed them against your drenched folds, gathering all the creamy cum and honeyed sweetness.

Satoru… dear heavens.

When a flimsy material landed inside the shelf, quite similar to the one he installed in a tunnel, Satoru's fingers snapped forward and snatched it. He brought it closer to his nose, lips, feeling your precious wetness and the rich flavour burst right onto his tongue, as a low, primal groan escaped his throat.

"Mhmm, s-so, ahh, tastes so sweet," a muffled cry was almost incomprehensible with your panties filling his mouth.

The head of his cock pulsed, massive balls constricted whenever his tongue took another lick of your fresh cum and eyes… oh, eyes stayed on you.

On your breasts coated in sheer sweat, thighs still spread open and a little, minx smile twisting your lips. Satoru was sure he could cum only at the sheer sight of your angelic face, and thus, after a few more harsh pumps and muffled cries, he came. Loud and heavy, with creamy ropes shooting all over his glimmering skin and fully emptying everything he has been keeping far too long.

What a waste, you both thought, wishing it landed somewhere far, far sweeter and warmer. Deep inside your womb, preferably.

A moment has passed, with a small bedroom filled with your heavy breaths and shy glances, looking everywhere but at your cum-coated bodies. With a faint cough, you finally closed your thighs and covered yourself with a blanket.

Blooming loveliness crept up your cheeks, and suddenly looking at Satoru required far more courage and calm than it had merely thirty minutes ago.

Before you could ask whether he needed a towel, his low voice spoke first. "Are we mates now, question?"

He said sheepishly, lifting your panties with a finger.

You groaned and fell on a mattress with his chuckle tickling your burning ears.

You didn't want to destroy this moment, even though you knew your mission would end with you dying in space. That he would go back to his planet safely, while you would float and float and float, while eventually dying of hunger.

And so, sharing this sweet moment of intimacy, with warmth spreading beneath your chest, you nodded. "Yes, Satoru. Let's become mates."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

The next few months were filled with nothing but joy.

With movies playing on repeat in the small, cinematic room, Satoru watches each of them with his lips agape. Enjoying the landscapes of Earth, you could project them into a closed space, with a blue sky spreading across the ceiling and tall Scottish plains stretching beneath your feet.

With the golden sand of Thai beaches shimmering in the sun and coconuts falling from the palms, the chirping of birds perched high in the lush trees of the Amazon Forest, and the endless plains of the Sahara Desert.

When you joked that the three pyramids in Giza you were just looking at were believed to have been built by aliens, he only hummed and nodded as if in agreement. A scoff rolled off your tongue, and his head snapped towards you.

"Why are you nodding? Of course they weren't!"

Plush, bluish lips curved in a sly smile. "Is sweetheart sure, question? It looks like something we have on our planet."

An unbelievable shock crossed your face as you stared at him, speechless. "No, you don't!"

"Yes, we do."

"You're fucking with me."

His head tilted. "I thought we can't fuck."

You rolled your eyes, resting your head against his shoulder. Or at least against the crystal surface he was pressed against. "Forget it."

"I can't, my memory is excellent."

And that was indeed true, as Satoru seemed to remember every single thing you said or did over the past few months. The plan you devised to obtain a sample of the planet's atmospheric gas to discover why it was immune to deadly microbes was etched into his mind with meticulous precision.

Truly mesmerising creature he was, especially as he also remembered which buttons to push, to make you cum faster.

What you had also discovered was that Satoru loved to talk about your future.

Particularly during the late nights, when you were curled up under the warm blanket, lying on a mattress in a dimly lit room, with him cuddled up against your side.

He couldn't brush your soft cheek pressed against the wall, but it was fine.

For the look of your lovely face, he watched with warmth blooming in his chest, was enough.

On such nights, when both of you longed for each other's warmth, he enjoyed dreaming. Of you returning with him to his planet, building you a small, private island with oxygen, and fulfilling all your wishes. You teaching the children of his species physics – as you did on Earth – and him continuing to serve as the most valued engineer on his planet.

Of you and him living together in a small seaside cottage, spending days loving each other and lying on the soft beach till darkness would spill over the ocean's horizon – the only his planet had, the one he was ready to fully give into your hands. Having sex all day and night, to which you responded with a sweet, faint giggle, as sleep slowly slipped onto your eyes.

"And how would we do it, hm?" you mumbled, pressing against the crystal wall.

A soft furrow haunted your forehead, and he imagined calming it with a gentle roll of his thumb. "The atmosphere of my planet allows us to use a special technique," through the glass wall, he traced the curve of your lips. "It wraps my body in a thin barrier, but I would be able to touch you," soft lips touched to the point where your nose pressed. "And kiss you. And hug you, make love with you, although we wouldn't have children."

You understood why and giggled softly, slowly opening your sleepy eyes to meet the endless, pale blue. "You really want to get even closer, huh?"

It was a joke, and yet a warmth bloomed behind his spectral eyes, forcing your heart to skip a beat. His hand pressed to the part where your chest met the wall, before he leaned his forehead against "yours". "If I could, I would make you live inside me. So nothing in this universe would ever rip us apart."

A faint oh rolled past your lips as you bit on the soft inside of your cheek. "Satoru, I don't know how long your species live, but… I don't have as much time as you think."

A sudden panic swelled behind his eyes, and thumb slipped out of the crystal wall to brush your lower lip. "My best friends have been mates for the past hundred and sixty years. How many can you give me, question?"

Something ripped through your heart. Cut it with painful slashes, till a crease on your forehead deepened. "Not a lot, Satoru. Maybe seventy years?"

His thumb paused, an ache spreading across the vast, pale blue plains. "I've lived three hundred years without you," he said, warm lips pressing into the wrinkle between your "brows". "I won't survive another seventy."

But the endless honeymoon couldn't last long.

For there was a reason why both of you found yourselves in space. Why the mission was tagged as suicidal, and why there wasn't enough fuel to get you back to Earth. And while Satoru's dreams indeed sounded tempting, you knew that it simply wouldn't work out.

For you breathed oxygen, and he needed ammonia gas.

Your body stayed cool at thirty-six degrees Celsius, while his was burning up to over two hundred.

He was three hundred years old – you twenty-seven.

But he didn't have to know all of that. Over the past twenty-seven years, no one had made you laugh, enjoy, and love life as much as he did. Even if those brief moments of happiness were only meant to last a few months, they were enough.

After the mission, he could go back safely to his home, and you… well.

And you would need to watch him die.

It was truly unpredictable, and none of you could foresee how the situation would turn out. You finally arrived on the planet, prepared to collect the necessary samples of the antidote. You didn't know, however, how dense its atmosphere would be.

How the wind would violently hit your ship, tossing it sharply left and right as you stepped outside in your spacesuit and carried Satoru's sampling device back onto the ship.

He told you to leave it. When you almost fell off the ship, he begged you to come inside. Hit the wall with hands, screamed right into the speaker inside your helmet, pleaded to leave the sample and just come back.

But you simply couldn't do it. Because leaving it here, after Satoru spent decades in space trying to seek the solution, would be simply foolish. Egoistic, and thus, after a few harsh currents, you grabbed the box filled with antidote cells and went back to the ship.

But then, it started spinning. And spinning and spinning, wish wind smacking it in violent currents, and you found it almost impossible to get back onto the normal route. Every single light inside the control room shimmered red. Satoru tried to calm you down, but there was nothing he could truly do from behind the glass wall.

You pushed and flickered every button, every controller, but after one sudden, brutal tug of the ship, your face hit the console.

Eyes filled with red, a nasty crack came from the nose, and the gaze became a bit hazy. You tried to push one last button that would help the ship get away from the planet's strong current, but you were simply too weak. With blood slowly covering your whole face and belts still pinning you to the chair.

Satoru shouted something, but you couldn't hear him clearly. Was it because of the red lamps and an alarm filling the control room? Or maybe because of the sudden sleepiness that blanketed your eyelids?

His fists hit the glass wall, spreading the dull echo around the control room. A soft sweetheart sweetheart sweetheart rolled past his lips, but you simply had no energy to look up. As if you did, the sigh of his trembling, panicked face would rip your heart apart.

His large fists wanted to break through the wall, eyes looked at the blood dripping down your face, body filled with helplessness and desperation, trying everything in his power to get close to you.

With a single finger, you still strained to push that last red button. To get the ship back on track, at least allow Satoru to be safe, and finish the mission that would help save his planet. But your body couldn't handle the gravitational force caused by the spin, which pressed you into the console. The slow crushing of your lungs, mind filling with fogginess, throat crushed beneath the flickering buttons.

So with a soft, almost inaudible I'm sorry, your eyes closed.

A second has passed, a minute, with mind registering the crying alarm and… and a shatter of glass.

A sudden pain washed over your body – burning and stinging every nerve. Someone lifted you up, carefully, slowly, trying to wrap you in blankets and clothes, anything to keep you from the lethal touch.

Quiet, you'll live, sweetheart will live, sweetheart, sweetheart, keep your eyes open, amid violent waves of coughing and painful moans, filled the corridors of your spaceship. When your eyes opened a little, you saw nothing but thick steam evaporating from something. 

Someone.

"Satoru?" slipped out in a whisper as, from beneath the curling steam, a blue, familiar face looked down at you, wet-cheeked. "Satoru, no, y-you'll die–"

"Shhh, sweetheart, it's okay, it's okay, sweetheart will live," he repeated like a mantra, hugging your wrapped body closer to his.

Fiery skin burned through the thick layers of blankets, leaving burns all over your bloodstained skin. Your body hit something, and before you noticed, an automated medical care robot soon filled your vision. The mechanical arms pressed the oxygen mask to your face before an IV needle slipped beneath the skin of your arm.

"Satoru," you mumbled weakly, trying to find those familiar, pale eyes.

And he was right there, offering you the most painful, heart-tearing sight. Tears ran down his cheeks, white steam curled tortuously from his body, and gaze slowly grew weaker. He could barely breathe, yet still stood right there.

Over your barely warm body, making sure that you would live.

"I watch you–"

"No, S-Satoru," barely pushed through your squeezed throat. With crystal tears swirling in your eyes and fingers trying to push him away from the table. "Go back, p-please, or–"

"No, I watch you sleep." his fingers grabbed the hem of your shirt. "You won't die".

You were too weak to fight him. In too much pain, with your head pounding, skin burning from his touch and anaesthesia slowly kicking in.

And so, with a last look into the eyes your heart laughed for, you fell asleep.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed. How long you stayed under the mechanical clutches of the medical robot.

How long Satoru needed to suffer, to make sure you would be alive.

But when you finally woke up and ripped yourself away from the needles, he wasn't there.

He wasn't in your sight, but something else, something burned, marked the floor. Dark traces of blue dust led further inside the spaceship. Still weak, with the last traces of blood dried on your cheek, you followed them, your heart pounding. And a little grain of foolish hope bloomed inside your heart, fresh tears already swirling in the corners of eyes.

The ship was back on a normal route, carrying you through the galaxy at a slow, peaceful pace. Thanks to Satoru.

The blue dust led you through the control room, down into the basement, kitchen, bathroom, and finally to the bedroom, as if he tried to, for the last time, see every part of the ship. Just to make sure everything was working. That after waking up, you wouldn't have to bother yourself with anything.

And so another wave of crushing sob bubbled in your throat. A pain ripping you open as you entered your shared bedroom and saw him there – curled on the mattress, the upper part of his body already slipped inside his crystal corridor. As if he didn't have the strength to crawl in fully. Too busy watching you sleep.

"Oh, Satoru," a cry finally escaped your throat, as your knees bent beside his body. "You fool, so stupid, you're–oh!" A hysterical lament filled the small bedroom as you touched his cold body. "Satoru, how c-could you leave me alone?"

Face, always beaming with so much warmth and joy, lay in dead silence. With your loving, blue eyes closed behind the curtain of white lashes and lips more pale than usual.

Gathering every last ounce of strength still boiling in your body, you brought his ball back. In such a tight, ammonia-filled space, the chance of his recovery was much higher.

Opening it was almost impossible, so you cut a hole big enough to, with pain ripping through your muscles and sweat dripping down your spine, somehow push him inside. And then you glued the walls tight, with a prayer dripping off your lips, and your body cuddled into his crystal ball.

"I'll watch you sleep," you whispered, brushing the surface with his pressed cheek. "You won't die."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

The sun spilling through the curtain tickled your cheeks. The chirping of birds made you sigh deeply, and the gentle sea breeze coated your skin with soft kisses. The shoulder, the soft line of the spine, the slightly sweating neck, with a salty fragrance slipping sweetly into your nostrils.

You tried to stretch, waking up your stiff body from a deep slumber, but something locked you in place.

Something heavy and long, curling around your waist and pulling you closer to another stony wall.

Or, maybe you should say, stony chest.

Looking over your shoulder, you've met with a cheeky smile curling your husband's lips and still-sleepy, pale eyes. He pulled you closer, until your head found itself under his chin and your legs entangled with his.

"Good morning," you giggled, turning in his arms. "Did you sleep well?"

Satoru hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The thin barrier wrapping his body glimmered under the spilling sunlight. After years on his planet, you no longer needed a translator to understand his language. And so you kissed his blue neck, tracing the kisses up, and up, along his jaw and chin, until finally locking your lips with his.

"Apologies, I didn't watch you sleep."

You chuckled, biting gently on his lower lip. "Were you that tired after last night?"

"Mmm," a soft, satisfied hum escaped his throat when you felt something hard poking your belly. "Forgive your husband, he didn't realise he had a tigress and no wife at home."

You chuckled sweetly, forcing his lips to curl in a sly smile.

"Does my wife need anything? Do you want Suguru to lower the temperature?"

Tracing the sharpness of his jaw, up to the curve of his lips, your head shook. "No, it's warm enough. Maybe you can ask him to lower the birds' chirping a bit. I think they're a bit louder than yesterday."

He nodded, pulling you even closer. Till your bodies tangled in one, and a slow, peaceful pounding of his heart beat against your breasts. "Mhm, sure. But let's sleep a bit longer, and then you can jump on me as much as you want, hm?"

So with the last, soft kiss between your brows and heart swelling from feeling the heaviness of your body on his, Satoru allowed you to cuddle into his muscular chest and watch him slowly slip into a deep slumber.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

⭑.ᐟ

A flat feminine voice echoes throughout the room, “Eye movements detected.”

The sharp, bright light blinds your vision, causing you to feel dizzy, like the whole room swallowing you in a spiral. Your lungs burn from the sudden intake of oxygen. It feels like your throat, lungs, and all your respiratory system forget how to breathe on their own.

“What’s two plus two?”

“Frlourrr.”

“Incorrect.”

Your first instinct is to clutch harder on each side of what seems like a bed. But the only sensation your skin could grapple with is the feeling of something slithering throughout your body. You falter for a moment,

“Attempt number two. What’s two plus two?” The female robotic voice chimes again.

“Four, for the love of God!”

“Incorrect.”

You startle, not because of the repetition incorrect from that emotionless robot voice, but at your ability to form a sentence and it burst out clearly. Your throat may feel dry and sore, but the irritation of being questioned the same questions twice by these tentacles, just enrages you.

“Attempt number three. What’s two plus two?”

You inhale deeply, adapting your nostrils to the cold air in the white-ceiling surroundings adorned with robotic arms facing you, like underneath a big white spider. You lift your head to peek out of your lower body. 

A waft of nausea flits briefly in your stomach at the scenery you just caught; you are barely even clothed, and there are tubes and IVs here and there jammed inside your body, in an instant, the pain registers.

“Four,” you hiss, and the robot's arms pull the tube slowly, hiding underneath your thighs and your arms.

“What is your name?” The robot's arms halt the process to pull the last tube sticking to the part where no sunlight could enter.

The question lingers in your mind. It flies and sways just above the surface before it reaches the deep waters of your memory, to the point where it plunges into the abyss of a very confidential matter.

.

.

The image surges unwavering; a guy in a yellow jacket lay unconsciously just beneath your knees. Tackling his back onto the wild grass, you seized the injection from one of the guys dressed in a white lab coat.

“Give me that!” Your own voice sounded weirdly domineering in your memory.

“Lieutenant (y/l/n), make sure you inject it in—” the white coat lab guy alerted, and the man underneath you withered and screamed.

Your colleague appeared behind your back, and the man underneath you shrieked once more at your colleague’s appearance.

“Carl! I can’t do it!”

“Shut up!” You screamed and stabbed the needle at the back of his neck.

“Carl,” he screamed again, muffled. “Don’t do it, don’t do it, (y/l/n)!”

“You know who you are.” Your colleague stood beside you, gazing at the unfortunate guy. 

After the wither stopped, you swept the sweat beaded in your forehead. One of your knees supported you to rise from the ground, and you gave back the empty needle to one of the lab guys.  

Carl looked at you, with one hand clutching his earpiece. He talked briefly with the soldiers who hoisted the unfortunate guy to a gurney. Carl nodded and muttered into his earpiece, “Dr. Ryland Grace is secured.”

There was a brief silence from both of you. The person Carl talked to through his ear piece might have said something that you had expected, and told Carl to utter it. But, he chose to stay idle while the commotion from sedating that guy still went ruckus.

“I know, it’s my time. Let me enjoy my last evening on Earth first, before I sleep for God knows how long.”

As stoic as Carl might look, there was a shift in his countenance, “You gotta prepare to defend yourself when he remembers you pulled violence like that.”

You jeered, “I’m sorry? Your guys did nothing, that’s what I had to do it,” you paused, looking at all the personnel, struggling to transport the scientist onto a truck. “I know, I gotta make a plan. I’ll ask Ilyukhina about this. She’s an engineer after all.”

Carl talked to his earpiece again, “She’s on her way.” He turned to you, “Good luck, Lieutenant (y/n).” And the words flew to your ear like another word of encouragement.

.

.

Everything rings your senses; it feels like your body jolts inward to the deep abyss. The realization that you are so far away from home, spinning your head even more.

And the fact that you have to face that scientist makes you even more jittery. Or perhaps, because you’re low on any real sugar and protein intake right now. Oh, at least Ilyukhina and Yao can help you. Where are they anyway?

“(Y/n),” you say sternly to the robot, and it starts its protocol to slowly pull all the tubes inserted to your body. You wince from the discomfort.

“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant (y/l/n).” Then you roll down from the bed, while the robotic tentacles are too late to hoist your body from falling.

Fortunately, you land on a pile of boxes to smooth your landing. Those boxes are clearly stowed there for a purpose. As you steel your arms to support you up, the muscles tremble. They might have been shaken by the absence of using it.

From the plan and all the discussions that you have had partake, your mind speculates that you have been medically induced for four years. That, if all the ‘long shots’ your superior said were true.

Your eyes register the bold marker words on one of the boxes. (Y/N) is written in all capitals at the edge of the box. Strange, it looks as if someone had opened it beforehand. You sit down, almost half naked from the void of that transparent sleeping bag that had just covered your body before.

As you open the box, all the flitting memory flies to your brain like pixels after pixels. There are photos scattered upon folded clothes that are neatly stowed inside. The temperature of the room may not be that icy cold as your body adjusts to it, but the lack of fabric sends goosebumps throughout your body.

You grab the folded jumpsuit first, your eyes dart from the patch written with your last name on the left side to the big emblem of ‘Project Hail Mary’ with national flags across the globe on the right side. There is no time to admire the embroidery, you wear the jumpsuit on, barely standing, and crouched back facing the opened box.

There are pictures of your big family and your parents, all of them were drowned in tears and enraged with your decision to volunteer as one of the pilots for this confidential mission to save our Sun, you wiped away the memory. Flipping to another picture, you see yourself mounted on the wing of your F-18/ Super Hornet, with a helmet on, your callsign there, ‘Puma’.

 The picture showed you standing heroically, it sends you a bittersweet memory, you swiped to another photo again, it was you with your flight squadron from the same academy, you grazed your fingers to each of your friends, standing from left to right, you remember their callsign; Phoenix, Hangman, Fanboy, Rooster, you, Payback, Coyote, and Bob. Your Bob. Was your Bob.

A surge of guilt overtakes your body, you swipe another photo, and then, you see a photo of you and Bob on a beach together, he embraced your shoulder as you leaned your head in his. You remember Rooster was the one who took the photo when you were all exhausted after playing volleyball. Quelling the dam from crashing, you put down all the photos again, scattered it like a pile of cards.

Then, a silver chain along with the plate in the middle catches your eyes, no need to think, you already know what it is, and whose it is; a dog tag. Both of your thumbs raise it to your face.

Carved there, Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd.

You roll the dog tag into your right palm, press it flat so the material prickles your skin. You do not want to get sentimental this early for your first day in outer space, but sure, tears almost fall down to your cheek, you press your right hand to your chest for a mere second before you put it on the front pocket of your jumpsuit. 

Shaking your head to regain your composure, you kick the box away to clear your path. All the empty beds laid there in front of you; Ilyukhina and Yao would be on the other side of the ship.

A sigh of relief leaves your mouth, meaning that you don’t have to go on this alone, to devise a plan if the scientist acknowledges who you are completely.

.

.

Scouring for food is your first instinct; you roam around the corridor to find anything that you can eat, but nothing catches your eye. Your body is low on real carbs and protein; for God's sake, you need food first. But, something more imminent stops you abruptly from dredging your eyes left and right for food at one of the big glass windows of the spacecraft. It faces outer space, yeah you know, but something gigantic is there, as if it is parked just beside the Hail Mary. It looks like dried spaghetti colored in copper stacked one onto another.

Both of your hands are glued to the glass panel, your eyes scanning each detail of the ship, “I get to meet aliens on my first day,” you mumble, slightly chuckle.

Betting on what Ilyukhina and Yao do at the moment, you step closer to the main laboratory of the ship as you hear noises of someone talking. Perhaps they sing their lungs out loud right now, or perhaps they are repetitively bickering whether to say ‘Live Long and Prosper’ or ‘May the force be with you’ to welcome the alien. You smile a little at the thought, while your stomach starts to rumble for the absence of food.

As the open hatch to the main laboratory grows nearer and nearer, your bet slowly flops when the figure across you faces you with their back. The figure lowers their body to the table and seems like too fixated on that spiky thing on the desk rather than your appearance. Perhaps, he still hasn't sensed your presence yet. What the hell are those spiky things, though?

“You’re a long way from home. I’m a long way from home, too.” The figure speaks to himself, he looks like he glued and paraffined one of the orbs there. You squint your eyes, ‘Earth’ was written there. 

As if the alien could read English, you roll your eyes.

You step closer again to peruse the spiky-metal-things more. As your feet walk into the laboratory, you mindlessly step onto a metal object that is lying strangely upon the floor.

A big thump emanates from your fall.

Hair falls onto your face, acting like a barrier between you and the cold white floor. A screech echoes along the room after you fall; it sounds like a woman, surely. 

Flipping your hair and bracing to stand, your feet hit the culprit of this occurrence, that strange object, wait, it’s an XRF, X-Ray Fluorescence Spectrometer. Why could it sit neatly there just by the doorframe of the laboratory?

“You’re awake!” the figure exclaims, too excitedly. He rises from his seat and approaches you.

“I’m, I’m really sorry, Lieutenant (y/n), I shouldn't have thrown it there, ” he says. Your entire body grows tense. He knows you, he acknowledges you, and he knows who you really are.

“Do you know me?” You ask hesitantly, scanning for a glimpse of any kind of negative emotions in his face, but instead, it only shows you a too-excited or too-eager countenance.

His glasses, per se, it catches your attention, it hangs lopsidedly just below his stubbled jawline.

“I fear my memory is still rebooting, but I placed your box near your bed in case you need assistance to regain your memory.” He chortles, then clears his throat.

You back away from his too weirdly energetic composure, and the shift in his eyebrows marks that he notices; you sense something off, either is about him or something else.

“I’m sorry. It’s been days without any real two-way interactions. Sorry to make you uncomfortable,” he draws back to keep a distance between the two of you. He points his right hand to the object on the table, “and recently, an alien just threw this out of their ship.”

He chuckles, though it may sound awkward since your mind is tangled with something horrible. He clears his throat and stretches his arm, “I’m sure we have met before, and we have talked before on Earth,” he pauses, reading your expression, lowering his head to fully read the waves on your forehead, “I’m Grace.” He says cautiously.

“Yes, Dr. Ryland Grace, I know who you are.” Your face contorts, coming to a conclusion that you hate to swallow.

The air surrounding you feels unwanted by your lungs. Gripping a hold at one of the metal desks, you dig your nails to keep you steady from the horrible truth that may barge into your brain without caution.

“You said it’s been days for you without two-way interactions. Could you define that, please? And where are Commander Yao and Ilyukhina?”

He pauses, his excitement drops gloomily, “They–they didn’t make it.”

Your knees are too stiff to even buckle. His words rush through your brain like a lightning bolt, crashing your reality in half.

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 ⋆˚꩜｡

Part 2 ⭑.ᐟ

⭑.ᐟ

Mary stays with her subtle soft whirring across the ship, accompanying the only two human beings inside like a soft churn to push you both away from your own impulse. She has been directed to stay bound for Blip-A, the ship of the other living being who has been unconscious for several days, leaving the other two occupants to fumble between keeping the alien rock alive and testing the sample to save the sun from dimming.

Banters and jokes somehow have slipped out your tongues to keep the conversation alive amidst the inevitable silence from the absence of the alien rock. But, the course of conversation always seems to stay floated above the surface, nowhere near to trespass the tide of your intrusiveness from the recent days.

It is as if both of your brains know how to act in these precarious times, to put aside anything else for the sake of two planets on your hand, while desire clutching so hard within you both when one lingers too long by their side.

The words are there at the tip of your tongue, but the only thing that manages to come out when warm starts to prickle both of your skin from the other's presence was, “are you okay?” And the others would drown themselves in the sea of thoughts again after a brief emotional repress wrapped in “never been better.”

And it goes even worse when you both share the same collective human emotions from the discovery of so-called predators to save the world. Vulnerability takes over your whole personality, crashing the both of you into an embrace. Hands linger too long, trembling, shudder breathing stings your ears like a needle, and heartbeats thump quickly, beaming against your chests. All vanish in a haste when you both know the hug is not merely for the success of your mission, but for unresolved things you both acknowledged but never spoken. 

Days after days, when Taumoeba is discovered, you both start to loiter near the alien rock. Dawdling from creating a heat lamp, and all, and somehow the silence begins more tormenting when you both have nothing to do beside waiting, waiting for another species to wake up, waiting for God knows how long, waiting while your brains itches from deluding your mouth to bring up the topic.

It is so torturing to think that two grown ups has to deal with a mere highschool kid feeling, minus there is no friends to add an absurd idea to back you up, but rather you have to deal with it yourselves light years away from Earth in a very, very confined space, where you can accidentally brush your elbow against each other.

You would think after that kiss, everything would go well, you would feel normal, confess each other's feelings, and be happily ever after. No, there is no such thing as that. It is as if there are two different clouds enshrouding you, hiding the real of both of you. You know your cloud is embossed with the lightning storm from the past, drowning you to guilt every time his wandering eyes travel to your lips. But, you start to wonder if the dark cloud hovering above him is merely coming from the unresolved passionate intrusiveness or something similar like yours, the one with a lightning storm from the past.

“(Y/l/n)?” His quiver voice breaks the silence like a thrown rock interrupting the steady surface. 

“Yeah, Grace?” You answer, although there is a pang and hesitation knotting your gut, dwindling for what is the right name to call him, as if you did not let his first name roll out your tongue, and initiate the adrenaline rush days ago.

But your ego strikes your nerves unwavering, he did call you by your first name deliberately too, whether if it was your ear deceived you during your heroic moment or not, however your ego tells you again, why would you quiver, now he called you by your last name too, why would you take this too seriously, this is childish, it’s just a name, fuck first name basis culture!

He steeples his hand upon his thigh, pinching the pointer finger to the bridge of his glasses. “I don’t know how to tell you, but–” he corrects his posture and strengthens his back looking straight at you, across the xenonite sphere of Rocky. You both sitting cross-legged on the floor, far away from each other, with unconscious Rocky separated the two of you. 

“I’m sorry if I wronged you.” He sighs through his words, it sends you a mixed signal churning to your brain, jolting you back to response fast.

“What do you mean?” You ask, though you are not a child anymore, you understand what he meant from the desperation in his words.

Grace takes off his glasses, and fumbling with it, “I– I mean about what we d–”

“Are you talking about the kiss?” You let the muscle in your mouth take control before the nerve system even conveys the message to your brain. 

“Yea–” he quivers, and clears his throat to firm his voice, “Yes, that’s what I mean. I’m sorry If I– I– hurt you.” He finally says, after a time too long. Your eyes search his darting eyes from your face to his glasses.

You let out an audible sigh that makes him jolt back to look at you firmly. You thank Rocky’s sphere for in this moment, you are glad enough that Grace is unable to see your agitation clearly from the distance and the separation by it.

All the signals transferred to your brain are accumulated, but the output back are struggling to formulate the right words to react, so in the meantime, you only sit agitatedly with both of your hands placed awkwardly in both of your cheeks, while your face gloomy from the matter.

“I figure, you seem quiet lately, so, maybe it has something to do with it.” Grace chuckles, but dies down a little when he meets your eyes cautiously, as if a soft laugh to ease the tension might be wrong to you. “Sorry.” He says again more sincerely.

Seeing him rooted in his own contemplation, brooding in his own thoughts, aches you. There are steady waves inside of your heart to push your body closer to him, to tell him that he does not wronged you, you want him too. But, somehow, you feel like that was a lie if you mutter those words bluntly, because deep down there was a forbidden feeling flooding in when his hands kept you steady against the medical bed, you thought of someone else.

“Maybe I hurt your hands too, I’m sorry for that.” Grace lets out another remark again, clearly demands an answer from you by his continuous blabbering. 

A brief moment for your eyes to register your bandaged palm, there were times where you allowed him to change the bandage and clean your healing wound despite Armando or you, could actually do it. He would sit on his lab chair facing you with his eyes dredging the impacted skin through his glasses, clutched in his nose. His left hand cupped your hand, and the other would remove the bandage carefully, afraid to not make you in pain.

But, you were in pain, you were in pain when his fingers grazed yours lightly whether it was intentional or not. It pained you that the only words left from your respective mouths after that, were mere exchange of modesty, as if they never crashed into each other before.

“No, you didn’t hurt me, Grace,” you breathe out, lifting your head to meet his striking blue eyes across the xenonite sphere. “Physically or mentally.” You chew on your bottom lips, doubts creep in to you as you about to say your next words, the words that may stop all this nonsense from hormones and nerves.

“I enjoyed it.” 

And his eyes lit up to yours, able to stop his fingers from fidgeting with the glasses in his hands. It is as if time were stopped in that exact moment, allowing his brain to process everything, “I–,” he runs his hands to brush his neck, “I enjoyed it too, but–”

The final word tethered you on a steep bridge with a dark abyss underneath you, full of uncertainty with what he is going to say that might pull you into it.

“But, I thought I did wrong when we act like a str–” he hesitates, “like a stranger again. It seems like you push me away, then made me think to myself, oh she probably didn’t like it, or oh, I think I hurt her, but I asked you if you’re okay right after that, and you told me you’re okay, we’re very unprofessional aren’t we, and I–”

Right after those words, every thing that comes out from his mouth becomes distant, like a rain tapping on the roof as your body crumbles with your own predicament.

“I’m sorry if I make you feel that way, I enjoyed it, Grace.” You halt his blabber and the statement sounds more like a domineering fact rather than sincere words.

He takes in the sight of your face; your drawn eyebrows and your pursed lips, your damn lips before he presses his own eyes shut with a loud huff.

“I’m such a coward. I’m sorry I talk too much.”

You don’t know why he’s sorry, you are supposed to be the one to say sorry for him to even make him feel that way, a coward. All kind of thoughts stirring into a whirlpool inside of your head, it is your time whether you want to get your fishing bait to get the point out from the whirlpool, to finally speak to him what is the real matter that has been obscuring your behavior since the first time you woke up from your induced coma, his resemblance to someone else.

“Grace, I’m the one who should say sorry, there is something that I should’ve said to you earlier, it’s just tha—”

“No, I should’ve said this earlier to you, I feel like I’m a coward. Everything that I do makes me feel like a coward. I wanna say thank you to both of you and Rocky who is currently passed out up until now,” he chuckles, but leaving you no space to interrupt him, “for saving me back there from the g-force, that clearly have been your daily meal of course, and awakened from that, I have this new memory where I have been chosen to replace Dubois and Shapiro in the meeting room where there were Stratt, Yao, Ilyukhina, you, Carl, and other staffs that I forgot their names.”

As if oxygen leaves the atmosphere inside of Hail Mary, your breath hitch by the sudden rush of words he said, squeezing your lungs, unable to inhale air. Bricks by bricks were like thrown at you, reminding of what a horrible person you are, from imagining someone else when Grace touched you and actually made a culpable act of violence against his consent to be on this mission.

“I know that at the end I may volunteer, well I’m here with you now and we found Taomoeba,” his hands point to you and to the room securing the Taomoeba, while his face showed a strained smile along with his creased forehead, “but the memory isn’t there yet and something that really bothers me the most is, I still feel like a coward despite that I volunteered, maybe I chose to be a hero in a last-minute, I hate myself if I really did that.” He takes a deep breath when he finally stops from his sudden lash out.

He searches for your eyes, but what he finds is the horror plastered all over your face.

“(Y/l/n), you okay?” 

That word again, not that question again. You shift from your position, your body acts on its own, lifts you up from the ground and gravitates your way to him. Grace is taken aback from your sudden presence, he is about to stand up too before you slide beside him.

“You are not a coward, Grace.” You search for his eyes, grabbing his hands in yours for reassurance, making him startle from the touch.

Your hands tremble in his despite your boldness to take him in yours. A rush of trepidation coursing through your blood, but there is no better way to tell what really happened than now, you do not want him to get that exact memory on his own, you need to tell him.

You breathe in the air around you, allowing his familiar smell to creep along the way, “I’m trying to make you understand for what I’m about to tell you, the truth is—“ you take a moment to scan his countenance, before you finally spill it all out, squeezing hard your wounded palm to his to intensify the pain, ground you to the outcome that you are about to face.

“I was the one th—“

A rolling familiar thud echoes throughout the room, halting your brain to continue what you are about to say. Grace also shares the same surprise as he registers the sound. Both of you snap to the source.

“Rocky!” You both scream. Both of you retract your hands off from each other and rush to the alien rock inside of his sphere. 

Tears escape from your eyes when Rocky asks you and Grace a question while you embrace his sphere, “Did we find predator?”

You back away from the hug and scan every surface of his carapace, registering from any damage. Grace is shaking his head, but then nodding his head jokingly. 

“No? Is yes.” Rocky chitters.

“Rocky, I burned for you literally, Rock! Look at my hands!” You show him your bandaged palms. The alien rolls over a bit to you to spectate your hand.

“Thank you, (Y/l/n).” He chitters through the transmitter.

“No, thank you, Rock!” You reply fast, and hug his sphere again. 

Grace spectates the both of you, how the alien leans to the xenonite glass where you hugged him, and suddenly the curiosity of what you were about to say previously vanishes out of thin air and turns into adoration.

“So, what we do now?” Rocky asks.

“We party.” Grace exclaims.

.

.

The rehab room turns into a cascade of virtual fireworks, designated as a celebration place where you enjoy the presence of the three of you for the last time. You prepare a laptop as a present for Rocky while Grace has slipped a crocheted Earth into his pocket for the alien.

“Rock, it’s not much, just a little something, but here’s your very own laptop!” You holler and stretch your hand to his sphere.

“My portable Earth thinking-machine!” Rocky screeches back.

“With all human knowledge.” You put aside the laptop right by him as he dances around inside of his sphere, creating a jiggling sound along his own celebration attire.

“Thank thank thank.” He says.

Grace slips his hand inside of his pocket and pulls the crochet he showed you before, when you fumbling to make a ribbon upon the laptop to make it cuter, while he attentively said, “About what you said earlier, do you mind If we talk about it later when we’re bound for home?”

“What’s this?” Rocky asks, he seems confused with the little Earth ball.

“It’s Earth, so you can remember us.” Grace says, his eyes soft towards the alien rock.

“Rocky can’t forget,” he says, “I didn’t get you  anything.”

“You gave us everything.” Both of you almost say it at the same time. 

The picture is clear to your head, the moment you broke down after that karaoke and before the fishing trip to Adrian; Rocky had made you and Grace bawled, pooled with your own tears as a realization of coming home is not a pipe dream anymore. 

“But if I were to give you something..” he pauses.

Grace glances fast at you, before he clicks his tongue, “It’d be pretty cool to see your ship.”

And just like that, Rocky rolls down to his ship being the engineer that he is, he creates a makeshift xenonite suit to make both you and Grace able to walk around and breathe in his atmosphere. 

You almost stumble and stuck your hands from the foreign material when you first wear it. Grace helps you through it, and vice versa as you both are eager to see what is actually inside that copper spaghetti ship. Admiration washes over your countenance when Rocky’s ship has surrounded you in awe. Grace also shows the same respect to the ship as his eyes graze every surface in the wall.

Time passes by quickly while the three of you roam around Rocky’s ship. One last look before you finally walk back to the tunnel connected to Mary, a refraction of one of the objects in Rocky’s ship has attracted your eyes.

It turns into a beautiful optical phenomenon. A rainbow-like casts its hue and makes you lean closer to the object. Grace also leans in, “This is awesome, Rock!” He says in his xenonite suit with his face painted with delight.

Rocky chitters back still trudging his way to the tunnel, you peruse the object for a while before following Rocky. After some time, no sign of footsteps agitated you, you turn your body slowly and see Grace still fixated on the same object, but his face is different. 

“Grace,” you call, “are you coming back?”you titter.

He looks at you as if he looks into a ghost; his eyebrows pulled downward while his eyes widened. Even from this far, you know something is wrong, but you let your thoughts pass by in the midst of your happy ship tour at the moment. You don’t want your mind to sabotage what you can’t grasp fully.

“Come on Grace, let’s go back to Mary.” You shout as you follow Rocky back to the tunnel.

There is a brief exchange where Rocky has to go back to his ship, leaving you both alone to travel the tunnel back to Mary. The air seems tight despite that oxygen has brushed your face, as you finally free from the xenonite suit, leaving you only with the white inner of the EVA suit you wear. You clutch a handhold in the valve room, before you finally step into the inside of the ship. Grace has walked in first before you.

At this moment, all kinds of excitement beaming out of you; you and Grace finally found Taomoeba, Rocky is awake, and Rocky lets you both tour around his ship. You can’t help but smile from the feeling.

“The rainbow was there,” Grace suddenly mutters.

“Yes! Isn’t it a rare occurrence to see a rainbow in a very dark space like Rocky’s ship?” You exclaim, facing him who is now floating amidst the low gravity, nearby the glass window overlooking the space.

“The rainbow was there, along with the military guys, the lab people, Carl, and –” He turns and drifts right at you gripping the ropes, his eyes burning with thousands of inexplicable things that you can’t grasp, “you.” 

Shadows cast its form around his face, making his countenance even more unreadable for you.

Defenseless, you clamp your back flat against the wall, hands grip whatever it is floating around you to shield you from him. That is your first instinct, you don’t even know what to do at this point. 

“Grace, wait..” Survival rushes into your mind without second thought, but doesn’t it feel wrong to act this way when Grace won’t do such things unlike you to him.

He stops midway, reading your whole action. A disbelief look drawn in his feature, jabbing your heart from another remorse you felt after hurting him all over again. Loud huff makes its way from his lips, he holds the rope to keep him steady in the corridor, facing away from you.

As the air is too scalding hot for your lungs to intake, your respiration system takes control of its own to stop you from breathing, holding your breath still as Grace rooted just by the corridor, inches away from you. No words formed in his parted lips, burning you with impulse to defense, coursing a jolt of electricity in your brain to formulate your plea. 

Your bandaged hands tremble, the wound may heal, but a continuous hard grip to an object, stinging your pain receptors on alert, “Grac–,” you stammer.

“Ryland, I had to.” 

He briefly takes a glimpse of you, before drifting back to the big glass overlooking the outer space, “Please, give me a moment.” He flatly says.

You reach for the rope, and trailing just behind him, “I did not mean to–”

“What you did was,” he pauses, “evil.” he says, let the low gravity drift him near the big glass. All that without looking at your face. The latter statement has seeped your tears out of your face, you don't know what it is, but you know your ego has said it numerous times, you’re not weak, don’t cry! 

You let him drown in his own horrible thoughts about you, allowing the distance to separate the both of you. 

A lump at the back of your throat starts to form when the tears start to roll, dampening your cheek. You root at your place, inhaling a shaky breath before you speak,“I’ve been meaning to –, to tell you, this is what I wanted to say to you before.”

“All you said to me could be a lie, about your favorite song is Drive By, your dead partner story, I should’ve not believed the person who put me into this without my consent.” Grace retorts fast, anger is still vague from his words, but his eyebrows taut, looking at the distance.

On the other hand, anger starts to guide your mind through. You move a little closer to confront him and ready to state your defense when you are accused as a pathological liar.  “First of all, I was under an order to put you into this if you’re not cooperative, and that was me under Stratt’s orde–” 

“There is no other human being who wants to be cooperative for a suicide mission. God, I’m such a coward.” He interrupts you, leaving a mocking subtle laugh.

“And second of all, you mentioned something about the military propaganda on my first day out of coma, tax money to recover the fighter jet accident on the pacific ocean. Guess what!” Your voice echoes throughout the corridor, but Grace does not even flinch at your domineering voice. Instead, he is still facing down the floor, sitting down, knees pressed against his chest like a coward he numerously said.

You let a moment pass to wait for his reaction, but he gives you no response at all. The zipper pocket embroidered in your white-inner of the EVA suit becomes heavier by the passing moment. It is as if the object knew it would doom the two human beings by its presence. You pull out the object, creating a rattle as the material brushes the zipper as it floats in your bandaged palm. 

“F-18 / Super Hornet crashed 5 years ago in the Pacific, I flew him to death, my weapon system officer, my backseater, his parachute failed to launch,” you pause as your lungs burn from the absence of oxygen, “and we were just engaged weeks prior to his death.”

Grace may seem unmoved by your sudden outburst, but the tense in his jaw is visible for your eyes to catch. 

He mumbles to himself, “Oh, so that’s his dog tag.” And the words fly to your ears unfiltered.

“What did you say?” You inquire impatiently.

The silence is deafening to your brewing anger already, no response from him means your ear catches what you thought is right.

“Did you scour through my private belongings?” You drift to your right to see his countenance better. But before you land your feet to the ground, Grace has locked his eyes to yours, filled with resentment.

“Let’s not turn the point here, you coerced me to this.” Although the tone in his voice seems unwavering, his eyes tell otherwise, it is filled with furiousness that you never see before. 

He lifts up from his almost fiddle position. Reaching from handhold to handhold, he weaves a path to approach you as your right hand grip the handle of the wall, clenching your palm to it, and alerting the pain receptors for the rush of pain your wound makes. Bracing to create an illusion for whatever Grace’s impending remarks won’t be any more painful than the one in your palm. 

“Now everything seems to make sense.” His eyes twitch, as though a surge of unresolved mystery clicks in his brain.

Silence slicing the atmosphere as Grace closes the distance between the both of you. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as the air begins to wash your lungs with a familiar scent of him. But, even with your eyes closed, your other senses are digging your skin and your ear from his presence.

As your heartbeat thumps against your chest and maddening to your ear, a soft question from his quivering voice stabbing your heart open like an open wound, worse than the second-degree burn you have in your palms. 

“Did I – did I remind you of him?”

A muscle in his jaw twitches when tears shine in your eyes, avoiding his gaze hesitantly, you gaze up to the ceiling with a shaky breath. And it does not take a whole moment for him to comprehend that the answer is what he had expected by how your body reacts to the question. From your blurry vision, you catch his glossy eyes trailing your tears before he leaves you alone to the other side of the ship with a clench fist by his side.

.

.

“Fuel tank okay, question?” Rocky chitters.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m trying to think if there’s anything I forget.” Grace mutters back, hands clutching with the laptop he uses to transmit what Rocky says. 

Crouching idly just beside him, you clamp your hand at the xenonite sphere, focusing every emotion to the alien rock instead of the doom that has been plaguing your brain and guts every time you see Grace. 

“Thank you for everything, Rock.” You softly say. The alien rock jumps slightly from his position to face you, his hands reach for the glass that separates you both.

“Well.” You say, sighing as the alien stands across you.

“Goodbye, friend.” You murmur through the glass.

“Goodbye, friend.” Grace follows your words.

The alien rock leans closer to the both of you through the glass. His silence marks the confusion of the new words, making Grace states a synonym for the words that have slightly different meanings from goodbye. What a beautiful thing to see that Rocky teaches the both of you how his kind says goodbye, making you lift up from the ground and mimicking what he just showed you both. 

As the goodbye exchange seems to be enough, with heavy steps you walk past Grace first, avoiding to look at him. There is no Rocky to roam around Mary again, there is no Rocky to tell you kids jokes with his limited vocabulary, and the most crucial part is, there is no Rocky to uplift the mood as the last inhabitants of Mary would be completely mute, rooted with your respective silence, sending stillness to the ship.

“Grace, (Y/l/n), is okay, question?” 

Your feet unyielding to the ground when the words pierce your senses. You choose to not answer the words, and let the only person that still faces the alien to reply instead. 

Uneasy laughter emanates through your ear, “It’s goodbye, Rock. It’s never easy.” 

You know what Rocky meant was not about the goodbyes. He might be confused as you both did not utter a single word to each other since the first time he went to Mary again for a final look. God, his echolocation can even hear the way your heartbeat drums, he might perhaps sense the irregular one earlier when you pass Grace.

“Goodbye, Rock.” You brush your forearm like what Rocky has demonstrated for the last time, before you reach for the valve room, waiting for Grace to cut the nearest tunnel connecting both Mary and Blip-A.

Grace puts his other equipment first to the valve room, and proceeds to cut the bridge. You see the process, but avert your gaze to Rocky immediately to throw him a thumbs down, the alien rock reply fast with his hands.

As the process finishes, Grace trudges into the valve room, looking down at the ground, and closes the hatch door. You back away a little, to create an empty space to prevent the both of you from brushing against each other. 

With the alert of decompression rings throughout the room, the door to the ship is clear to open. Casting a brief look to Rocky who is still inside of his tunnel, you can’t help but feeling bittersweet for the discovery of Taumoeba and the friendship you made along the way with an alien. But the feeling won’t stay long when you will spend the rest of the journey back home, years without any exchange of a word or two.

Uncertainty may pilot your thoughts for a while after you cooled down hours ago, wondering if Mary would be filled with two human interactions again or ego just built firm, preventing that from happening.

“I’m going to the lab.” He asserts, pulling down his EVA suit just behind you. 

The air seems heavy as ego floats around your head, him too perhaps. But your empathy weaves its way into you, maybe you should be the one who should say sorry. The stress he weighed and the feeling of betrayal you just caused may have amplified more than yours, preventing his ego from crumbling down. But, without you coercing him, he would never meet Rocky, he would never be deemed as a hero to save the Earth. Hero, is it really that important for him?

With your face still perched, looking at Blip-A drifting away at the outer space, you gulp down and hold high your ego, “I’m setting Mary to home.” You turn, overlooking the other wall to prevent you from looking at him, and walk off to the cockpit, while he strides away to the lab.

“Journey to Earth will take 4 years, 2 months and 11 days.” Mary chimes as you set course the ship back to Earth. 

Leaning back to the pilot seat, you scan the xenonite glass that is still installed in the control panel’s wall. Bandaged hands glued to your chin, you smile to yourself, “Safe journey to Erid, Rock.” Then your eyes fall to the co-pilot seat next to you, crashing floods of horrible memories against your mind back when you orbited Tau Ceti. Shaking your head swiftly, as though the picture of red strobe lights, alarm blaring, and the vivid picture of Grace lay limp unconscious could disappear easily.

You take a deep breath, setting the autopilot panel, and stretch both of your arms, and rest them upon the armrest. As you exhale the memory away, the headrest holds your head comfortably allowing you to sleep in the cockpit, for perhaps an hour or two.

.

.

“Contaminant detected.”

“Contaminant detected.”

The alarm deafeningly strident awakens you from your slumber. Your eyelids are heavy but the muscles in your arms have directed themselves to reach the control panel, checking the affected area. You scour from internal camera to internal camera, until you feel a pang in your gut as the monitor shows error in the room designated to keep the Taumoeba alive. 

Your hands clench on the armrest, supporting you from the seat. As your eyes do not leave the monitor, you turn head first to the corridor when the other inhabitants inside of Mary trudge his way to you. Without looking at his countenance, you walk past him, “Taumoeba room, contaminated.” Your voice monotonously shifts his trajectory to trail behind you, grabbing the EVA suit silently right after you slipped first into the suit.

There is no cursory glance, no brief talk, no words of encouragement as the impending horror has stirred both of your minds from wandering around to another matter. The only sounds accompanying your rustling through the EVA suit is the constant blare of the alarm. Checking your own suit, you weave your way first through the corridor without acknowledging him.

Every step is heavy with dread, and those dread amplify into a tight rope around your throat, constricted the airway to your nose although the oxygen level coursing your suit and your helmet is normal. You walk to the air valve, standing by for Grace who just steps in to the air valve and locks the hatch door connected to the main wing of the ship.

No other movement from him, no words, just a subtle breathing shared by the both of you through the comms inside your helmet. So what’s next is your turn; your hands twist the hatch to the affected room, slowly, and slowly, until the pressure from the room bursts in rapidly, shifting your feet a bit. But this time, you have come prepared, you grip from handhold to handhold to keep you steady.

As the hatch unlock fully, you begin to trudge the uneven path, dwindling with the rapid air pressure against you that could sweep you away back to the air valve room. 

“Reach for Rocky’s xenon there, see the monitor” After ages of stillness, his voice surfs through the comms to direct you. 

Ego still runs your emotion or not, but you choose to not answer him instead. Still, your gloved hands reach for the handholds, grappling each metal until you hide from the ferocious air behind Rocky’s installed glass wall. Grace is behind you, fumbling his way to the same handholds you drifted to.

A clinging of metal against metal rattles through your ear, your reflex makes you turn your head to the source to see Grace stumbles on his footing, allowing the pressure to drift his way back to the valve room. However, human nerves move faster than the lightning bolt, dragging your arms to clutch his forearm before he is slammed by the maddening air pressure.

No exchange of words, just casual grunts echoes both of your helmets. The situation forces you to look him in the eyes and so does he. The pressure intensifies when it stings the wound inside your gloves hand, accumulating all your effort to hoist him back to his footing while you steady yourself just behind Rocky’s wall.

“Thank–, thanks.” He stutters in your ears, emanating throughout your helmet. You do not answer, while he proceeds to check the status of the monitor embedded in the wall that has completely made him still, his hands not even moving an inch from the controller.

Curiosity conceals your ego, “Dr. Grace, what happened?”

“There’s a leak. The Taumoeba leak.” He mutters, before clenching his fist and directs it to the monitor. 

Anxious weaves through you, but there is no time to dawdle with emotions and ego. You grips his shoulder, faces him to you, careful to not stumble him from his footing. 

“You told me Nitrogen can kill them. Pressurise the room with it, and manage it slowly so the escaping gas here won’t create a hurl violence.” You glued your eyes to his wavering blue eyes.

“Dr. Grace? We have to go back to sort this through while maintaining the nitro level.” Your voice may seem unfaltering, but dreary wash over your face as you roam over his face.

“Grace?” You call him again, awakening him from his own nightmare.

“Alright, alright.” He stammers, then seizes for another handhold to get back first through the valve room, you trail behind him slowly, scanning his movements as if he were a fragile thing and could break in any minute.

You hate the way your gaze lingers on him, you hate the way ego has evaporated from your body, and you hate the way you have to talk to him for this matter, for the sake of humanity.

When the both of you have finally secured yourself in the normal atmosphere, you unclasp the helmet and clamp your hand to the wall, eyeing him who has completely swam back against the tide of his own trepidation. 

“What should we do now, Dr. Grace?”

His eyes cautiously move to yours, “I’m going to analyse what is the cause behind the leak, and we should stay in comms.”

“I need you,” he stammers. There is a sign of doubt in the way his mouth quivers, “I need you to overboard the nitrogen pressure from the control panel while I’m there.”

“Roger, I’m heading to the cockpit now. Good luck.”

Since when do you become all formal all of a sudden? Perhaps, it is the only way to break through whatever unsettled business you two have prior to this leakage.

.

.

The rest of the hours has made the both of you exhausted to solve what is the actual cause that has disrupted. Grace has concluded that the little predator might have adapted and burrow their way through the xenonite, searching for their natural prey, the Astrophage. 

By this conclusion, you have helped Grace to secure the remaining predator in a new box, away from the xenon. But there is something bothering, and weighing the both of you after you finish from the exertion.

Running his hand against his hair, he let out an audible sigh from across the lab. “We can’t do both.”

“Define what you just stated.” You reply fast, a quick furtive glance at him and back to the file of paper on the table where you wrote new data after Rocky transfers another two million kilograms of fuel.

“We need to choose between going home or saving Rocky.” His words linger in the air. But this is what you’ve been calculating even before he was frustrated by his own mind. You counted all the new data and all to prove both options, although Grace has calculated himself in his own mini board.

You scratch the paper here and there after the number clicks with the pencil clutching on your opened zipper perched just beneath your thigh, as you rolled down your upper jumpsuit and tied the sleeves around your waist minutes ago. 

“Give me time to recalculate the fuel tanks, Dr. Grace.” You put all the numbers and scratch, scratch, scratch, echoing throughout the lab. You can feel the only sound that you make irritates him, as he shifts in his seat across the lab, probably fumbling with his glasses.

“That is pointless, we need to make a decision at hand.” Grace jolts up from the ground, weaving his way to you with an impatient step.

“Dr. Grace, I need to make sure there is no human error before we make a decision.” Your eyes dart around at every number you inscribed.

“Human error,” his jaw tenses with the ludicrousness of his proficiencies in science against you, his presence is close, nearer and nearer to you.

Your muscles tense at his presence, “Dr. Grace, give me a mo–” 

“What is with this unpretentiousness?” He blurted, hands approaching your desk.

You curse through your breath, you don’t care if he could hear you or not, your hands still move as fast as your brain accumulates every number.

“Rocky is there looking at a long, slow, painful death!” His voice is intense with rage.

“I know, I know I’m just making sure that we can do bo–” your voice stammering as the tension rips your ability to write upon your paper.

“Don’t be a fool.”

You snap, slamming your hand to the table, then the pain surges in activating your pain receptors. “I’m not a fool!” You shout, making a metal object slip off from your opened zipper as you slammed the table.

A clang rings your surroundings. You notice it is yours when you scan briefly to the floor, but Grace has held it first, and peruses the object, dragging his fingers alongside the carved name on it, the name of your backseater.

The stillness of Mary and the uneven breathing from your respective emotional lash out are the only sounds lingering in the air.

“Do you have someone else waiting for you at home?”

You grunt at his question, “None of your business.”

Grace grazes the dog tag once more and places it just beside you at the table. Your periphery catches his forearm.

“I have no one. But even if I have one, I won’t sacrifice a whole planet of other beings.” Grace blurts behind you. “We have the advantage, the probes can send Taomoeba back to earth.” He adds, although his voice is still wrapped with ragged breathing.

You hang your head low facing the desk, steepling the back of your head with both of your bandaged palms.

“When was the last time you cleaned your wound?” His voice changes. The skin affected in your palm burns from his attentive gaze.

“(Y/l/n).” Your name slips from his mouth, sending tides of guilt and desire washing over you. But, you hate the emotions.

You chuckle, more like a mocking soft laughter that turns into a sob, as the paper in front of you now dotted with your own tears, “Don’t say that.”

You draw a shudder breath before ranting out the words that hang in your lips, “Fuck, I hate that you remind me of him, Fuck, why did I say that,” you curse, “we’re on Adam and Eve situation here, and the only human alongside me is you, and I hate you for all those resemblance you have of him.” You muffle your sniffle.

Struggling to form the words out, you stutter as the lump at the back of your throat grows thicker, “I’m sorry, I’m such a bad person. I’m sorry if I put you here, I’m sorry if I’m the worst person to be with on this mission, I’m sorry that I’m too naive, let’s–” you sob through, inhaling air, allowing your lungs to breathe.

There are deliberate heavy steps, drifting away from you as you drown in your tears.

“Let’s save Rocky.” You say breathlessly as the fading steps grow again in your ear, along with the sound of screech, metal being pulled against the floor.

A hand soothes your tense right shoulder, radiating warmth that makes you press your eyes shut as though the warmth could amplify from doing so. You turn your head to face him.

Through the welled tears in your eyes, you dart your eyes from the table that is adorned with first aid to catch a glimpse of his shaky smile. Sitting just beside you, he adjusts his glasses before his blue eyes drown in yours completely. 

“Let’s start over. I’m Ryland Grace.” 

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 ⋆˚꩜｡

𝑨 𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔

⭑.ᐟ

“Whenever you’re ready!” You switch several panels and rotate your seat to the monitor showing the external camera from the hull. 

Grace is tethered along with his EVA suit next to the trays of the sample container.

“Astrophage sampler in position, question?” Rocky asks.

“Yep,” Grace’s voice echoes throughout the cockpit through the emanators. “Trays are live, looking both ways.”

“It is time go.” Rocky chitters.

Grace slides up the tray and activating the petrova scope, “It’s time go.”

Through the monitor, you can see the Petrova scope do the magic. Oh, how you wish you were there to witness the beauty too, it must be so majestic to witness it live, floating at the same time with all the Astrophage particles. Sparkling dots of red adorn the monitor, reflecting themselves like bright red stars outside the hull. Grace being the only one who is fortunate enough to witness it, has drawn himself to the breathtaking view. He does what everyone wants to do during this moment: a tethered backflip.

Rocky seemingly struggles to comprehend what he does, he moves uneasy in his sphere looking at his tactile screen. “What is Grace doing, question?”

“I’m having a moment.” The man breathes through the comms, revealing his astonishment at the scenery he alone witnesses with his own eyes.

“You know, back on Earth, if you discover something, you get to name it. You were technically the first one here, Rock, so–” Grace halts, waiting for a response from Rocky.

“Yes, name is Medium-Rough Texture Circle Planet.” Rocky answers flatly.

You snigger, Grace also leaves a titter laugh echoes throughout the cockpit.

“Well, if Medium-Rough Texture Circle Planet was taken, we’ll just have a backup, Rock.” You place your hand to cup your chin, rotating your seat to face Rocky in his installed sphere in the cockpit. 

After some time, Grace suggests through the comms, while he sits down looking up to the verdant green of a planet. “Maybe go with something personal.”

“Personal.” Rocky repeats the word again, filling your memories once more to the long-gone subject. But how could a planet named after him?

“What’s your mate’s name again, Rock?” You cut your train of thoughts immediately, guide Rocky to recall his mate’s name.

“Ah, mate’s name is—-” and again, the unfamiliar instrumental voice chimes in, and it is very long, which both you and Grace are sure there’s no way of naming a planet that long.

“Need human word for Rocky’s mate.”

A minute of contemplation, before Grace snaps. “Adrian.”

“Is beautiful!” Rocky hollers just beside you. You tilt your head to look at him, showing a soft smile and a thumbs up.

“Alright, I’m going back.” Grace says, awakening you all from this majestic moment.

“Okay, see you in a sec.” You answer.

Both you and Rocky make your way to the hatch connecting the outside. Eager to see the sample and ask the experience first hand from the scientist. As you run through the corridor, a cacophony in the airlock valve and opened hatch has registered to you that Grace is successfully inside the Hail Mary. 

When the figure finally catches your eye, you stop abruptly when you see his back. He removes the EVA suit, leaving him only with the white-inner and the tubes. The sample in his hand attracts your eyes, but there is a curious question lingering in your mind after you observed him having “a moment” just minutes ago.

“So, what was it like, the view? I wish I could put on my EVA suit too.” You question eagerly, an enthusiast smears your face like you are studying his expression. 

He turns around after hearing your voice. “It is–,” he pauses, catching your anticipation eyes “it is beautiful.” He says. 

But, the words stay in the air a little bit longer, as the both of you just standing there, studying each other’s countenance, and sharing the same exhaustion pant from respective exertions. It is the only prominent sound in the corridor beside the fading machinery beeps Armando makes, down in another chamber.

His eyes roam over your face, his shoulders moving up and down just like yours. The words he just said feel intentional as it barely dives into your mind. You catch him dropping his eyes to your smile for a second before he gazes back at your eyes with effort.

“Grace, (y/l/n), is okay, question?” Rocky interrupts, snapping you back as Armando’s beep and the instill sound of the ship unblock your hearing from whatever happened to you.

Grace runs a hand to his blond hair, whip his head to Rocky.“Yeah, Rock–,” he averts his eye to you again, but when you look back, he turns to the sample in his hand. “Shall we, you know?” He fidgets with the sample and leaves a low chuckle.

You have no idea why he acts like this. Since the first day when you both went to orbit Adrian, since that karaoke, he had shown all this subtle gesture. And you can’t help to notice all the clumsiness he had made for the past few days like when he readied the empty sample in the lab, he almost rolled it down, crashing it to the floor, as you passed him by with Rocky or when you made another hot ramen, and you could see him through the corner of your eyes that he saw you, so you turned around to place the ramen elsewhere to check what he was doing, and he suddenly adjusted his glasses and looked away.

“Sure.” You say. That one single word moves the both of you in unison like an order. Grace is walking forward, and you slide your heels to the left to let him through, but Rocky is firmly rooted there, hitting your left side to his sphere in an instant. Instinctively, you skid to your right with Grace still inadvertently walking towards the same direction.

THUD

Your head bumps his chin, stumbling you backward from the impact. In a mere second, a thud of a hard glass material echoes throughout the corridor, and a hand slips to your back, preventing you from a fall. 

The walls close in, the ceiling of the corridor clawing to you both, and the floor suddenly feels uneven for you to stand properly. Your breath hitch as his grip lowered to the curve of your hip, pressing against your shirt. You curse to your breath, cursing the decision to roll down the upper of your jumpsuit like he does. 

“I—,” you breathe. His eyes intensely scrutinize yours, “you okay, (y/l/n)?”

Warmth rises to your cheek, and you are damn sure he sees a red flush smear in your face. His eyebrows knit together. You clear your throat, “I’m fine.” The words leave your mouth like a question rather than an answer.

He snaps, loosens up, and gives you support to finally stand properly. And when you do, he brushes the nape of his neck, and retrieves back the sample he dropped to the floor.

“So, um—,” he stalls, “meet you in the lab, give me a second to change.” And with that, he dashes off as soon as you clear the path to walk.

In the midst of processing what just happened, Rocky remarks, “human is weird.”

.

.

After he gives you the safety goggles, you follow along his instructions to protect you from any unwanted containment with the sample. Grace extracts the samples meticulously while you are still at the edge of the table. 

You watch every step that he does beside the monitors, fixing your eyes to the blob of tiny little Astrophage that has been extracted. Every equipment he uses, everything has made you even more drawn to the sample, and somehow your mind makes its way to delude your eyes darting at his arms; to the flex of his muscles, and to the veins that slightly show under the bright light of the lab as he presses the pippette. 

Fools, what are you doing? What is happening to you? No, what is happening to him for starters, you won’t be acting like this if he didn’t show any weird interactions to you per se. Your mind sucks you deep into a whirlpool, makes you dizzy.

“Oh my God.” He gasps through the microscope, jolts you back to your surroundings.

“What? What Grace see, question?” Rocky inquires impatiently.

You skid your way to see a better view of the monitor that doesn’t face you. Pressing your back against the edge of the table to find your way through, Grace acknowledges it by making space for you to stand just in front of the monitor.

There, the monitor shows an unimaginable composition of,

“Life.” Grace murmurs.

You peruse the monitors and turn your body to face him, “this is not just Astrophage.” 

“Correct, Lieutenant (y/l/n).” He replies, and leaves the situation awkward when he catches a crease to your forehead at the mention of the title again.

You sweep your head back to face the monitors when he fidgets with the safety goggles and places back his glasses on.

“It-it’s bacteria, it’s protozoa.” He states.

“It’s like cells on Erid and Earth.” Rocky chitters.

You unclasp the goggles from your head, letting your hair fall loosely from the strap. Gazing at the monitors with a squint, you let the information coursing your brain a bit before forming a knot. 

“If there’s a whole active biosphere in the Petrova line, it stands to reason there’s a whole active biosphere on Adrian,” you mutter to yourself, then snap back to face the scientist. “Which means..”

“Which means there’s life on Adrian.” His stare burns to yours.

A thud from Rocky’s sphere, he drops his tools from the shock. “Oh Grace, (Y/l/n). Life is reason, life is reason!” Rocky hollers.

Grace still glued his eyes to you, “yeah, buddy. Life is the reason.” His eyes lay gentle to yours, as if there is meaning beyond what he just states.

“No, Grace, life is reason, life is reason.” Rocky hollers back and rolls to another side of his xenonite glass. 

Grace finally shifts his body to put the alien in his attention, “use your words, Rock!” 

The alien stumbles and halts inside his space, “Life on Adrian is reason, Astrophage inbalance. Life on Adrian makes Astrophage die. Like a predator.” He states eagerly.

“That would keep the population stable,” you interject both of them, joining in the discourse. 

“Yes, (y/l/n)! Grace, if we bring predators home our stars not die. Life is reason star not die.” 

Grace pinches the bridge of his nose, “Why didn’t you just say that?”

.

.

Exchanges in opinions, disagreement, and every commotion that erupted has led to one decision; Rocky built a 10km chain-like to obtain the sample of life form from Adrian’s atmosphere and in charge to control it, Grace has to tether himself outside Mary to get the sample in his spacesuit, and you have to show your expertise in piloting to angle Mary the right way in such a precarious moment. 

There was an argument from you saying that it could be no safe at all for Grace drifting, tethered around outside when Mary is just a fly away from being pulled by Adrian’s gravity. You demanded to volunteer, to fill that position, since you had spent months training for spacewalk alongside Ilyukhina and Yao. But Grace, on the other hand, is not good at directing this ship. So, he reassured you a million times that he would be okay. 

And here comes the time when you have to repress all the emotions from making the same mistake again and mindfully focus to gain full control of the ship. Commander Yao had explained to you all the different switches and panels Mary had from a fighter jet you used to, and here you are, betting all those lectures from Yao didn’t go in vain. It is a life or death situation. You carry two planet populations in your hand over the stick.

“Manual mode activated,” Mary notifies. 

The cold metal clenches your right palm into a fist around it, positioning  to keep the whole spacecraft steady. You control your rugged breath steady as your brain reminds you a hundred times nothing could go wrong, not again.

“Time go fishing, question?” Rocky examines the situation, and the angle of Mary from his tactile screen.

Grace perches on the co-pilot seat, already clad in the EVA suit, switching a panel just above him, “It’s now or never.” He states.

There is an overlap between metal whirring against metal and clattering, marking the fishing chain has successfully descended slowly to the atmosphere. You momentarily check the external camera to observe Rocky’s chain.

“Three thousand meters. Probe signals good.” Rocky informs. 

Now this is the part that makes your hand sweats against the stick, you do not dare to look at his face at this point. Instinct tells you to keep your eyes glued to every monitor overlooking Mary; to focus at every aspect of the angle, the altitude, and how close the ship is to the atmosphere. But, empathy tells you to turn your head and wish him good luck. However, there is an indecipher feeling resurface, crawling to your head, holding you from saying not even a word.

“Now comes the fun part,” Grace let out an awkward laugh, easing himself from the grueling exertion he is about to face.

“Grace go out on hull to retrieve the collector? No fun at all.” Rocky flatly states. 

Rocky shares the same brain cell as you for a moment. Going out on a hull when Mary is flying manually, very close to Adrian’s atmosphere is no fun at all. Yes, this is where your expertise is needed, to steady Mary in Adrian’s orbit, merely kilometers away from the atmosphere. But, you can’t fight the natural force of the universe, a creation that acts solely on its own against human’s proficiencies. A human's calculation could be wrong in seconds, it is true, there is always a small percentage that could happen. And you had proven that fact.

“It’s a joke, Rock.” Grace replies, his tone unnervingly calm for once. No awkward titters enshrouded his statement. Unstrapping himself from the metal seat, your right periphery catches his subtle dazed around you, like he is studying you before he lifts himself up from the seat.

A hand brushes your clothed forearm briefly at the armrest, “Easy, I won’t say here goes nothing.” Then, he drifts off from the cockpit to the hull.

That word may lessen the nerves a bit, it almost makes you whip your attention to scan his face briefly before he puts on a helmet, tethered, and floats outside. But you stay rooted to your seat; hands in the controller stick, eyes darting from monitor to monitor.

The outside hatch is opened, you see the alert from the monitor. Grace is outside. You check the external monitor, checking where his position is. He is safe, for now, the air managed to fill your lungs.

Every second has passed like a turtle sauntering in a muddy ground, you keep all your strength to think clearly, holding Mary as steady as you can. Beads of sweat pave its way to your furrow eyebrows, agitate your finger to swipe it away, but your right hand keeps steady on the stick, as if the previous graze on top of your forearm gives you an extra hand on deck.

You inquire Rocky about his chains’ progress to loosen up a bit, but the emanator of the comms abrupt Rocky’s answer.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Grace groans through his comms.

“State your status, Grace.” Your left hand clicks the switch to directly speak to his comms.

“It’s fine,” he replies fast, lifting a weight upon your shoulder a bit, “it’s just the sky is slightly red.” He stammers through his comms.

“Words of encouragement.” Rocky exclaims. You know he meant to cheer him up.

“You can’t just say words of encouragement.” Grace sniggers. 

Never lose your sight from him, you trail his movement from the monitor, he’s currently bounding his way to the retrieval spot for the sample. 

“Words of great encouragement.” Rocky adds. 

“Nope.” Grace insists. “Lieutenant (y/l/n), state your status?” his sudden inquiries jolted you. The way that he knows precisely what you do at this moment by his motion; looking straight at the external camera facing the retrieval spot. His eyes bore into yours through that camera, through the monitor inside the cockpit.

“I–,” you stutter, “I’m fine.” 

“You sure?” He firmly asks, there is a hint of worry there, or perhaps, you are just delusional.

“Don’t be worried.” You retort, ease up a bit. 

“I’m not worried,” he scoffs through the comms, “it’s just I can sense you stalk my every action here.” He chortles.

In times like this, he makes time for jokes, seriously. You roll your eyes from his remark.

“Rock, how long is this supposed to take?” Grace shifts his voice, more focused.

“Collector should be here soon.” Rocky informs, but before he finishes his words, there is a loud wheeze through the comms.

You see Grace had already caught the sample in his hand, holding it like a ball. 

“Amaze, amaze, amaze.” Rocky exclaims.

Relief plastered your face, but not for long. There is a moment where you dart from checking the retrieve spot in the monitor, to the hull of Mary that faces the atmosphere. A wave of anxiety creases in your forehead, compulsively dragging your eyes again to check the altitude Mary showed you on the monitor. 

“Altitude warning.” Mary alerts, emanating throughout the spacecraft, confirming your doubt a bit. 

“Grace, get back here!” You shout. 

There is something wrong, you hold the controller stick steady, not even stretching your muscles a bit to prevent Mary from drifting away. But, even if you move it ever so slightly, the altitude changes won’t be drastically altered as what the monitor displayed.

“Hurry, hurry.” Rocky holler. “Careful, collector important!” He adds, as his tactile screen is full with an amplifier of Grace’s condition at the hull.

“(Y/l/n), is it just me, or Mary is really descending?” Grace questions in the comms.

You snap fast, “Adrian’s grav–”

A thud, Grace falls flatly to the hull. 

Panic rushes all over your body, “Grace?” You shout, as loud as you can, making Rocky shriek beside you with worry.

“Grace, status update!” Rocky demands. No perceivable answer from the scientist, and he still lay flat on his front in your monitor, not a slight movement at all. You wish that he is not unconscious, you wish that he has replied to you both, and his comms just randomly turn off by itself. But what are the odds?

“Status update, Grace!” Your breath becomes hollow, coursing both anxiety and intrusive thoughts to put Mary autopilot and rush your way to change into the EVA suit. But, if you do that, then you three are going to die, along with the life of two planets.

“Grace!” You scream.

“I’m okay, (y/l/n).” A shuddered pant proceeds through the comms emanator. He struggles to lift himself up while holding the sample in his hand.

Relief wash over your face. “Go back to the ship, “Dr. Grace!” Your voice is still highly stern and domineering, though his condition eases you up a bit.

“Yes, Lieutenant.” He states unwavering while loping from one side to the other, reaching for the hatch.

Now your focus is back to the monitor that shows you the entire structure of the ship. You wait patiently for the alert of the opened hatch where Grace will be in a couple more seconds. A beat, two beats, thre—the hatch is opened. Grace is inside the ship. You catch a breath for a moment, and regain your focus back again to the altitude, and every information spreads in front of you. You try to pull Mary to a stable orbit as fast as you can. But, clicking here and there is no use.

A metallic groan screams from somewhere down below, casting a red flash light throughout the cockpit. 

“Where’s that noise coming from?” Grace appears, grasping handhold to handhold to reach the co-pilot seat. 

“All around. Adrian’s gravity is pulling Mary!” You snap. 

“That doesn’t make sense. You held her steady.” He replies fast, clicking a navigation panel.

“Unless–” You turn your head aggravatedly to him, he snaps to you in an instant,

“Hull bending in big room below sleeping chamber.” Rocky says, drowning you more into your own fear. His echolocation makes him able to sense the whole ship. And there is no room beyond the sleeping chamber unless–

“Mary, keep a hold of yourself!” You scream, controlling the ship to drift away as fast as you could from Adrian’s gravity. The effective way to leave gravity is laterally, Yao’s words ring to your brain. You keep the ship steady until it reaches back to the orbit 

“Stop engine now?” Rocky asks.

“No, Rock! Not yet!” You scream, focusing on both your proficiencies and hope that Mary could manage her way out of the gravity.

Rocky chitters again, “Now?”

“Now!” You confirm.

Grace darts a furtive glance at you as the strap of his seat floats, and the tools inside of Rocky’s sphere also do the same. But, it only takes a couple seconds before it drops to the ground, and spins the ship uncontrollably again.

No no no, your mind rushes you with every haunting question. You had followed what Yao instructed you to do in a case like this. What is wrong? What is wrong with Mary? Did Yao instruct you against that? No, you don’t think so.

The ship rattles here and there in every location, but one specific area draws your fingers heavily to the fuel tank status. Grace reaches the monitor first, fear written in his blue eyes, as he abruptly clicks the fuel tanks status. To your bewilderment, your worst fear comes to life.

“There’s a leak in the fuel tank.” Grace shouts as clear as day.

“Motherf– horny Astrophage!” You curse as Mary now becomes more difficult to control, yawing forward, drifting, and spinning laterally.

“Hull breach, Port side fuel compartments 11 and 12.” Mary chimes.

“Yeah Mary, I get it!” You grit your teeth, aiming your finger heavily to the fuel panel.

“(Y/l/n), what is happening, question?” Rocky stutters through his transmitter. 

Grace becomes swallowed in his own seat, clutching his hand harder to the armrest. You are familiar with this; the g-force thrusting rapidly, but at this rate, you can prevent it from going amok.

“Eject bad fuel bay, question?” Rocky’s transmitter glitches a bit.

“Yes, eject, Rock.” You reach the jettison panel, rapid beeping emanates all over the cockpit. 

Falcon Three-Two, Eject Eject Eject

“Jettison port fuel tank compartment 12.” Mary notifies, and you press it.

“Confirm.” Mary chimes after you pressed the button.

The impact makes both of your seats uncontrollably hurl everywhere. Even Rocky curled into a ball and shoved forward hardly against his own xenonite sphere.

“Rocky!” Both You and Grace shriek. 

The spin is not showing any sign of slowing down. In fact, it makes a horrible pop sound underneath Grace’s seat; the anchor point of his seat shears off. 

You remain your head brace for any impact, sustaining the force that wrapped your body inward to the seat. Your arm reaches for the next jettison switch, but Grace has outstretched his first. 

“Jettison port fuel tank compartment 11.” Mary notifies. 

“Grace—,” You grit your teeth, fighting to stay aligned with the seat, not facing him, but in your ever dark periphery, you can see him fighting the force that swallows him more and more, “your — seat.” Your voice sounds quivered with trepidation.

Grace struggles to form a word, his jaw tenses, the corner of your eye catches it.

“Hang on,” He utters faintly, using all his strength to utter a word.

Hang On, Puma!

His finger grasps the surface of the control panel, grazing the button, to reach the jettison button. Grace is still reaching to press the button as if there are a ton of bricks weighing upon his arms.

“Grace, eject!” Your scream muffled slightly, still able to suppress the invisible weight that immobilize your body. 

(Y/f/n), Eject Eject Eject

“Confirm.” Mary notifies. 

THUD

A fading intransmissible scream from Rocky, both of your seats furl forward to the control panel, Rocky’s xenonite sphere rolls away stuck at your left, the red flash light strobes the entire cockpit, an invisible brick in the back of your neck, a clench in your throat.

Helplessly, you struggle, withering in pain and agony. The ship is still spinning, not giving you a chance to breathe, to think, and to latch off from the feeling of failure and guilt from doing the same mistake again. 

“Grace!” You scream. You can see his right arm reaching for something, moving ever so slightly, and falls limp after a second.

A dam can’t be quelled again, tears forming in your eyes from hating yourself.Failure. If you listen carefully to every step that Yao had instructed at cases like this, you both perhaps won’t end up like this. You follow your ego, that is what you always do, not listening to your superior.

“Grace, wake up!”

Grace has it harder than you, the inertia impact shove him forward, and hit his head against the panel. He might be handling both concussion and hypercapnia, accumulation of carbon dioxide in his blood due to the excessive g-force; causing him unconscious. The thought itself does not succumb. You search for hope, for light, for anything that could remove you from this position. 

The headrest of your chair hit the panel in front of you, so your head did not directly press harsh unlike Grace. It saves you. But, you’re still unable to move. You rethink clearly again, not wanting the action of the past to influence the millions of lives from both planets you, Grace, and Rocky are going to save. A centrifuge switch rises to your mind, but–

“Fuck! Grace! Wake up!” You holler again. 

The centrifuge switch placed in between the co-pilot seat and the installed sphere of Rocky. That is way beyond your reach, not when you are stuck jutting forward, enclosed by the seat and the panel. There is no way you can fight the maddening force by ducking your way and crawling to reach the switch.

“Rocky,” you mumble weakly. The alien rock chitters in different languages that you don’t know what the meaning of the words is. But you know he repetitively said your name and Grace’s name in his own instrument-language that you can comprehend.

“Help,” your body starts to cave in to the ferocious speed of the acceleration. Your eyelid begin to droop, your breath becomes shallow, and–

The air filled your lungs whole again, but there is a hint of ammonia prickling your throat. You cough. No, there is no way.

Your seat jerk backward, and the weight that has been cramping your body into a ball, gradually vanishes, there is only one thing that could be happening; Rocky let himself out of his attached sphere in the cockpit, activate the centrifuge panel to neutralize the spin, and pull you and Grace’s seat reclined again.

You snap, as the burn stings your eyes. Through your watery eyes, you finally see Rocky trying to pull Grace away from the co-pilot seat. He is there without his sphere for God's sake. 

“No, Rocky! Get–” You try to stand up, but your knees still wobble. Gripping the arm rest once more, you finally stand up properly and whip your head back to Rocky that has dragged Grace away to another panel. You try to unlatch the stuck xenonite sphere beside your seat, but there is no use. 

Adrenaline pumps your blood, you do not care about the ammonia that burns both your lungs and eyes near Rocky, he had been sacrificing himself to save you both by exposing himself to human’s atmosphere, burning his entire body. You help him to boost Grace up to the medical bay by placing his arms stretched around your shoulder. His head drops to your left at the impact, grazing his scruffy jaw to your skin. The alien starts to saunter, halting, and screech just before Armando gives extra hands to hoist Grace to the medical bed.

“Rocky!” You turn your head fast to Rocky, after making sure Armando grabs a hold on Grace and connecting a breathing support on him.

“Ro–” You cough, standing near him poisoned your lungs. The black smoke evaporates in the air, prickling your vision, making it blurry. But, you have to help him, there is something else that you can do. “Rocky, hang on!” You run to the sleeping chamber where you remember he has installed another rolling xenonite sphere there. As you register the object once there, everything has fallen out of place from the maddening spin the ship had made a moment ago. You dash to the sphere and push it forward with all you got. 

While rolling it down back to the medical bay, your breath rattled, causing you to cough again. “Intubated needed.” Armando’s tentacles trying to reach you.

“No–,” You shove Armando’s tentacles with your right hand, coughing, “deal with Grace!” You wheezed, scanning Grace that is still physically immobilized on the bed. As soon as you reach closer to Rock, the burn in your lungs amplifies. 

“Rock, Rock!” You stowed the sphere just in front of him, but Rocky is paralyzed laying on the floor. There is no time, he could die soon enough if he is continuously exposed to this atmosphere. You roll down the upper of your jumpsuit, revealing your arms. You grab the sleeves and tie it around your palm to protect your skin. You know it’s not enough. But as your vision becomes more blurry, you let out all the energy you have left, and push Rocky to the penetrable xenon glass in his sphere.

Pushing him slowly by the carapace, your body tells you to move in a haste, but your lungs won’t allow it. The medical bay spinning around you, all the sounds that Armando made muffle into your ears, your eyes almost catch Grace in a breathing mask tilting his head to face you, but you think that could be an after image.

Everything is heavy around you, there is no time, as your eye becomes heavier and heavier, you shove Rocky into his sphere without caution.

You grunt, pain surges into your senses, it burns your skin, and the only thing you remember is a grave scream of (y/f/n) and Armando trying to hoist you up piercing your ears with “Excessive eye mucus. Second degree-burns. Breathing distress. Triage result: intubate,” before everything pitch dark.

.

.

USS Abraham Lincoln (CVN-72), South Pacific Ocean

Everyone was chattering at each other. Trays clattered against the cold surface of the long metal desk, along with the smells of curry and chicken evaporating all around the room. There were people singing at the far corner of the desk, irritating the guy in front of you while chewing.

“Can they not sing?” Hangman scoffed, still chewing his food. He snapped his head in the direction of people who sang, “Shut up!” He shouted, almost lifting himself up.

You stretched your arm to put him back down on his seat but Payback had placed a hand on his shoulder, halting him from doing a reckless stunt.“We’re all a team, in here, man, get your shit together.” Payback sniggers, making the guy spoon his food aggressively.

All your squad team grew tense for a bit, hoping the other guys there did not catch Hangman’s maddening lash out. Fortunately, Phoenix chimed in, breaking the topic that made you choke by the thick curry down your throat.

“I see a ring in your finger.” Phoenix teased, “So, are you going to spare the details to us?”

Her remark makes the whole squad set their eyes on your spoon, your finger precisely. Only one man there sat just across Phoenix that did not cast a look to your finger. However, a hint of a proud smug look smeared his face.

“When did you? When did you get engaged?” Fanboy leaned his body closer to spectate the ring, then nudged his face to you and Bob, blocking everyone’s plate on the desk.

“Ay, congrats man!” Rooster dapped Bob’s shoulder vigorously before momentarily checking the other squad across the long desk who eyed him back.

There was a familiar, deliberate touch of a boots to yours underneath the desk, you know it was him. You didn’t move, acknowledged the signals while staying there.

“Hey lover boy, when and where did you propose to her? Info dump us, come on!” Fanboy sat astride now to catch the both of you more clearly.

“Two days before we depart,” He fidgeted with his spoon, but his eyes looked straight to your eyes unwaveringly through his glasses, “and at the Hard Deck.”

His answer shocked the entire audience to a disbelief, “At naval bar? Very unromantic.” Hangman scoffed, continued eating his food, uninterested by the topic in an instant. 

“I mean, at the beach in front of it. Not actually in Hard Deck,” You explained, emphasizing every word, “It’s where we first met so I think it’s very romantic.” You gaze upon your metal tray, a shy smile casted your face, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Awhhh,” Phoenix let out a soft endearment to both you and him, “congrats, Puma, Bob!” She said and followed by Fanboy who shook both of your hands firmly like a businessman agreeing for a contract.

“The bride and her backseater.” Coyote chortled, finally spoke.

The conversation started drifting to the wedding plan, venue, even cheekily dragged to a honeymoon place that made both you and Bob red as a crab. It did not mean that you never did it with him, you did, but the recalls of that first awkward drive to your parents when his car broke down in the middle of an empty road without any heater on. You both waited for the towing trucks that took years to arrive amidst the rain and the consequence had intrusively made both of your hormones to surrender, from a slight touch to jump to his backseat for finding warmth. And the aftermath, you both couldn’t even articulate a sentence during your family dinner. And you knew, that scene was playing in his mind too.

The alarm blared, made all of your train of thoughts screech into a stop. 

“All flight deck personnel, muster in the ready room for mission briefing,” the speaker blared, making all of you rise immediately from your seat leaving the platters and the glass as it was on the desk.

All of you rushed to the specific room, waiting for instruction. All the commotion from Hangman’s outburst to your engagement with Bob had faded away, replaced by trepidation on what you were all about to face. A hand brushed yours, soothed you from tunnelling into your thoughts. You casted a look to your right, and Bob gave a reassuring smile to you.

When all the crew had gathered, the CAG, Commander Air Group, your superior, walked into the room with a downcast look and stern focus at every one of you. She cleared his throat before pointing her hand to the whiteboard, which showed the content of the projector.

“Alright, listen up! We’ve got intermittent traffic out here, unidentified platform. The last few hits put it probing the perimeter. We’re treating it as potentially hostile, but not declared.” She pointed at the altitude on the board.

“This is what we’re going to do. I want an eight-ship, spread out in sectors around the ship,” She tapped the board, "single seat lead, two-seat wingman.” She eyed each one of you, perusing all your squad piercefully. 

“Falcon One-One is Rooster. Falcon One-Two is Payback and Fanboy. You’re Section One, north sector.” She studied your friend in their seat. 

“Falcon Two-One is Coyote. Falcon Two-Two is Yale and Harvard. East sector is yours. No hero moves unless directed. Keep the picture clean.” She continued.

“Falcon Three-One is Hangman. Falcon Three-Two is Puma and Bob. South sector is our blind arc. Wide spacing, steady scan, and if anything tries to slip under us, you’re the first to see it.”

The mention of your callsign rooted your boots to the ground. This was the moment to prove your worth. You clench your fist and press it against your thigh.

“Falcon Four-One is Phoenix. Falcon Four-Two, Omaha and Halo. West sector, stay quiet.” 

The CAG walked back to the podium beside the board. The room went still quiet, waiting for the rest of the instruction. 

“I do not want anything that looks aggressive. No sudden maneuvering, no pushing unless you’re directed. Weapons hold, you will not engage. Let them know we see them.” She announced. “Keep it professional. Report, and keep it controlled. Any questions?”

No words left from any of your friends and the others, signalling your CAG to walk her way out of the room, “You know your roles, move to your aircraft.”

There were no words being exchanged, the tension pulled all of your friends into a hyperfocus with the mission, including you. You reach for the g-suit inside the locker, zip it on, and grab the helmet. You took a glimpse at Phoenix who had locked her locker. 

“See you in a minute.” You grinned. “See you in a minute, engaged girl.” Phoenix added, tap you on your shoulder. A slight chuckle left your mouth as you slammed your locker close and trailed just behind her to the flight deck; to your F-18/Super Hornet. 

At your right, your fiancé walked alongside Hangman to you, you acknowledged their presence.

“Act like my wingman, the both of you!” Hangman domineeringly jeer, but mostly directed the words to your skull.

Bob retorted fast, “Act like a lead, don’t act on your own.” Hangman cockily furrowed his brows in response and walked to his aircraft.

You snorted at how fast Hangman recoiled after your fiancé’s remark. “Here goes nothing.” You snickered.

You outstretched a fist while walking and looking at him. He strode too, did not look at you, but a fleeting smile was there, he expanded his fist to bump yours. Out of the blue, he clasped your fist and pulled you close to face him. You cheekily smile gazing at his sudden outburst. Maintaining a safe distance, you kept your pace to walk backwards.

“What are you doing?” You playfully ask.

He still held his left hand to your right. “First mission after we got engaged.” He pointed out, blue eyes piercing yours.

“And what are the odds that we got paired with Hangman.” You scoffed, still maintaining the pace and your eyes to his.

He pulled off his hold from your hand, adjusted his glasses before placing his fingers to his lips, pressing it and gently pulling it back to squeeze it to yours, letting a mere second slip with his thumbs grazed your lower lips.

As the absence of his fingers stung your lips, you pulled a smirk, “Wow, keep it professional down there, Bob!”

He retorted teasingly, pulled you slightly to his left, signaling the aircraft is near. “So, getting engaged with your backseater is professional?” 

You made a face to him, as you began to grasp the ladder to climb your fighter jets. Bob did the same. 

The smells of machinery welcomed you, motioned you to check everything, building a tense in your surroundings. After some time you threw a sign to the ground crew, and the aircraft canopy rolled down.

After waiting for all the previous aircraft to launch, it was now your turn to catapult. Hangman had launched moments ago, you reported your status to the aircraft traffic control.

“Three-Two launching.” You talked to your radio, and launched the fighter jets, ascending away from the aircraft carrier.

“Falcon Three-Two, radar contact. Climb angels one-five. Proceed departure heading zero-nine-five.” The traffic controls rang in your radio contact.

“Three-Two. Roger." You dragged the controller to the designated altitude.

Bob added his status, “Sensor suited up, nothing solid yet.”

Subsequently, Bob's radar did not show anything. Hangman began to burst in his sarcasm.

“Alright, Three-Two, tell me you’ve got something better than ghost tales.” His impatient wove its way to your radio contact.

You rolled your eyes, “Hangman, hang it tight, Man, nothing stable yet.” You sighed, because you know every pilot that had been paired with him would always leave with dissatisfaction of Hangman not cooperating.

“Wait–,” Bob interrupted, “I’ve got a flicker, it could be the same contact.”

“That’s it Bob, I’ll go say hello.” Hangman raised his voice like he was finally about to get entertained by this. You snapped, “don’t act recklessly, Hangman. Maintain Combat Air Patrol!” You emphasise again.

“Control, Three-Two, We’ve got eyes on the sector.” You reported through the radio contact, and Hangman added a second after you, “Control, Three-One, I’ve got eyes, pushing to investigate.”

The radio went static, before it flatly alerted, “Three-one maintain CAP. Do not break station.” 

But you knew, a sigh from your backseater through your radio contact, Hangman had fled away to the designated location where the radar saw the ghost aircraft. You followed along at a safe distance above him, when Bob interrupted spontaneously, “contact spike. That’s not passive anymore.” 

“Hangman, pull it off.” You grunted from the radio contact.

Hangman had flew on his own, slightly away from your perimeter. 

“Falcon Three-One, Falcon Three-Two. Maintain CAP.” The control struck again.

“Negative, if that was hostile, I’m not letting it walk away.” Hangman proclaimed.

Struggling to keep the distance, Bob suddenly perturbed a horrible thought, “Hangman, you’re locked! You’re locked! I repeat–,”

“I see him, I see him–!” and Hangman’s ship maneuvered wildly to chase the enemy fighter jets just flying above both of your altitude. 

“Three-One, report! Three-, Hangman report!” You demanded. 

Bob groaned through the comms, “I lost him, he just broke off our vector.” 

Hangman flew alone, losing the clean communication in a haste, leaving you both idly in the air without a leader. You had to act on your own now, but you were assigned by your commander as a wingman. But, how could you interrupt the unfriendly maneuvers between Hangman and the enemy. Maintaining your focus steady on your task to keep the friendly air patrol, Bob broke the friendly intention immediately, “New contact. That’s not the same aircraft?”

You snapped, “What? Say that again!” You responded.

Bob fiddling with his expertise, he breathed, a shuddered word, “We’ve got a second ship in my radar. No comms, no coordination.” 

No comms, no coordination, a completely unfriendly approach from the ship. You gulped down as your hold against the controller pressed tight. There were only seconds for you to be able to think, but the words from the commander rang to your brain, maintain CAP, keep it professional, and keep it controlled. Keep it friendly, but the ship did not show any kindliness at all. 

“I’m breaking left.” You stated, and maneuvered hard left, and a glimpse of the enemy aircraft caught your eyes immediately. It flew close to you, making you recoil in the air, bracing for any sudden shift.

The enemy’s ship now flew straight away from you, and maneuvered uncontrollably just beyond the horizon and directed its hull to your aircraft.

“Control, Three-Two, permission to engage.” You inquired, demandingly, aggravated on your pilot seat. Waiting for the traffic control to reply back, it took them long enough to respond back. There was no time to think, the other option would be maneuvering wildly out in the air until one of you surrendered. Where was Hangman to lead your fighter jet at this moment? He went AWOL. 

You launched your jet straight toward the enemy that was coursing its way to you too, because you knew for a fact, if you got away, they would be trailing you from behind and that was fatal if they had locked you with their missiles.

“Hang on, Puma!” Bob said through the radio contact, you gulped down, did not utter a single word, fully focused on your calculation. 

One, two – you maneuvered left as the ghost enemy was still flying straight at you. Amidst all the sudden g-force and all, you were entrapped with a close - combat unfriendly fight with the airship. You forced yourself repetitively into a defensive stalemate as the traffic control still insisted on not giving permission to engage.

In the midst of chaos, you both crossed and repositioned again to a stable altitude, but the disturbed air from the high turn had aggressively changed the inputs in Bob’s radar.

“Puma, we’re in his disturbed air,” Bob alerted. Without him mentioning, you knew your aircraft was inside the enemy’s wake turbulence. 

“I know, I’m fighting the ship!” You shouted. But, there was no way you could fight  a wake turbulence that shrieked uncontrollably.

“Falcon Three-Two. Eject..Eject..Eject!” The traffic control rang statically and wavered through the radio contact. Oh, it took them long enough now to assess your flight.

“Negative.” You affirmed, still fighting against the disturbed air.

A warning cued in throughout the control panel, and Bob reprimanded into your ear statically, 

“(Y/F/N), Eject..Eject..Eject!”

You faltered for a second before drowning his words to your senses. Pressing your eyes shut, you grasped the safety cover of the eject button. One more look of doubt, you felt nauseated by the unknown feeling crept into you. 

One last word to the traffic control, “Falcon Three-Two. Eject, eject, eject.” And you pressed the button, erupting the canopy just above you and launched you upward. Uncontrollably spinning in the atmosphere, you heard the deafening whoosh of the other falcons aiming towards the ghost ship you had maneuvered to fight with. Opening your eyes a bit, you saw Rooster’s jets along with Coyote and Fanboy’s on a safe distance behind him, keeping the ‘in-trail position’ as they were supposed to do.

You swallowed the urge to scour for Bob’s condition, as you hurled into a blind spot where you could no longer look at your weapon system officer, your backseater. There were no comms outside the aircraft, so you both would be blindly hurling into space, before gravity pulled you back to the ground. This was the only time where you could only hope and pray to God that he was saved from this. 

Your parachute has been launched, your grip tightened into the rope through your gloves. Eyes wildly scanning all the perimeters before you, you directed the parachute to face another direction. There was only a vast sea lying before you and the wreckage of your fighter jets far away emanated from the uncontrollably lopsided crash against the sea surface. Apprehension crawled to your stomach, you needed to think straight. Perhaps he had fallen first above the sea surface. But there was no way he could launch and splashed down that fast before you.

A helicopter whirred in a distance, you steadied your angle to splash down above the sea surface. A minute had passed,your eyes still roaming all the perimeter. You furled your parachute as one of the crew slid down with a rope to take you in. Amidst the commotion, you asked, shouted, “where is my backseater?” 

“Where is his drop position?” You demanded again as your feet grappled the helicopter’s floor.

“Our team is currently deployed, Lieutenant.” The guy carrying you finally replies, “Please stay seated, and we’ll take you back to the carrier.” The guy stated your condition to his ear piece, back to the aircraft’ commander.

You grunted, took off your helmet and palmed your head low in frustration. Your feet trembled and the water splotches from the splash down impact dampening the helicopter floor. Hope, you could only hope for whatever was waiting for you.

As USS Abraham Lincoln slowly appeared, the helicopter descended slowly, you trudge forward clamped both of your hands in the opened door of the heli even before it touched down completely. Crouching forward, you saw another helicopter approaching the helipad on the aircraft. 

The whirred stop, you dashed with all your wet attires, clutching your helmet in your hand, eyeing the ruckus of people who surrounded the other helicopter. Cramping your way to the crowd, your eyes caught the med teams charged their way from inside the ship with a gurney. Dread crawled to your guts, you fastened your way into the crowd.

“Move!” You shoved people in front of you. Some of them made their way, creating a space for your eyes to catch a glimpse of someone laid down with a dampened boots that hours ago just brushed yours underneath a desk. The figure laid on the helicopter floor, surrounded by the meds team.

One of the personnel walked from the frontline towards you, blocking you away. Still, you peeked out to see whatever happened beyond the crowd.

“Lieutenant, please confirm your status at the medical team first.” The military personnel firmly asked you to.

“That’s the medical staff, I can go there now!” You shrieked. “No, Lieutenant, your medical staff are stationed inside. I urge you to leave the perimeter.” He added.

“That’s my WSO right there, what do you mean?” You shouted. He grappled you and you fought back, nudging your elbow at his stomach. He winced from the impact, but another personnel seized you instantly, around your shoulders.

“What are you doing!” You screamed, “Is he okay?” You cried your throat, your voice turned grave. Shouting the same question again, the people just seized you away from the flight deck with no answer. 

“Is he okay?”

 .

.

A robotic beep. A hazy white bright light illuminates your eyes blurry, blinding you. Wet trails down each of your eyes to your temples, stirs you awake from the sensation, not just in your eyes, but the pain registers throughout your body. You jolt upward from the lay down position.

“Is he okay?” Your scream sounds weak through your ears, your surroundings still blurry-white in your eyes, unable you to grasp anything. You hold a grip to the edge of the medical bed, supporting you to stand, but the pain stings.

You grunt, slip off to the floor. The IV tube inserted everywhere and the bandages in your palm torments you, trembling you on the cold ground. 

There is a distinct noise swimming into your ear as you lower your head heavy and heavy onto the floor. It sounds like a step, a gradual step coming closer to you.

“Is he—okay?” You mumbled to yourself. 

Still reeling with your surroundings, your body becomes light as a firm grip embraces your shoulders carefully as if you are fragile. The figure hoisted you up steadily, embracing you to stand properly. 

Your head feels like a brick, perhaps from the sudden jolt you did earlier, or perhaps your brain has damaged itself since you can no longer comprehend what just happened. All you remember is —

“Is he o—,” you cough, your hair hides your face while you slouch. A finger sweeps your hair, tucking it in your ear, then encloses you into the warmth of his body.

“Sshh-,” a pause, “I’m okay.” The figure says.

The gap between the both of you closes in as you register the warmth radiating to yourself. Letting out a sigh, you lean your head against his chest. A hand slips into the back of your hips to steady you. You can hear his heartbeat and his breathing becomes slightly uneven.

Breathing slowly upon his chest, metallic smells creased your forehead. The smell is different, unfamiliar to the one you recognized, but not really that strange for you, as you are exposed to this smell on a daily basis now. The smells of machinery, cockpit, space–

You lift your right weak hand, bandage enwrapped your palm. Tilting your head to face the figure slowly, your eyes still processing to capture the countenance of the figure, fighting the blurry vision. His rugged breath fans your forehead. 

“(Y/l/n),” he rasps. 

Your right hand weaves its way to graze his jaw. But the stings from the impact shove your hands off. Burned. It burned. You blink from the pain, blink again to really awaken you now. 

A bandage palm, an IV tube slithering in your right wrist, the white light on the ceiling, you dart away to your left, seeing a bandage on his forehead.

“Grace,” you stutter and you stumble backward, but his hands still hover in your waist, catching you just before you hit the edge of the medical bed.

Your breath is hitch and uneven. “(Y/l/n),” he murmurs. You can feel his breath warm against your lips. His blue eyes roaming all over your face through his glasses, pulling you slightly closer, “you okay?” 

Holding his gaze, you feel the heat rise in your face. Your tongue is too numb to assist your lips from forming a word. And here you are, you cast a deliberate look into his lips that only a brush away from you, and back to his eyes again. You are sure his eyes are dilated for a mere second.

His glasses become foggy, neither of you moves. His jaw tightened, his eyes searching, questioning, clearly holding himself back. And there is the undeniable urge when you two are this close, you need to feel someone, you need to touch someone, your skin starves after a fragment of memory wash your brain. 

You gasp,“Ryland,” 

And he doesn't think twice as his name leaves your mouth, awakening something in him. His lips meet yours, hesitantly, giving you a moment to pull away.

You move your lips deliberately slowly, a chance for your brain to synchronize the memory in the backseat of his car. 

Grace’s lips soft against you, glasses shift ever so slightly as he tilts his head to lean closer, deepening the kiss that grows steady. The frame brushing faintly in your cheek, furrowed your brows from the sensation. Just like his.

Your back brushes the edge of the medical bed, as he presses his body to yours. Fighting for dominance, he furrows his eyebrow, becoming desperate for the kiss as the grip in your waist becomes tighter. Is your mind assisting your way into this, or  are you really hearing the pitter-patter of rain inside the ship?

You lift your hands to cup his face, steadying him from whatever he feels at this moment. You want him to feel you slowly, like the way you guide him through it.

Wincing at your wound against his stubble jaw, his breath becomes shallow through the kiss, uneven against you. 

As both of your lungs burn in need of air, you break away the kiss first. He whimpers, his eyes droop low, searching yours. You still pressed your eyes shut against his forehead. You don’t want his face to vanish.

Both of your shoulders move up and down, while his hands begin to tremble in your waist. You finally acquiesce in the moment and opened your eyes slowly.

“(Y/f/n),” a pause, he gulped down, “you okay?” His eyes dropped to your bandages.“I’m okay,” you murmur, still breathless, “we’re very unprofessional, aren’t we?” a faint smile smears your lips.

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 ⋆˚꩜｡

𝑨 𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔

⭑.ᐟ

A flat feminine voice echoes throughout the room, “Eye movements detected.”

The sharp, bright light blinds your vision, causing you to feel dizzy, like the whole room swallowing you in a spiral. Your lungs burn from the sudden intake of oxygen. It feels like your throat, lungs, and all your respiratory system forget how to breathe on their own.

“What’s two plus two?”

“Frlourrr.”

“Incorrect.”

Your first instinct is to clutch harder on each side of what seems like a bed. But the only sensation your skin could grapple with is the feeling of something slithering throughout your body. You falter for a moment,

“Attempt number two. What’s two plus two?” The female robotic voice chimes again.

“Four, for the love of God!”

“Incorrect.”

You startle, not because of the repetition incorrect from that emotionless robot voice, but at your ability to form a sentence and it burst out clearly. Your throat may feel dry and sore, but the irritation of being questioned the same questions twice by these tentacles, just enrages you.

“Attempt number three. What’s two plus two?”

You inhale deeply, adapting your nostrils to the cold air in the white-ceiling surroundings adorned with robotic arms facing you, like underneath a big white spider. You lift your head to peek out of your lower body. 

A waft of nausea flits briefly in your stomach at the scenery you just caught; you are barely even clothed, and there are tubes and IVs here and there jammed inside your body, in an instant, the pain registers.

“Four,” you hiss, and the robot's arms pull the tube slowly, hiding underneath your thighs and your arms.

“What is your name?” The robot's arms halt the process to pull the last tube sticking to the part where no sunlight could enter.

The question lingers in your mind. It flies and sways just above the surface before it reaches the deep waters of your memory, to the point where it plunges into the abyss of a very confidential matter.

.

.

The image surges unwavering; a guy in a yellow jacket lay unconsciously just beneath your knees. Tackling his back onto the wild grass, you seized the injection from one of the guys dressed in a white lab coat.

“Give me that!” Your own voice sounded weirdly domineering in your memory.

“Lieutenant (y/l/n), make sure you inject it in—” the white coat lab guy alerted, and the man underneath you withered and screamed.

Your colleague appeared behind your back, and the man underneath you shrieked once more at your colleague’s appearance.

“Carl! I can’t do it!”

“Shut up!” You screamed and stabbed the needle at the back of his neck.

“Carl,” he screamed again, muffled. “Don’t do it, don’t do it, (y/l/n)!”

“You know who you are.” Your colleague stood beside you, gazing at the unfortunate guy. 

After the wither stopped, you swept the sweat beaded in your forehead. One of your knees supported you to rise from the ground, and you gave back the empty needle to one of the lab guys.  

Carl looked at you, with one hand clutching his earpiece. He talked briefly with the soldiers who hoisted the unfortunate guy to a gurney. Carl nodded and muttered into his earpiece, “Dr. Ryland Grace is secured.”

There was a brief silence from both of you. The person Carl talked to through his ear piece might have said something that you had expected, and told Carl to utter it. But, he chose to stay idle while the commotion from sedating that guy still went ruckus.

“I know, it’s my time. Let me enjoy my last evening on Earth first, before I sleep for God knows how long.”

As stoic as Carl might look, there was a shift in his countenance, “You gotta prepare to defend yourself when he remembers you pulled violence like that.”

You jeered, “I’m sorry? Your guys did nothing, that’s what I had to do it,” you paused, looking at all the personnel, struggling to transport the scientist onto a truck. “I know, I gotta make a plan. I’ll ask Ilyukhina about this. She’s an engineer after all.”

Carl talked to his earpiece again, “She’s on her way.” He turned to you, “Good luck, Lieutenant (y/n).” And the words flew to your ear like another word of encouragement.

.

.

Everything rings your senses; it feels like your body jolts inward to the deep abyss. The realization that you are so far away from home, spinning your head even more.

And the fact that you have to face that scientist makes you even more jittery. Or perhaps, because you’re low on any real sugar and protein intake right now. Oh, at least Ilyukhina and Yao can help you. Where are they anyway?

“(Y/n),” you say sternly to the robot, and it starts its protocol to slowly pull all the tubes inserted to your body. You wince from the discomfort.

“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant (y/l/n).” Then you roll down from the bed, while the robotic tentacles are too late to hoist your body from falling.

Fortunately, you land on a pile of boxes to smooth your landing. Those boxes are clearly stowed there for a purpose. As you steel your arms to support you up, the muscles tremble. They might have been shaken by the absence of using it.

From the plan and all the discussions that you have had partake, your mind speculates that you have been medically induced for four years. That, if all the ‘long shots’ your superior said were true.

Your eyes register the bold marker words on one of the boxes. (Y/N) is written in all capitals at the edge of the box. Strange, it looks as if someone had opened it beforehand. You sit down, almost half naked from the void of that transparent sleeping bag that had just covered your body before.

As you open the box, all the flitting memory flies to your brain like pixels after pixels. There are photos scattered upon folded clothes that are neatly stowed inside. The temperature of the room may not be that icy cold as your body adjusts to it, but the lack of fabric sends goosebumps throughout your body.

You grab the folded jumpsuit first, your eyes dart from the patch written with your last name on the left side to the big emblem of ‘Project Hail Mary’ with national flags across the globe on the right side. There is no time to admire the embroidery, you wear the jumpsuit on, barely standing, and crouched back facing the opened box.

There are pictures of your big family and your parents, all of them were drowned in tears and enraged with your decision to volunteer as one of the pilots for this confidential mission to save our Sun, you wiped away the memory. Flipping to another picture, you see yourself mounted on the wing of your F-18/ Super Hornet, with a helmet on, your callsign there, ‘Puma’.

 The picture showed you standing heroically, it sends you a bittersweet memory, you swiped to another photo again, it was you with your flight squadron from the same academy, you grazed your fingers to each of your friends, standing from left to right, you remember their callsign; Phoenix, Hangman, Fanboy, Rooster, you, Payback, Coyote, and Bob. Your Bob. Was your Bob.

A surge of guilt overtakes your body, you swipe another photo, and then, you see a photo of you and Bob on a beach together, he embraced your shoulder as you leaned your head in his. You remember Rooster was the one who took the photo when you were all exhausted after playing volleyball. Quelling the dam from crashing, you put down all the photos again, scattered it like a pile of cards.

Then, a silver chain along with the plate in the middle catches your eyes, no need to think, you already know what it is, and whose it is; a dog tag. Both of your thumbs raise it to your face.

Carved there, Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd.

You roll the dog tag into your right palm, press it flat so the material prickles your skin. You do not want to get sentimental this early for your first day in outer space, but sure, tears almost fall down to your cheek, you press your right hand to your chest for a mere second before you put it on the front pocket of your jumpsuit. 

Shaking your head to regain your composure, you kick the box away to clear your path. All the empty beds laid there in front of you; Ilyukhina and Yao would be on the other side of the ship.

A sigh of relief leaves your mouth, meaning that you don’t have to go on this alone, to devise a plan if the scientist acknowledges who you are completely.

.

.

Scouring for food is your first instinct; you roam around the corridor to find anything that you can eat, but nothing catches your eye. Your body is low on real carbs and protein; for God's sake, you need food first. But, something more imminent stops you abruptly from dredging your eyes left and right for food at one of the big glass windows of the spacecraft. It faces outer space, yeah you know, but something gigantic is there, as if it is parked just beside the Hail Mary. It looks like dried spaghetti colored in copper stacked one onto another.

Both of your hands are glued to the glass panel, your eyes scanning each detail of the ship, “I get to meet aliens on my first day,” you mumble, slightly chuckle.

Betting on what Ilyukhina and Yao do at the moment, you step closer to the main laboratory of the ship as you hear noises of someone talking. Perhaps they sing their lungs out loud right now, or perhaps they are repetitively bickering whether to say ‘Live Long and Prosper’ or ‘May the force be with you’ to welcome the alien. You smile a little at the thought, while your stomach starts to rumble for the absence of food.

As the open hatch to the main laboratory grows nearer and nearer, your bet slowly flops when the figure across you faces you with their back. The figure lowers their body to the table and seems like too fixated on that spiky thing on the desk rather than your appearance. Perhaps, he still hasn't sensed your presence yet. What the hell are those spiky things, though?

“You’re a long way from home. I’m a long way from home, too.” The figure speaks to himself, he looks like he glued and paraffined one of the orbs there. You squint your eyes, ‘Earth’ was written there. 

As if the alien could read English, you roll your eyes.

You step closer again to peruse the spiky-metal-things more. As your feet walk into the laboratory, you mindlessly step onto a metal object that is lying strangely upon the floor.

A big thump emanates from your fall.

Hair falls onto your face, acting like a barrier between you and the cold white floor. A screech echoes along the room after you fall; it sounds like a woman, surely. 

Flipping your hair and bracing to stand, your feet hit the culprit of this occurrence, that strange object, wait, it’s an XRF, X-Ray Fluorescence Spectrometer. Why could it sit neatly there just by the doorframe of the laboratory?

“You’re awake!” the figure exclaims, too excitedly. He rises from his seat and approaches you.

“I’m, I’m really sorry, Lieutenant (y/n), I shouldn't have thrown it there, ” he says. Your entire body grows tense. He knows you, he acknowledges you, and he knows who you really are.

“Do you know me?” You ask hesitantly, scanning for a glimpse of any kind of negative emotions in his face, but instead, it only shows you a too-excited or too-eager countenance.

His glasses, per se, it catches your attention, it hangs lopsidedly just below his stubbled jawline.

“I fear my memory is still rebooting, but I placed your box near your bed in case you need assistance to regain your memory.” He chortles, then clears his throat.

You back away from his too weirdly energetic composure, and the shift in his eyebrows marks that he notices; you sense something off, either is about him or something else.

“I’m sorry. It’s been days without any real two-way interactions. Sorry to make you uncomfortable,” he draws back to keep a distance between the two of you. He points his right hand to the object on the table, “and recently, an alien just threw this out of their ship.”

He chuckles, though it may sound awkward since your mind is tangled with something horrible. He clears his throat and stretches his arm, “I’m sure we have met before, and we have talked before on Earth,” he pauses, reading your expression, lowering his head to fully read the waves on your forehead, “I’m Grace.” He says cautiously.

“Yes, Dr. Ryland Grace, I know who you are.” Your face contorts, coming to a conclusion that you hate to swallow.

The air surrounding you feels unwanted by your lungs. Gripping a hold at one of the metal desks, you dig your nails to keep you steady from the horrible truth that may barge into your brain without caution.

“You said it’s been days for you without two-way interactions. Could you define that, please? And where are Commander Yao and Ilyukhina?”

He pauses, his excitement drops gloomily, “They–they didn’t make it.”

Your knees are too stiff to even buckle. His words rush through your brain like a lightning bolt, crashing your reality in half.

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 ⋆˚꩜｡

Part 2 ⭑.ᐟ