occasionally subtle
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JBB: An Artblog!
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cherry valley forever
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$LAYYYTER
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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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Not today Justin
NASA
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
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@amandamariee
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ welcome to my blog ☽ ⋆⁺₊⋆
♡ amanda ♡ she/they, 20, fantasy book girlie, hopeless romantic, lover girl, faerie in my heart, annabeth chase irl, longing to escape, beach lover, soft hearted, cabin 3 + 6!
♡ about me ♡ aesthetic ♡ playlist ♡ pinterest ♡
♡ currently reading: priory of the orange tree by samantha shannon
♡ fic recs: found here
ive been thinking about this tweet all day lol. so relatable
I have grown so fond of Ryan Gosling, not even in an attracted kind of way, he just has the eyes of a confused deer that somehow found itself standing in my kitchen and I chose to keep it as emotional support
Friday I'm in Love
Ryland Grace x Reader
warnings : dangerous amounts of awkward, nerdy ryland? terrible writing, not edited summary : ryland has a crush on the kindergarten teacher that his class visits once a month w/c : 4.3k a/n : the chokehold this man has on me is INSANE
It was the last Friday of the month, Ryland’s favorite day. Once a month, he got to walk his homeroom class ten minutes down the street to the local elementary school. Once a month, his students got to hang out with their kindergarten buddies. Once a month, he got paid to sit around and be with her.
Y/n was the kindergarten teacher he was partnered up with. Last year he had been stuck with Mrs. Wilson. Her classroom always smelled of microwaved fish and sweaty fourth graders. She also had a bad habit of leaving the classroom without telling him, leaving him alone with nearly sixty children. Y/n was very different. Her classroom always smelled of lavender and citrus, and the only time he had ever been alone in her classroom was when she dropped the students off at lunch and went to the restroom.
Ryland was very grateful that he was visiting her classroom and that she wasn’t visiting his. Her room was a stark contrast to his. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, his desk was cluttered and trashed, and things fell down regularly. Here, there were paper lanterns hanging down, but that was all. They were evenly spaced and gave the room a cozy feel, not a trapped in low budget space feel. Everything had a place. Her desk was cleared, at least the top was. He had no clue if the drawers were in the same condition. The classroom was organized from the row of backpacks hanging on the wall to the cabinet filled with toys. It was structured, warm.
However, nice as the classroom was, that was not the best part of this arrangement the two schools set up. Working with Y/n was the highlight of his school year. There was just something about her. Maybe it was the fact that she always had a tupperware filled with baked goods for him when he brought his class to visit. Maybe it was the fact that she always smelled like vanilla and jasmine. And maybe, just maybe, it was the way she taught her students. The way that she could help one student understand a concept using props and hand motions and then turn around and help another by turning it into a game. She had a passion for helping them get from where they were, to where they were going. It was written all over her face.
This was what Ryland thought about as he walked his eighth grade homeroom over to the elementary school. The morning fog was still thick and a slight breeze sent a chill down his spine. The buzzing chatter of his students was making the grey sky seem a little lighter. He loved that they were just as excited as the kindergarteners were.
They made it inside the elementary building and the warmth immediately seeped into his bones, welcoming him like the embrace of an old friend. He navigated his class through the now familiar hallways and stopped outside a door that had been decorated with small laminated ducks, each one bearing the name of a kindergartener in the classroom. He turned to his gaggle of students.
“Remember, go in quietly and sit on the floor near your kid.” He said, making eye contact with the students who loved to go in squealing and hug their kindergarten partner.
“Yes, Mr. Grace,” the class echoed.
Ryland knocked on the door. He suddenly felt nervous. This had become the new normal since the first time Y/n opened the door. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat to no avail. He wiped one sweaty palm on his jeans and ran the other one, shakily, through his tousled hair. His stomach knotted, he felt like an idiot.
The door opened, and there was Y/n. She was wearing dress pants and an oversized sweater. Her hair was falling naturally. The smell of her perfume was wrapping him up like he just stepped inside after being out in the cold too long, which technically he did. His breath hitched quietly and he hoped she didn’t hear it. He felt the small smile creeping onto his face and there was no point in trying to fight it.
He didn’t get to bask in the feeling as long as he wished to, the overly excited five year olds started babbling behind her. She smiled at him. What kindergarteners?
“Hey,” she said, her voice low, like she was whispering a secret for his ears only.
The small smile broke into a full blown grin. “Hey,” he whispered back. Y/n opened the door fully so Ryland and his class could enter. The two teachers stepped aside while the students entered the space and situated themselves. As he entered the room, his eyes settled on her desk, finding a tupperware sitting on it, a pink sticky note on top with his name on it. He could feel the tips of his ears match the color of the sticky note.
“My kids have been excited all week. We had to make a countdown paper chain on Monday,” She said, beaming up at him.
Ryland let out a small chuckle. “Mine too. They try to play it off and act cool, but they’ve asked me once a week when we’re coming back.” Y/n laughed and both teachers got back to what they were actually supposed to be doing.
The schedule was simple enough. First was penmanship. The eighth graders had to help the kinders write a three sentence story. Y/n stood in front of the whiteboard, pink marker in hand.
“So if Mr. Grace is my partner,” She said, looking at the group of fifty or so kids crammed into the room. “Then he and I are going to come up with the story together! It can be about anything!” She looked over at him. “For example, I might write, ‘Mr. Grace is a good teacher.’” She wrote the sentence on the board. Her lettering was smooth and elegant, only in the way that teachers can have. She glanced over at Ryland expectantly.
“And I might want her to write, ‘Miss Y/n is a great teacher.’” He hoped that it wasn’t obvious that he was trying to elevate her. The smile and roll of her eyes told him he was unsuccessful. She wrote it anyway. He moved to stand next to her.
“After that, we might say, ‘They make a great team.’” She said, and the smile she gave him went right to his stomach. He had to snap his eyes anywhere else or he feared he would forget himself and make a really dumb move in front of the students. He felt his neck heat up and he was sure he was beet red. Y/n noticed. Her gaze drifted back to the students. “Are there any questions?” She asked.
A hand shot up instantly. Y/n nodded for the student to ask his question. “But, Miss Y/n! Our papers have a big square on top of our writing lines!” Y/n smiled at the urgency of the question.
“They do! Good job, Jeffrey, I almost forgot! At the top of your paper you have a blank space. You and your buddy are going to color a picture that goes with your story.”
Another hand went up. “Miss Y/n, you didn’t draw a picture.”
The middle schoolers chuckled, noticing the way their teacher was avoiding looking at Miss Y/n. One of them raised their hand. “Yeah, Mr. Grace, you have to help Miss Y/n color a picture of the two of you!”
He wanted to die. He hated how bad he was at being subtle. He was rescued when Y/n let out a laugh. “You guys are right. Tell you what, while you guys write, Mr. Grace and I will draw a picture on the board.”
The students got to work as Ryland uncapped a black marker. He started drawing a stick figure. It was lopsided, and the eyes weren’t evenly spaced out, but Y/n assumed it was his best efforts based on the way his brows knit together and his tongue poked out slightly from between his lips.
He looked over to where Y/n was finishing her drawing. It was very obviously him. From the glasses to the cardigan he was wearing, the dry erase drawing was very evidently Ryland. He was even giving a thumbs up. He glanced back at his drawing. Not terrible. Not great. He picked up the pink marker she had been using earlier. He drew a flower in the stick woman’s hand. He took a step back and admired his work. Y/n did the same.
“We really do make a great team,” she said, turning to look up at him.
His brain short circuited. She didn’t even compliment him. Why was his brain offline? Think of something! Say something! Say anything! She’s looking right at you! Say something! Say something now!
“Like ribosomes and protein synthesis.” Not that! Idiot.
But the panic subsided as Y/n let out a huff of laughter and her body involuntarily leaned into his. It was brief, a slight graze of her shoulder against his. Yet it was all he could focus on. He stilled as it happened, trying to memorize the feeling instantly. He spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out if his arm tingled from the force of impact or if his brain was experiencing a minor chemical imbalance. His internal debate subsided as Y/n instructed the students to turn in their work.
The rest of the morning passed by in a flurry of raised hands and tiny confused sighs as math worksheets were handed out and completed. There was a breath of relief when Y/n announced it was time for recess. He shrugged his cardigan off and onto the chair as he pulled his blazer back on. Y/n led the group down the hall and outside as Ryland manned the end of the line, ensuring no wandering or straggling.
This time, the fresh air felt less inviting, like it was stripping the atmosphere of all the warmth and depth that Y/n’s classroom supplied. It smelled Earthy and sharp. Normally it would be one of his favorite things in the world. In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to be inhaling her scent. Her classroom scent, that is, or so he told himself. His inner lament was silenced when a soccer ball went flying into his left foot.
“Mr. Grace!” A chorus of students yelled his name and ran over to him. A tiny boy with a mop of dark curly hair peered up at him through thick eyelashes. His hands were clasped near his chest as he started to speak. “Mr. Grace, will you play with us?”
Ryland felt something profound tug at his heart strings as the boy looked up at him expectantly.
“Sure, but only if we beat these middle schoolers, deal?” He stuck out his hand, the soccer ball now pinned under his foot.
The boy, Miles, shook his hand and giggled out, ‘deal’.
“Kinder versus middle school!” was all Ryland shouted before kicking the ball towards a five year old and running towards the goal, guarded by one of his own students.
Y/n watched from the sidelines as Ryland weaved, not so elegantly, between the students. He was constantly stumbling over his own feet, and his glasses kept sliding down his face. However, Y/n also saw the way he passed the ball to her students every time. The way he would steal the ball from an eighth grader, pass it to a little kid, only to have the ball stolen by a middle schooler again. She noticed the way he fell backwards and landed on his back in order to avoid lightly bumping one of her students. She watched him pause the game to help a girl tie her shoe. He had never looked so attractive. He was squatting down, her yellow shoe resting atop his knee. His glasses hung around his chin and his hair was tousled and sweaty from running. The way he smiled, watching as the girl ran back to the game once her shoe was properly tied again. She noticed the way that the water ran down his hair to his cheek to his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. Wait, water?
Y/n’s train of thought was cut off by a splash of rain hitting her forehead. Oh great. Before she knew it, five year olds all around her were losing their minds. She pulled her sweater tighter around herself as the rain picked up. Ryland was by her side in an instant, shrugging his blazer off and, awkwardly, draping it over Y/n’s head, an attempt to shield her from the rain. Y/n smiled despite herself as she watched him concentrate. A whistle blew and all the kids quickly got in line as Y/n led them towards the classroom. Ryland, soaked to the bone, stood at the end of the line, waiting for one kindergartener to catch up after he ran back into the playground for his water bottle.
The group was buzzing as they re-entered the classroom. Y/n gave instructions for the kids to hang up their coats and find a seat on the rug. Ryland stood next to Y/n, who was finally pulling the blazer from her head. “You didn’t have to do that,” She whispered, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
“Yes I did,” he breathed out. Y/n tried to hand him the blazer, but it was quickly draped around her again, this time, over her shoulders. She smiled as he rubbed the fabric up and down her arms. There was a faint smell of clean linen and stale coffee. It was uniquely Ryland, like the scent only existed for him. She had been mostly protected from the rain, and she didn’t really need dried off, but she let him do it.
His glasses had little drops of water on them, sliding down the lens and onto the floor. His hair was completely soaked, dripping down his face steadily onto his clothes, which had been thoroughly drenched. Yet here he was, drying her off. The whole world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them as Ryland pulled the blazer off of her and wrapped his knit sweater around her. The sleeves were too long for her, but she pushed them back slightly, freeing her hands. The soft fabric brushed his arm as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, Y/n waited with baited breath.
“Miss Y/n?” A tiny hand pulled on the sweater and Y/n reluctantly pulled her eyes away from Ryland’s.
Ryland felt his mouth shut quickly, suddenly very aware of where he was. He looked over at his students, who were smirking and looking away. Because that's what he needed, a class of middle schoolers noticing his awkward crush on the nicest woman in the world.
He tried looking anywhere else. The pattern of the floors was suddenly riveting. His gaze snapped back to Y/n as she turned on a movie and told the class to watch quietly and eat their lunches. He turned the lights off and made his way to the back of the classroom, sitting on a tiny table. Y/n sat next to him, tupperware in hand, pink sticky note still on top. She handed it to him wordlessly, the air around them full and comforting. He opened the container as Y/n started eating her lunch next to him.
“Banana bread?” He whispered excitedly. “You didn’t!”
Y/n smiled, and she was overjoyed that the lights were off and he wouldn’t be able to see the way that her cheeks flushed. “Of course I did. You said it was your favorite.” Ryland leaned back in the chair slightly and started eating quietly, eyes trained on the students in front of him.
He let his hand settle on the table beneath him, slowly letting it drift closer to Y/n’s until his hand was ghosting hers. Y/n didn’t look away from the kids as she carefully shifted so her hand was pressed against his, trying to get him to just take a hint already.
He let his fingers delicately trace over her knuckles before hooking his pinky under her hand and flipping it gently so it rested in his. It was slow, and a little clumsy, but it was also warm. Solid.
Ryland could feel the quickening thump of his heart against his chest. His throat was dry and he was suddenly very nervous that his hand was going to start sweating.
The thoughts were subdued when Y/n brushed her thumb over his knuckles, trying to memorize every ridge, every valley. He looked down where they were joined together. A small smile graced his features and he went back to watching the kids.
Lunch was over too soon in his humble opinion. In reality, they had actually gone fifteen minutes over because Y/n didn’t want to let go of Ryland’s hand. Only two more hours before he had to leave, and he tried to push the thought away, like not thinking about it delayed the inevitable. He took his place at the front of the room as Y/n settled her students into their seats.
“Alright you guys! Who’s excited to learn about space?” Every little hand shot into the air.
He uncapped an expo marker and started asking questions. “Who knows what is in the middle of the solar system?” A middle schooler started whispering into her kindergartener’s ear. The five year old jumped up frantically, waving her hand in the air.
“I know! I know!”
“Tell me, Amaya!”
“The sun!”
“Good job! Yes! The Sun is in the middle of our solar system! Everything goes in circles around it.” He drew a sun on the whiteboard. “Alright, Amaya, I need your help now.”
Amaya looked over at Y/n for reassurance. After receiving a nod of approval, Amaya walked to the tall teacher.
“Okay. Amaya, you are the sun. You’re gonna stand right here.” He gave her a high five as she stood where she was told to.
“Who knows what planet is closest to the Sun?”
There was more whispering. Then more voices shouting out ‘I know’ and ‘Me! Me!’.
“What is it, Jack?”
“Mercury!”
“Good job! Come on up!” Ryland added another circle to the board. “Okay, Jack. You're gonna go in a circle around Amaya, and you’re the fastest planet in the solar system! So go! Faster! Faster!” The class erupted into giggles.
“What comes after Mercury?” He didn’t have to wait this time. “Which planet is it, Claire?”
“Uh, Venus?”
“Venus is right!” Claire didn’t wait for permission before walking to the front. “Okay Claire, you have to walk in a circle too, but you’re very slow,” He said, dragging out the last part of the sentence. Claire started marching in slow motion around Jack. Laughter again.
He continued on until he had an entire solar system of kindergarteners running around the space. Y/n watched as he laughed with the kids and inevitably started to ramble about how technically Max, the Earth stand-in, was moving slightly too fast for this example to be realistic. She didn’t realize she was smiling until Ryland glanced over and shot her a grin.
He finally settles them down and returns everyone to their seats. Y/n watched him for a moment longer before remembering the coloring sheets in her hand.
They sat together at her desk once the kids started coloring together. “I don’t think they’ve ever had that much fun during science,” Y/n said, her voice sincere, with a hint of something more. God, Ryland hoped he wasn’t imagining it.
“I don’t know about that,” He said, his gaze flicking quickly to her lips and back up to her eyes. Y/n noticed. Her cheeks heated up and her eyes shifted to the ground, remembering quickly that they were still working.
Ryland wanted to die. He looked up at the ceiling and wished that it would fall on him. He was saved from the awkwardness when a voice called his name.
“Mr. Grace,” A teary eyed Amaya approached him with her coloring page in her grasp. He was moving before he realized it, crouching down so he was eye level with her.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He held his palm out and let her grab it with her small hand. She sniffled and Y/n felt her breath get caught in her throat at the interaction. The way his eyes scanned Amaya for something wrong. The way he subconsciously made her feel seen. The way he knew to hold out his calloused hand. It all caused something to bubble under the surface.
“I messed up my drawing,” she mumbled, showing him the paper. Ryland looked at the page and then back at the small girl.
“Messed up? I don’t see anything wrong!” He said, embellishing his confusion slightly.
“Saturn isn’t supposed to be pink,” She sniffled again and let out a small, sad sigh that made Ryland want to tear up a little.
“Well you know what?” He asked, looking at the girl holding his hand.
“What?”
“I think pink is the best color anyway. I think that Saturn looks better in pink than any other color.”
Amaya cracked a small smile. “Pink is your favorite color?”
Ryland beamed back. “Well, I don’t know, orange is pretty cool, but pink is too.”
Amaya giggled and let go of Ryland’s hand, bouncing back to her seat. He stayed crouched on the ground, watching her go back to her seat for a while longer.
It was at this moment that Y/n subconsciously noticed how strong his shoulders looked through his still damp shirt, which clung to his muscles in all the right places. She shook her head as he stood up, like it would remove the thought from her brain.
“You’re really good with them, you know.” Her voice was quieter. It sent a warm tingle down Ryland’s spine. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly.
Y/n giggled and looked back at the students. He opened his mouth to try again.
“Well, statistically speaking, it’s easier to induce dopamine at that developmental stage.” He noticed the way her lips curved into a smirk and her eyes slightly narrowed in confusion. “Their baseline for excitement is much lower than in adults, so small achievements tend to produce disproportionally strong reactions. So like,” He took a breath, realizing he was still staring at her lips, and moved his eyes to meet hers. “High return on minimal input situation.”
Y/n rolled her eyes and laughed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “That was a lot of words to say that I was right.” He smiled and pressed his shoulder into hers.
They sat together until Y/n went up to give the next instructions. Her eyes kept wandering over to his frame, sitting in a tiny, blue chair meant for a five year old. The older kids helped their kindergarten partners put their things away and start their reading work.
Y/n started picking up markers that had fallen on the floor. Ryland followed suit. He stopped at Amaya’s seat, noticing how Saturn was bright pink with orange rings around it. He smiled softly and went to pick up the orange marker at the same time that Y/n did. Their fingers brushed, and at first Ryland pulled back, startled by her presence, letting out a quiet gasp.
Y/n let out a small giggle, and quickly clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. He rolled his eyes at her laughter, but smiled despite himself. They cleaned up quietly, enjoying the last moments together.
“Alright, kinders! Let’s say bye to our middle schoolers!” Y/n said as the eighth graders lined up with their bags.
“Bye!” The class shouted. The middle schoolers waved and filed out of the room, Ryland hesitated outside the door. Y/n stood in the doorway, wanting to see him as long as she could before closing the door.
He turned from Y/n to his class. “Start walking to the bus, I’ll meet you there. Gotta ask Miss Y/n what grade you guys should get.” The class groaned but started walking anyway.
He turned back to Y/n. “I uh,” what was he doing? This was a terrible idea. “I, well, you,”
Y/n smiled and he completely forgot whatever it was he was trying to spit out. In a moment of foolish bravery, his mouth moved faster than his brain.
“Would you want to go out with me?” He breathed out.
Y/n smiled, looking at the ground, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. She looked back up at him, cheeks flushed. “I’d love to.”
He let out a sigh of relief. There was something about the way she looked at him. The way her eyes flitted down to his lips and then back to his eyes. He forgot himself for a moment. His lips went crashing into hers. It was a little clumsy, and a little rushed, but his lips were soft, and molded nicely with hers.
He pulled away, breathless, eyes a little wild. Y/n leaned against the door, not registering the students behind her talking and coloring.
“I‘ll see you later,” he mumbled as he walked backwards, eyes still trained on Y/n. He stumbled only twice before he turned around and walked towards the school bus waiting for him in the rain.
He was startled as he climbed on board and was greeted with applause.
“Yeah! Get it Mr. Grace!”
“Finally did it!”
“You wanted her so bad!”
“It was like an awkward nerdy soap opera!”
He rolled his eyes but smiled as soon as he sat down. Now he just had to survive the date.
Ode to the Mets
Ryland Grace X Reader
warnings : angst, mention of a suicide mission, raising a kid alone, ryland grace in those glasses are mentioned a few times, written really fast. not edited, fem reader, minor descriptions of pregnancy, fear of miscarriage, description of depression summary : ryland must not have had a life worth remembering, at least that's what he tells himself. a/n : watched the movie like two days ago and I'm only just starting the book so lowkey if it sucks don't come at me w/c : 1.8k
read pt ii here
Ryland threw the dry erase marker at the board. Why couldn’t he remember anything? Was he that alone when he was on earth? Did he really not have anything worth remembering? He shook his head and went back to work, trying to remember what the heck would have made him choose this suicide mission.
“Grace irritated. Question.” Rocky piped up, startling Ryland.
“Jeez, Rock! I forgot you were here.” Ryland ran a hand through his hair and turned to face the alien.
“Grace not answer question. Ask again. Why go to Tau Ceti if no option to go home.”
Ryland paused. He pulled his glasses off and started cleaning them with his shirt. “I don’t know Rocky.” He thought about what he did remember. Sitting on the couch in his apartment, watching some movie he was uninterested in. Walking down the street in the rain. Grading papers late at night in the dim light of the kitchen. “I don’t think I had much to lose, Rock.” He admitted.
“Grace loser back home. Question.”
“Probably,” Ryland shrugged and went back to checking the tests he was running in the lab.
11.9 light years away, Ryland’s assumptions proved to be very untrue. Y/n Grace lived her life almost the same as before her husband had been kidnapped and ejected into space against his will. She slept on the same side of the bed. She wore the same perfume, the one that would cause Ryland to forget the force of Earth’s gravity. She went to work. She returned home, made dinner, and went to bed. The largest difference was the fact that she was taking care of a three year old.
Miles Grace was the spitting image of his dad. The same nose, same blue eyes, same smile. He didn’t have his dad physically with him, but he knew his daddy was important. He would go to preschool and tell all his friends that his daddy was saving the world.
The ache of losing your husband was nothing when compared to having to raise your son with only stories of his dad. It had been a little over four years, but time doesn’t heal all wounds. Sleepless nights because of a crying baby were a lot easier than sleepless nights thinking about the fact that the bed felt too empty. Gone now are the old times.
Every morning she wakes up, reaches for someone who's not there, and relives the moment she found out he wasn’t coming home. After over four years, one would think that the memory wouldn’t replay that often, but it did. She remembered the knock on the door waking her up. She had reached over for Ryland, ready to ask him to go get the door. She reached for his side of the bed only to realize it was empty. He never came home the night before. He was supposed to be on the first flight back yesterday. She was three months pregnant and had an appointment that Ryland had been itching to go to.
The knock sounded again.
She pulled on his science club hoodie that read “STAFF” on the back and pulled it over her head. “Coming!” She hollered as she trudged from the bedroom to the front door.
She opened the door and found a stern looking woman. “Mrs. Grace? Eva Stratt.”
“Miss Stratt, you work with my husband?” She asked. Stratt was looking into the apartment. She looked uncomfortable. From what Ryland had told Y/n, that wasn’t normal.
“I supervise him. Mrs. Grace-”
“Y/n.”
Stratt hesitated. “Y/n, we need to talk.” Y/n made space in the doorway and followed her into her own kitchen. “Have a seat, please.” Stratt sat down and gestured for Y/n to do the same.
“What’s going on? Where is Ryland?”
“I presume he told you about Project Hail Mary?”
“Yes, he’s a blabbermouth. Now where is my husband?”
“Mrs. Grace,” She paused. “Y/n, there was an incident on the base.”
Y/n let her hands fly to her face as she muffled a gasp. “Is he okay?” She breathed out, fear laced in every word.
“He was unharmed.”
“Thank god.” She breathed out. “When can I see him?” She asked, her words holding more vigor than before.
“The scientist who was going to fly out, he died.” Stratt said, clinically.
Y/n bit the inside of her bottom lip and her knee started to bounce. “What are you saying?”
“Dr. Grace was the only one who could possibly do the job.”
Y/n’s breathing quickened and she could feel the bile rising in her throat. “Do you mean to tell me,” She started, salty tears starting to trail down her face, “That he was on that rocket? That he left me? And I didn’t get to say goodbye?”
Stratt said nothing. She was way out of her depth.
“I’m going to be sick.” Y/n remembered spending the morning throwing up, not from morning sickness but from sheer anger. And that's where the memory faded. Every morning, that's where it started.
She would finish getting ready, get her son ready for preschool, the closest one in budget was the one attached to the middle school that Ryland used to teach at. The staff would look at her with pity. People would tell her he was a hero. That he was saving humanity.
She would go to work, push through the day. Then she would go and pick up her son from preschool, go home, eat dinner, and pretend like everything was fine. She would play cowboys and aliens with Miles after dinner. She would tuck him into his dinosaur bedding. Every night he would ask for a story about his dad. So Y/n would tell him one of the thousands of stories she had. His favorites were the ones where his dad would get pranked by his students.
Then, after he was asleep, she would sit outside his door and think about what Ryland would do if he were there. After getting ready for bed, Y/n would stare out the window and talk to Ryland, not that he could hear her anyway. Tonight was no different.
“Oh, Ry,” She started. “I have no clue what I’m doing. Remember when you would come home and tell me you had no idea how to teach middle schoolers? And I would tell you you’ve got it?” Y/n let out a sigh. “It would be really helpful if you would just show up and tell me it’s gonna be okay.” She let her gaze fall to the stars, waiting for something, anything she could take as a sign that he was watching over her. “Stratt called today, said that you should be pretty close to Tau Ceti if everything worked correctly,” She mumbled after a beat. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive her, Ry. I never got to tell you goodbye.” She wiped a stray tear and sucked in a breath. “Dinner is at six tomorrow night, don’t be late, okay?”
11.9 light years away, Ryland sat in the holodeck next to Rocky, looking at the fake beach. “Time with ♪🎵♩not enough. Question. Grace have mate?”
Ryland suddenly felt something familiar settle in his chest. “I think so.” His brows knit together as he tried to piece things together. “She always smelled like vanilla and flowers.” He said suddenly. His memory was thrust head first back into his apartment. He was on the couch watching some movie he was uninterested in. He didn’t care, however, because all he could think about was how her perfume was pleasantly making its way into his orbit. She let out a small giggle at something happening in the movie.
“Her laugh was one of the best sounds in the world.”
Suddenly the mental scene around him shifted. He was walking down the street in the rain. He was soaked to the bone and freezing. But he was smiling. “Come on, Ry! We’re going to be late!” He couldn’t quite make out her face but her manicured nails glittered as she reached for his hand. It was soft and warm. It fit perfectly in his.
“She hated it when I was late.”
Now he was back in the apartment. He was exhausted. He had barely made a dent in his grading. The cup of coffee next to him had long gone cold. He was hitting the pen against his forehead as he attempted to grade the millionth Punnet square on the page. He was pulled from his, not so coherent, thoughts when a blanket was draped over his shoulders. Arms wrapped around his neck and he felt her lean her head against his. “Baby, it's two in the morning, let’s go to bed.”
He pulled his glasses off and set them on the table. “I have to finish grading this stack,” He mumbled, fighting a yawn.
“No, you need to get some sleep. C’mon, I’ll help you finish tomorrow.”
Ryland closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. “Fine but only because you’re so bossy.”
She rolled her eyes playfully and helped him to his feet. He pulled her into an embrace, finally letting his body have some movement. He pulled back and got a good look at her face. Her eyes were tired, but they held all the love in the world. Her hair fell the same way it always did when she left it down. Her lips were pulled into a tired smile. “What would I do without you, Y/n?” He asked as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
“Crash and burn, Ryland.”
“Grace. Your face is leaking. Is that good sign or bad.”
Ryland didn’t even realize that he had started crying. He had gotten so lost in the memory. “Y/n,” was all he was able to get out. Then another memory started playing.
He was at the kitchen table again. Y/n had been extra bubbly all night. Something was up, but he had no clue what it was. He didn’t remember everything in between but he did remember a skinny stick of plastic being handed to him. He remembered seeing the two lines.
“Is this real?” He asked.
Y/n only nodded.
“We created life! We- You! I can’t-” He was ecstatic. “We’re going to be parents!” Y/n was being wrapped up in a hug before she knew what was happening. “We did it!”
He remembered suggesting all kinds of sciency names that night. “How about Newton?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Kelvin?”
“Like the temperature?”
“Kilomi!”
“As in kilometers?”
“Okay, compromise, Miles.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I missed it, Rock. I missed all of it. She had to go through everything alone. And what if-” He took a sharp inhale. “What if something happened- and I wasn’t there to help her?”
Ryland didn’t know if he had ever felt such intense emotion before. Indignation that he was forced to miss everything. Sadness because he would never get to be there for the milestones. Renewed fervor to find a solution.
He wiped the tears away and stood up. “C’mon Rocky, we’ve got to get this ship in running condition.”
Collision Course
pairing: ryland grace x teacher!reader
summary: when reader accidentally bumps into the science teacher on their first day teaching, they become quick friends and cause suspicion among their students that there is more going on between them, which might just be true
word count: 4.2k
tags/warnings: sfw, no y/n, both grace and reader are oblivious, mention of spider, mention of death (brief), fluff
“Come on, come on!” Your fingers tap anxiously on your steering wheel as you not so patiently talk to the traffic light keeping you from turning onto the last street to get to Grover Cleveland Middle School. You glance into the back seat at all the last minute decorations you shoved into your car this morning to make your classroom into a comfortable space for your students.
It's probably a little overkill, but you really want to make a good first impression on everyone at the new school you're working at as a 6th grade English teacher. It takes a while to gain “cool teacher” credit with students and you really want gain as much as you can today, starting with a fun classroom.
Finally the light turns green and you finish the five minute drive into the parking lot. “You got this. No need to be nervous.” You mumble to yourself trying to get rid of first day jitters.
Turns out trying to balance piles of paper chains, posters, fake plants, and more random stuff into one tote bag is more difficult than you'd thought it would be. Everything is piled so high you can barely see over all the crap in the bag while also trying to balance another tote bag on your shoulder with your laptop, paperwork, and phone all with an iced coffee in hand to top it off.
Just as you think you got the hang of walking blindly through the hallways, you're able to catch a glimpse of blonde hair before colliding and all your crafts are sent tumbling to the ground. Thankfully, you're able to hold onto your coffee so it doesn't spill on the ground, but that comes at the cost of the tote bag holding your laptop also tumbling to the ground with a painful crash that makes you wince.
You stare at the wreckage surrounding your feet then up at the other liable person in this situation. His eyes are widened behind his wired glasses as he stares at the mess before you both. His blond hair is messy like he ran his fingers through it a few times, his button up shirt fit him well enough that I can see the outline of his biceps from here, and you catch a glimpse of his name tag, but it's too far to make out.
“I– I didn't see you coming, I’m so sorry.” You blink a few times as you realize he's talking to you and you slowly drag your gaze back to his eyes. He's staring down at you with a wide eyed apologetic look on his face.
You bend down to start picking up the pieces of crafts that are scattered. “No, it's okay. I probably should've made two trips instead of hoping for good luck that I'd make it unscathed across campus.” You shove the now very tangled fairy lights back into the bag.
He follows suit and helps you pick items off the ground. “Still, I should've been looking,” He mumbles quietly. “I um– I don't think I’ve seen you around. Are you new?”
You smile and glance up at him, but notice he's already looking at you. “Yeah. I just moved here, so it's my first day.” You didn’t really get the chance to interact with many people during staff week before the students' first day because you were more worried about filling out the paperwork properly and making assignments.
“Oh, well then, I’m Dr.Ryland Grace. 6th grade science.” He offers his hand, then realizes he was still holding one of my paper chains and drops it back to the ground then holds it back out.
A small laugh bubbles out of you and you shake his hand and offer your name. “I’m the new English teacher.”
“Oh thank goodness, we needed a new one. Ms.Wilson, the teacher before you, was a bitter older lady who even the staff were afraid to bother.” He shutters slightly at the memory of her and you can’t help but laugh again. “She once threatened to take down my solar system when our shared students were talking about that instead of listening to her lecture.”
“Well, I’ll make sure to steer clear of your solar system so you have no evidence against me.” Finally your items are cleared off the ground and now either in your bag, your arms, or Dr. Grace’s arms. “You can just set that on top of my stuff.”
“No, no. Let me help, considering it was partly my fault we’re in this situation.”
“That’s really sweet, but I don't wanna take you away from anything.”
“You’re not. There's about thirty minutes till they start letting students in and I don't have much to do till then.”
A subtle blush rushes to your cheeks as you nod absentmindedly, “Yeah, okay then. I’m in room 206.” You say as you start in the direction of your classroom.
“Oh! I’m room 207, right across from you.” You glance over at him as you walk side by side toward the room. His glasses have turned at an angle on his nose making him look a little more frazzled, but oddly enough, it works for him.
The rest of the walk there is fairly quiet, only broken by other staff walking the halls toward their classrooms or the break rooms. Finally once outside your class, he’s able to open the door for you both and you walk inside. It's as dull as it was last week when you were here working with the other staff, but that's all about to change, starting with the big lights.
You walk over to your desk and set down your coffee, then laptop bag–which reminds you to check to see if you broke it after it dropped–and all your decoration supplies. “You can just set that on the ground or something.” You tell Ryland as he stands almost awkwardly in the middle of the classroom.
He carefully sets down everything in his hands onto the ground like he doesn't want anything to break anything, even though it would’ve already broken in the hallway if it was fragile. He remains standing in the middle of the class and brings his hand up to gently tug on the hair at the nape of his neck. “So, uh, do you– would you like any help setting up?”
You smile softly at him, “You don't have things to set up?”
“Oh me? No, I did that during the staff days since I already knew where everything would go.”
“Then yeah sure, I could use some help.”
You two quickly fall into an easy routine of connecting fairy lights together, hanging paper chains, stapling posters to the walls, and finding spots for all the fake plants and vines you brought with you. He even offered to stand on the desk while covering the big lights in the room with the shades you found online so you wouldn't have to.
You're in the middle of hanging an LED sign when you glance at the clock. It's almost 7:45 which means Ryland should be heading back to his classroom so he can greet his students. You look over your shoulder to see him very focused on the task of arranging your desks the way you told him when he asked. His glasses sit on the edge of his nose while he looks over them at the desks to make sure they’re arranged properly.
“Ryland.”
He startles slightly before turning around and pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Hm?”
“You should probably go back to your classroom considering school’s about to start and all.”
He glances at the clock then back at you, “Yeah, I probably should.” Yet he doesn't move from his spot.
You walk toward him, “Thank you a lot for helping and kinda becoming my first friend here. I was nervous I would be the teacher without people to talk to in the break room or something.” You admit quietly, stopping about a foot in front of him.
He looks down at you with a soft smile pulled on his face and his ears turned slightly pink. “Of course. I mean, it'd be a pretty bad first impression if I left you to clean up the mess in the hallway alone.”
Neither of you say anything until the intercom sounds and makes the both of you jump slightly and step away from each other. Your cheeks flush as you look anywhere but him. The announcement about first period starting in ten minutes forces him to leave your class with a rushed goodbye, leaving you standing in your classroom wondering what the heck you just got yourself into simply by bumping into the nerdy science teacher across the hall.
The first day hadn’t gone as badly as your anxiety convinced you it would. The students seemed much more relaxed than you’d thought they would be and you made some progress with getting to know them. It’d been a day filled with an "about me" slideshow, ice breakers, and games you’d come up with in hopes the students would enjoy them.
You hadn’t seen Dr.Grace after your first encounter yesterday, but you wanted to thank him again for all the help, so here you are at a coffee shop wondering what the science teacher across the hall would want to drink. He seems like someone who would like coffee, but maybe he prefers tea? Maybe he doesn't like any sugar in his drink and would rather have plain black coffee? Gosh, this is the worst thank you gift when you don't even know what he likes.
You find yourself experiencing a moment of deja vu as you walk into the building through the staff door balancing your bag on your shoulder, some loose items in your hand, and a coffee tray with all four slots filled. Since you didn't know what he liked, you gave him three options: a latte with different syrups that will make it taste more like sugar than coffee, an iced green tea, a hot black coffee with sugar packets and creamer cups on the side, and then finally your own coffee order in the last slot.
Last second, a body comes out of the same room as yesterday when you ran into Ryland, but thankfully you're able to dodge them this time. “Sorry–”
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
You look up properly and sure enough, the voice belongs to none other than the reason you're mildly distracted this morning. “Dr.Grace,” you breathe out, “you scared me.”
He laughs quietly, “Is there any particular reason you brought enough caffeine for four people?”
You feel the heat rush to your cheeks in embarrassment as it hits you just how insane it was of you to go through all this trouble of buying three different drinks for him. “I– I just wanted to thank you for yesterday, but I realized when I got to the coffee shop I didn't know what you drank so I got you… options?”
He pushes his glasses to the top of his head as he scans the drinks you're holding then your face. “For me?”
A nervous laugh bubbles out of you without permission. “Yeah.” You go into explaining what each drink is, and the entire time he held onto your every word like you were explaining some scientific phenomena you experienced and not coffee orders.
“Wow. You really covered every base here.” He smiles down at you as you finish your explanation. “You really didn’t have to do this.”
“It felt like the right thing to do.” You hold the tray a little closer to him, “So Dr.Grace, the choice is yours.”
He reaches for the plain black coffee and the sugar and creamer that are balanced on top of the lid. “Three sugars and two creamers.”
“Good to know for future reference.”
“This is gonna happen again?”
“I’m sure I’ll need your help again.”
The tips of his ears turn slightly pink and your cheeks a little pinker. He clears his throat, “What about the other drinks?”
You look down at the tray, “I’ll try and give them to my classroom neighbors and see if that can get me on their good side.” You turn with the intention to do just that before the ice waters the drinks down. “I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah. See you around.”
As the weeks of the school year have gone by, things with Ryland have slowly progressed. He’s the first person you seek out in the mornings, who you spend most of your break room time with, and the person you go to first when you need help. It’s becoming so apparent that even your students have started to notice something is going on.
It started when you and him got put on lunch duty together and spent most of the time “flirting” according to your students, which you weren't. Evidently, 6th graders love the drama of their teachers as well and started making speculations on your relationship with Dr.Grace. I mean sure, you had asked him for help when one of your light covers fell and you couldn’t reach to hang it back up. And maybe you'd ask him for extra staples, markers, or anything you ran out of instead of hitting up the break room during your off periods. And yes, he’d spent every lunch in your room together, but none of that meant anything. You were simply colleagues.
This week was school spirit week and in the email they'd sent out, it required staff to participate as well. Today was mismatch day, which you think you nailed considering the clashing patterned clothing you wore and the two different colored converse. Tomorrow, however, is twinning day, which you and Ryland agreed to do together and have been trying to coordinate for the past thirty minutes.
“Okay, so we've agreed on the white converse and blue jeans, but what about the shirt?” His voice comes through the speaker of your phone while you rummage through your clothes.
“I don't know, I mean I guess we could do a solid colored shirt, but that's boring.”
“Agreed.” He pauses for a moment and you can only hear what you'd assume are drawers opening and closing on the other end, “Or um– maybe you could wear one of my cardigans?”
Your hand freezes on the hanger you were about to push aside and you swear he's able to hear your heart rate increase through the speaker. “What?” Your voice is almost a whisper.
“Nothing, sorry, that was a stupid idea.”
“No! No, I didn't mean it like that, I just… didn't expect that, but it could work.”
“Yeah? I mean only if you're okay with it.”
You nod, before remembering he can’t hear you. “I’m okay with it.”
“Okay. Okay yeah, I’ll bring the fox one you like tomorrow."
You smile, grabbing your phone from the dresser and flopping down onto your bed.
“Deal. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
You both linger on the phone neither saying anything for a second too long.
“Bye, Ryland.” You whisper with a smile on your face.
“Bye.”
The following morning, you walk in wearing your designated matching outfit and instead of walking to your class, you walk across the hallway to Ryland’s so you can borrow the cardigan. You knock on his door, something you've had to start doing after the incident from a few weeks ago when he was standing on a desk to adjust his hanging solar system before you walked in and startled him and he fell off the desk and took down three planets with him.
“Dr.Grace.” You say as you walk into the room.
He looks up from his desktop to give you his full attention. You’ve already spotted the cardigan resting on top of the desk for you. “Hi.” He says as he grabs the cardigan for you, “I uh– I washed it last night so don’t worry, it's not gross or anything.” He rubs the back of his neck almost anxiously.
“I wouldn’t have thought that either way, but good to know.” You smile at him, “Thank you.” You slip the cardigan onto yourself leaving you and him matching for the rest of the day. You can’t help but notice the distinct smell of laundry detergent and mint that the cardigan radiates, leaving you with a warm feeling in your stomach.
When you look back up at him he’s staring at you, or more specifically his cardigan on you, and his ears turn slightly more pink the longer his gaze lingers. “Ryland?”
He looks up, continuously blinking, as if trying to block out his thoughts, “Hmm?”
“You okay?”
“I’m great, just got a lot of work to do before class starts so…” His fingers tap restlessly on the desk.
“Oh! Yeah, I'll– uh leave you to it.” You turn and leave his class without another word. His reaction was weird even for him, and now you’re left feeling slightly self-conscious about the decision to borrow it, even if it's just for a school spirit day.
As your class files in, some take notice of the sweater and give you bright smiles in greeting. You choose not to think much of it because there’s no reason your students care that about your personal life, right?
How very wrong you were. You were lecturing your students about figurative language, when you glance over to the window on your door, see Ryland teaching his class. He gestures passionately with his hands while giving his students what is probably a well thought out, but still slightly chaotic, lecture that grasps their attention.
You smile softly as you watch a smile form on his face. How can someone look so perfect while teaching a middle school science class?
You didn’t realize you zoned out and lost focus until you heard a few students call your name. You blink out of your haze and turn back toward your class of students who all saw you lose focus to the teacher next door. “What were you looking at?”
“Oh, nothing, I just zoned out.” You turn your attention back to the whiteboard with every intention of brushing it off, but no, your students aren’t gonna let that happen.
“Were you looking at Dr.Grace?”
“What? No, I just zoned out, that's all it was.”
Another student, “Do you have a crush on Dr.Grace?”
“Guys, you cannot ask questions about your teachers' personal lives like this.”
“Are you dating? Please say you're dating.” Wow, okay everyone has decided they want a turn to speak today. You try to ignore the heat you feel crawling toward your cheeks because of the topic.
Your classroom then starts filling with conversations between students or questions directed at you to the point you can’t make out what anyone is saying. “Okay, okay settle down guys.” You call out over their voices, which thankfully gets them to quiet down.
“No more questions about teachers' personal lives, but no we are not dating and no I do not have a crush on Dr.Grace.”
“But you're swearing his cardigan.”
You look down and frown slightly at the clothing that you’ve been hyper aware of ever since you put it on. “Well yeah, it's matching day. I'm matching with Dr.Grace.”
“Still his sweater.”
You choose to ignore that last comment and the butterflies that flutter at the reminder that it's his. Thankfully when you turn back toward the board this time, your students remain quiet till the bell rings and they leave.
The whole day Ryland was acting weird, and made you come to the conclusion he was avoiding you. He wasn’t in the break room at 11:30 like he usually is during his off period. When you went to his classroom to check on him, he also wasn't there, but that could just be a coincidence. However, when the day ended and you went to his class to say goodbye because he always stays thirty minutes later, his light was off and the door was locked. That left you feeling really weird coming into campus today.
You walk into your classroom and get settled in, but your mind is still repeating yesterday and what you could've done to cause him to avoid you like this. The conclusion you’ve come to: nothing. You're barely focusing as you're grading your papers, too lost in thought, causing you to miss the spider crawling on your desk heading toward you.
You finally see it when it crawls onto the paper you’re grading. Simultaneously you drop everything you were holding, push your chair back so hard you fall back and you end up screaming loud enough to capture the (currently unwanted) attention of the science teacher who was walking into his classroom.
Your door swings open and he stands there looking down at you panicking, “Are you okay?” He’s already by your side to help you back up into a standing position.
“Spider! Oh my gosh, there's a freaking spider!”
He pauses at your side in the midst of pulling you back up. “A spider?”
“Yes Ryland!” When you sneak a glance at him and see he has the audacity to laugh at you in such a vulnerable state, you glare at him. “This is not funny! He was about to bite me and then I’d be injected with poison and die! Do you want me to die?”
“No, I don’t want you to die.” He says while still laughing and then finally pulling you to your feet and turning toward the direction of the spider you refuse to lose sight of. “I’ll take care of it.”
You watch intently as he grabs the paper and covers it with a cup to take outside. You stay in your classroom checking for anymore while he deposits the arachnid into its natural habitat and then returns. “All safe.”
You look up from where you were checking behind a bookshelf just in case. “Thank you.” You then remember you brought his cardigan with you to give back to him since you didn't see him at all yesterday. “Oh! I have your cardigan.”
You walk toward your bag and pull out the carefully folded fox sweater and hand it to him, your fingers brushing slightly as he takes it. “I was gonna give it to you after school ended but you weren't in your class like usual.”
He looks down at his shoes then back to you, “Yeah sorry about that.”
“Did I do something wrong?” You blurt out.
“What? No! No you didn't do anything wrong.”
“Then why does it feel like you were avoiding me?”
He glances down at his shoes for a second before mumbling, “I wasn't… intentionally avoiding you.”
“So you did it unintentionally?”
“I don't know.” He admits, “I just– it’s stupid.”
You step slightly closer, and gently touch his bicep–which is a lot stronger than you'd thought it'd be–and hope he doesn’t pull away. “Maybe, but don't I get a say in if it is or isn't stupid?”
He stares at your hand on his bicep until you drop it back to your side and then looks down at you. “You were wearing my cardigan. I know it was for a silly spirit day and it didn't mean anything, but it felt like something.” He takes a breath. “You wearing my sweater made me wish that it wasn't just for a spirit day, but everyday with every article of clothing I own.”
“You liked me wearing your clothes?”
“A lot.”
“So you… chose to ignore me because of it?”
“I didn’t want to say something stupid and ruin everything.”
“And what would you qualify as something stupid being said?”
“Like… asking you out on a date. A proper one that isn't in the break room with mediocre coffee.”
You smile softly, “What if I said yes? Would it still be stupid then?”
“Well, no, but–”
“Then yes. I’d love to go on a date with you Dr.Grace.”
“Yeah?” He smiles at you over the rim of his glasses that have now slipped down his nose, as his cheeks turn slightly pink. “Would you be free at seven tonight?”
“I would.” You smile then lift your hand and push his glasses back up his nose.
He carefully lifts his hands bringing one to cup the side of your face and the other slotting against your waist. “Then it's a date.”
He gives you every chance to pull away, but you don’t, if anything you lean closer to help close the distance between you. He kisses you gently, almost like he’s scared of pushing you too far and you’ll take back everything, but you won’t. When you bring your hand up to tangle in his hair, he lets out a soft gasp then pulls away from you, before you get carried away and he can’t bring himself to stop.
His forehead is pressed against yours and his breathing is slightly ragged. You smile as you gaze up at him. “It’s a date.” You agree before giving him one more lingering kiss and stepping back. “Let’s just not let the students find out about this because they'd have a field day with this information.
He laughs bringing his hand to his mouth to make a zipping motion that his lips are sealed. You roll your eyes at his antics, but your laugh betrays you showing your true feelings. This 6th grade science teacher you bumped into on the first day of school may just be it for you.
A/N: im actually really proud of this one and how much i wrote. project hail mary is my hyperfixation right now, and i just kept coming up with little scenarios and didnt want to leave any out!
[ ꜱᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ]
“You look nice,” Ryland says, smiling a little shy, as if the compliment had just slipped out and he was supposed to be embarrassed about that. “I uh,” You pause, swallowing thickly. Holy fuck he looks good in a suit.
in which: You need a date to the wedding you foolishly agreed to attend, luckily your co-worker is a willing sacrifice. Extremely willing.
[warnings: eventual nsfw 18+, a bit of fluff, excessively drawn out flirting]
wc: 14.2k (Whoops) [ Masterlist ] [ ao3 Link ]
Woe finds you on a Tuesday at the staffroom lunch table.
Picking apart the leftovers of a miserable thrown together attempt of fried rice that came to be after realising there were no better dinner options with the ingredients you had in the fridge two days ago and the determination to not get take out more than once a week that would surely fade come February. Alas, it is still January and all those new year resolutions are still sticking like cheap adhesive hooks that will eventually be weighed down enough to slip as time ticks on.
Eat take out once a week, maximum. Read one book a month, minimum. Sleep more. Stop turning down social invites
The last one is what leaves you particularly perturbed, as your lunch goes lukewarm and your thumb flicks about on the social media profile.
“I just… I can’t say no.” You lament. “It would be weird.”
“Weirder than going?” Margot asks, pulling her own container of lunch from the oven. It’s also leftovers, but slices of impeccably cooked roast with what looks to be red wine sauce and vegetables- no doubt made by her smokeshow of a house husband (he just works from home, she insists. You’re pretty sure the pair are sitting on a lofty investment profile because no man ‘works from home’ cooks roasts bi-weekly and buys his wife diamond earrings for her birthday).
“I don’t know. Maybe.” You manage, the next bite of fired rice tasting like loneliness packed into an over-salted flavour profile.
“What’s weird?” Ryland asks, sitting down in the chair across from you.
The staff room of E-Block is near abandoned. Of the ten-odd teachers with rooms in the little block of aging brick, most tended to eat in their classrooms. Save for you, Margot and Ryland. Occasionally there will be another visitor, but most days, it is just the three of you.
“Wedding.” Margot supplies, sitting down and shuffling her chair in with a sense of poise so rarely found in Middle-Schools. She’s older, somewhere in her early fifties, and still manages to approach the job with the same level of discipline as before ipads made their invasion into the classroom.
Ryland frowns. “You’re already married.”
He’s… well, Ryland's… actually you’re not sure how to put him into words, which is saying a lot considering the literature degree collecting mildew in the filing cabinet of your apartment.
He’s in the same boat as you in terms of finding yourselves with a teaching career. Studied something else first, got your passion and love for it soured by morons and went back to college for a second round, dishing out more cash for a masters in teaching that has you trying to tame fourteen year olds all day. Delightful, truly. Although, Ryland had certainly lasted a lot longer with that first degree than you had. A doctorate. He hates the kids knowing that though. A handful of them had called him ‘Doctor Grace’ last year, after digging about online and getting their grubby fingers on his linkedin profile.
‘Mr Grace’ as he is now known, is awkward. A little socially inept at times, but not enough to come across as anything other than endearing. Now is one such time, as he looks over the frames of his glasses at Margo, the stack of pop quizzes he’d brought to mark and keep himself occupied momentarily forgotten. His eyes darted from her face to the ring on her finger.
“Mm mm.” She hums, shaking her head as she chews, then levels her fork to point in your direction.
“You’re not getting married.” Ryland states when he turns to look at you, like it’s a scientific fact, one he’s so assured of.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mr Grace.” You reply, still sort of wallowing at the photos on your phone.
His gaze flickers, a little less sure as the corner of his lips fall and, like he had with Margot, settles his eyes on your hands. Your lack of a ring. “You aren’t, are you?”
“No. My ex is, though.” You sigh, despondent. The reminder glares back at you from the overly-bright phone screen.
“Oh. That sucks.” He manages, clicking open a red pen to start circling and ticking the first sheet on his pile. “Happens to the best of us.”
The kettle rumbles away on the tiny kitchenette. You look at him for a long moment. The best of us. Like it’s happened to him. Ryland’s not one to discuss relationships beyond the occasional quip about quitting to be a house husband like Margot’s. He’s never mentioned past romances, you don’t think he’s been in a relationship in the three years since he started at Grover Cleveland Middle. It’s such a bizarre glimpse at his life, that he doesn't even seem to register what he's revealed, marking as he waits for the boiling water to cook another lunch of instant ramen.
You sit up a little straighter in your chair, weary of knocking your shoes against where his long legs sprawl under the small table. The staff room is meant for ten but is cramped even with the three of you, nothing more than a little kitchenette and big whiteboard in the corner. There’s a shelf against one wall, just far enough away from the doorframe that the door doesn't crash into it when pushed open. There’s a long window the length of the wall on the door’s other side, a good view of the eighth-grade outdoor lunch area. The other staff call it the fishbowl, it’s why they opt to eat in their classrooms, not keen on the kids' eyes on them when it is supposed to be one of the fleeting breaks during their day.
Thank god the door is closed- if the kids heard you whining about this, a wedding, they’d never let up. “I’m considering the pros and cons of skipping it.”
“You were invited?” He baulks, dropping his pen.
You try not to smile, focusing on your self pity instead of the three shoddy attempts Ryland takes to catch his pen from dropping out of his hand, rolling off the stack of paper then off the table. “I already said I’d go too.”
“Why?” Ryland sounds appalled, like that one time you’d caught him trying to explain that the five second rule is not an effective barrier against bacteria to a student.
“It’s complicated.” You say, biting at your cheek.
“Bullshit.” Margot aptly calls. Looking over with the same expression she used to call students on their bullshit. You're not a big fan of having it directed at you.
“We went out for maybe two months in college.” You sigh, setting your phone on the table face-down to stare at your lunch, contemplative. “He’s engaged to one of the girls from my sorority. We’re… friends.”
Margot watches. “With your ex or the sorority girl?”
“Sorority girl. Daisy.” That's the better option of the two at least. You think it is, not that there is much left to save you from the impending train wreck of discussing the relationship woes of your late teens and early twenties with the only two coworkers who care to eat lunch in a communal space. The company is nice, Ryalnd had said once, when you’d asked, gets me out of the classroom.
Margot screws her face up for a second, muttering it again under her breath as if the name offends her.
“You were in a sorority?" Ryland asks, face a little blank as he looks at you from across the table.
It makes you falter, the way his thoughts seem to be buffering like the school's slow wifi. “I… Yeah? That’s the interesting part?”
He shakes his head, looking down at his marking sheets and pushes his glasses up from where they’re slowly slipping down the bridge of his nose. “No, I just can’t picture it.”
You purse your lips, consider pulling up some photos from your sorority days, then remember the kind of outfits the lot of you wore and think better of it. “Well Daisy and I were roommates for a year and a half. She’s nice. Works in PR now.”
“But she’s marrying your ex?” Ryland asks, still kind of baffled.
You dismiss it with a lazy hand wave. “I mean, she asked before they went out and everything. I just think it’s a little weird. I don’t even know why I said I’d go. It’s going to be embarrassing.”
Margot tuts twice, done with her lovingly made lunch that symbolises how successful she has been in the department of marriage when you have all but failed so far. “Why is it embarrassing? Two months is nothing.”
“I was a little head over heels for this guy.” You admit, sheepish.
Ryland stands up, clears his throat as he turns away. “Yeah? How so?”
His back is to you, as he peels the lid off his cup ramen and wrestles with the flavour packet. You come to the conclusion it’s easier to confess this sort of stuff with only one set of eyes on you. “I was sort of convinced he was my soulmate. He was doing pre-law, witty too.”
“Hot?” Margot asks, always straightforward.
You feel a blush rise on your cheeks as you remember the early days of your sorority experience, flopped back on the bed as you made little love sick sighs at your ceiling. “God, his jawline. And his hair- it was so… ugh!”
The thud is dull when your forehead lands on the table, to the right of your now abandoned lunch. “I don’t even know why I said I’d go. It’s dumb.”
You hate how you sound- petulant like the kids you prod for not searching for better words in their assignments, moping like your world is ending over something so trivial. It’s not even the new years resolution that has you mulling this over so intently. You’d agreed to go months ago- six months ago- and said yes to the offered plus one, adamant to yourself that you’d have someone by then, a partner or something. Someone of importance.
Attending alone is going to be even worse than if you had just RSVP’d for yourself in the first place. It’s one thing to watch your college friend and ex-sort-of-boyfriend exchange vows alone, and a whole other monster to do it with a pointed empty seat beside you.
All of it tumbles out your lips in a hurried hurl of word vomit, followed by a few moments of silence that has you cautiously raising your head to peek over the wall of your forearms. Ryland is staring at you, cup noodles steaming in his hands where it hovers over the sink, like he’d been about to pour out the excess water. Margot is looking at you with a frown, the same one she wears when teaching senior mathematics and the children have drawn up an equation for her to solve with the foolish belief they could stump her for more than ten seconds.
And just as in class, Margot is not phased for more than a handful of moments. “Then find someone with a better jawline and better hair to go with you. You can borrow mine.”
You blink at her, mulling the words over before asking, “Are you trying to pimp your husband out to me?”
“Only for aesthetic reasons, of course. It’d be nice to have the house to myself for once. Not like you have better options.”
It would sting more if it wasn’t so true. There were very few options and with the wedding only two weeks away, that was certainly not enough time to squeeze in enough dates with someone to justify taking them to a damn wedding.
“I mean, how good is his jawline?” Ryland finally says, walking over with his little cutlery box, plastic chopsticks he washes and reuses almost everyday, to set his lunch down on the table and settle back in across from you. “Are we aiming high?”
There is no way to un-dig this hole, not now that they’ve both decided to put their two cents in. You concede with another sigh and reach for your phone, arms and chin still on the table as you fish about Instagram for a photo. It’s the one that had reminded you of this awful upcoming event, posted by Daisy. You all but toss your phone on the table between your coworkers, sinking a little lower into your folded arms, awaiting judgement.
The photos must be from a walk though of the venue, the pair of them posed together between some old marble arch where they were having the ceremony at. She was laughing, hand on his chest, showing off the ring on her finger while he looked at her, besotted. The caption made it worse. Only two weeks left till I get to marry my man on these very steps.
You like them both, you really do, but the thought of showing up by yourself, as the lonely friend who’d never found ‘it’, your own version of the love they were celebrating, well it was just nauseating.
Margot looks the photo over critically before humming in a sort of so-so tone. “You can do better.”
Ryland looks kind of at a loss. “This is your type?”
As if to emphasise the point, he lifts the phone up and turns it around to show you the image you were already being haunted by. “This is the hair that had you all…”
He doesn't find the words, just waves the hand with his chopsticks around in a messy motion, looks at you critically over the rims of his glasses.
“He slicks it back now. It used to be… I donno. Messy? Fluffy? Good to run my fingers though.” He scoffs a little to himself, dissatisfied maybe with your excuse.
The only forgiving factor is that the photo does highlight the sharp cut of his jaw, which even Ryland concedes to. “He does have a good jawline...”
Yours is better, you want to say. Immediate and impulsive, because it kind of is. Especially when the shadow of his stubble stretches a few extra days between shaves. Your ex is clean shaven- you used to think that was sexy, at least sexier than the patchy beards boys in college had back then. Now you’re kind of obsessed with the so-called ‘5-o’clock shadow’ Ryland sports on Fridays.
It’s not something you’re likely to tell him though, especially not when you glance at the clock and realise you have a duty across campus in three minutes. Saved by the bell maybe, either way you’re able to liberate your phone from the pair of them and their conspiratory whispers, bin the scraps of your lunch and haul ass out of there.
By the end of the school day, you have reached the conclusion that you will blame it on work. That some mandatory day of ‘professional development’ as it is called nowadays, has come up and you will just have to miss the wedding, truly you’re devastated about it all.
Then Ryland corners you in your classroom. The bell’s long gone, as are the students. He’s dressed like he’s on his way out, his green backpack tossed over one shoulder and bike helmet hanging by the strap in one hand. You’re halfway through explaining your plan and the wording you’re going to use in the tragic text message to Daisy when he cuts you off.
“I’ll go with you.”
He’s a little breathless with it, like he’d been saving up all his oxygen to get the words out, leaving him in one big rush as they topple though the doorway of your classroom and splatter onto the linoleum floor between you both.
“I know that I’m not Margot’s husband with a ‘better jawline and better hair’ but we can go and eat nice wedding food- If he’s a lawyer it’s gotta be fancy, right? And we can make fun of his stupid slicked back hair together and you don’t have to be alone or make an excuse and feel guilty about it.” Ryland’s big speech is as flawed as it is heartwarming
Because he does have a better jawline and better hair. And Margot looks between you both during lunch hours and staff meetings like you’re her personal romance drama, there to occupy her during the day.
But the wedding food will be good, your ex will shill out for the best and Daisy has always had a taste for the finer things in life. Ryland is the best company you can think of to have by your side and he knows you well enough to understand how guilty lying about something makes you feel, how it churns your gut.
“Yeah. Okay.” You smile, something warm and fuzzy in your chest.
His eyes don’t move, maybe widen a little before he speaks again, still a little breathless. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
It isn’t a hard thought to come around to, taking Ryland to a wedding. As a date is something that goes unsaid between the pair of you, not sure whether it could be classed as such for real, or if this is simply a favour between friends-slash-coworkers. It is certainly a date for show, to the many college friends you’re about to reunite with after a few years, for your Ex, Jack who’s obsessed with his wife, for Daisy who you’d told years ago to ‘go for it, he’s a nice guy’ working under the assumption that she’d only last a few months by his side too.
You’re not sure which answer you’d prefer, honestly; a date or a favour.
He texts you a lot- after school, on the weekend- asking about what he should wear, what you’re going to wear, how he should prepare for this sort of thing. It’s sweet, cute in a way that has little butterflies flapping around in your stomach.
“Okay, I’ll show you. Wait, hold on.” You placate, setting your phone down on the bed, screen up.
“It’s a lovely ceiling fan, but I doubt it fits the dress code.” Ryland drawls, and you can hear the smile there.
“Ha ha.” You reply, a little echo-y as you lean into your closet to pull the dress out.
He’s up in arms about what to wear, says he needs to know what you’re wearing too so he can match. The invite’s dress code called for formal attire in ‘dark colours’. On the facebook page she’d made for the event, Daisy had a full post going into more detail, about how she’d love any and all dark tones- forestry green, navy, even burgundy was fine. You had taken a firm stance against burgundy considering there’s some old wedding traditions that state wearing red indicated you’d slept with the groom. Which you had, but you were not about to advertise that.
So navy it was.
You’d sent Ryland a picture of the invite, where it was stuck to your fridge with letter magnets spelling out ‘woe’- it had felt fitting when you’d stuck it up there- and several screenshots of the lengthy dress-code post Daisy had made that went into excruciating detail. He wasn’t satisfied though.
Even your attempts to describe the dress you’d bought didn’t work well enough.
“I mean it! you expect me to know what any of those words apart from ‘floor length' means?” he bemoans from your phone speakers, face time call crackling. “I need all the data.”
“Oh listen to you, Mr. Science,” You drawl with a smile, pulling the dress out. It’s too long to hang from a door knob so you have to stretch up on your tip toes to hang the coat hook over the curtain rod of your bedroom window.
“I was thinking of changing my name. Very to the point, don’t you think?” He replies, still smiling as you collect your phone. His eyes are sparkling with something cheeky when you appear back in frame.
Ryland’s dressed down, in one of those dumb science t-shirts he wears on ‘Casual Fridays’ as it is called in staff meetings. This one’s dark blue and has the periodic table on it in worn down white transfer ink. You’ve seen it enough to know the punch line sprawled over his lower stomach even though it’s not in frame. I wear this shirt periodically. He finds an extra layer in humor that the shirt is factually correct as well, that he does in fact, wear the shirt in regular intervals as he’d explained to you during a free-period on one of those casual Fridays.
He’s at his kitchen bench, phone propped up against something, while he taps away at his laptop. You’ve not actually been to Ryland’s apartment before, but it sorta feels like you have, the cramped studio always on display in the back of video calls like this one.
It’s just one long rectangle. Kitchen by the front door, a bench, a gap that is probably intended for a kitchen table but he’s stuck a desk there instead, his bed that’s almost always unmade with a tv wall mounted across from it, and a balcony. Like this, you can see the expanse of it behind him. The stacks of paper piled up on his desk, the extra monitors and little trinkets gifted from students, the sage green sheets of his bed, peeled back on one side, sun shining in through his big glass balcony doors. Honesty, you kind of want to see the view from his apartment in person, he’s a little higher up than you are, in a better part of the city too.
Ryland’s not brushed his hair, it’s all spiked up in different directions and you wonder if the mug he’s been sipping from, periodically, is his morning cup even though it’s just past ten. He’s blinking slow behind his glasses, sitting a little too still for his brain to be fully functional yet.
“I’m sure the kids will love it. Harder to spell on their assessment sheets, though.” You can imagine it, the staff badge, the name on his board in fun bubble writing where it would stay untouched for a whole school term.
You flip the camera, showing him the dress he’s been complaining about not understanding for the last half hour over text before he gave up and called you.
It’s cute, how his head tilts and he leans towards his phone for a second before just picking it up and holding it close enough so his eyes and forehead are just about all that is in frame. “Is that velvet?”
“It’s fake satin. I think.”
“Fake satin?” He repeats, confused.
The dress was one you already owned, bought a year or so ago for another friend’s wedding that you had attended alone but not felt crappy about, even if it did seem like everyone your age was getting married nowadays. It’s got a fitted bodice, but there fabric is a little drapey, looks like it pools over the chest and down towards the fluid skirt. "Wasn't expensive enough to be real satin.”
“Okay, I know what you mean by delicate straps now.” That had been his main hang up, whining about, What do you mean delicate straps? Like they’re about to break?, swearing that the shit he was googling was just not helping the mental image considering there were about six different results for everything.
“Yeah, and here, the lace up back.” You say, stepping up to twist the dress away from where it sat flush against the curtains to show the corset style back, with thin cord lace just a little thinner than the straps.
“Isn’t that going to be a nightmare to put on?” He asks, squinting still.
“There’s a zip.” You say, dragging the little hidden zipper down, showing him how the dress fabric parts and slips open. “So it’s fairly easy to get on. The cords are about as tight as they should be anyway, it isn't hard to pull to fit.”
You fumble a little trying to get the zip back up but eventually just conceded to leave out like that until you put the dress away. When you glance down at your phone, Ryland has moved, no longer sitting down and if you had to guess, is now walking the length of his apartment instead. He looks a little distressed.
“Come on, you’ve got the easy part.” You try, a little concerned he’s about to say he shouldn’t go. “You just have to put on a suit.”
“I can’t just ‘put on a suit’.” He whines, flopping down onto his bed like the world is ending. “I’m supposed to be like, your big ‘fuck you’ to the girl who got with your ex. I’m supposed to look good with you. I don’t know if I have a suit nice enough for that dress.”
“Ryland. It’s not about saying ‘fuck you’ to Daisy, or pulling some revenge stunt. I just didn’t want to go alone like a loser when I said I was bringing someone.” You can’t really help the little breathy laugh that weaves its way though his name, because he sounds like you did four days ago acting like the world was about to end, face down on the lunch table. “You don’t have to come.”
“No, I’m coming. I just need to go through my wardrobe.” He’s cute, you decide, in a round-about sort of way. The determination to play this self elected role well, to perfect it and give it his all, like he does with everything else in his life. The whole situation was elevating your ‘aesthetic appreciation’ of Ryland that you’d been attempting to suppress, to a new sort of level.
You flop down on your own bed, roll over on your side and let him derail the conversation towards lesson planning, listen to him talk about the plans he has for the next weeks worth of classes, a couple of activities he’s got in the works. All while you consider the pros and cons of having him beside you instead.
Ryland was probably the teacher you got on best with at work, despite being from two very different teaching areas. When he’d first arrived, you’d assumed he would be a little pretentious, with his Phd and professional experience beyond the classroom. You weren't expecting him to be so awkward. The children took to him so quickly, and Ryland had told you time and time again that he doesn't understand why they think he’s cool.
Over the years you’ve found that he can be cocky, in certain bouts of confidence seemingly appearing via divine-intervention. A local bar had run trivia nights for some six odd months, and it had unleashed a beast within him.
On Monday afternoon he sent you a photo. A little black bag with a logo you’d googled, realising it was a menswear store before the second photo had come though. A tie, sleek navy like your dress, rolled up neatly with a matching pocket square beside it, both nestled in a box that screamed expensive. You’d sent back a random string of praise, imagining him lulling it over in the store. It was nearly five in the afternoon, he’d left work pretty much on the final bell. You wonder how long he spent comparing the seemingly endless ties the shop’s online store offered, considering what would match best to your dress.
It makes you a little giddy, to be honest, has you dreaming of a situation where you’d asked him to come to the wedding, or where you’d already been together long enough that it was simply a given when the invitation turned up in your mail box.
Neither of you mention it during school hours, not keen on the kids hearing whispers of you and Ryland doing anything outside work hours- students will take anything and run with it.
But he messages you about it constantly. Makes a plan; he’d come to your apartment and you would uber from there to the venue, it was a sunset ceremony and evening reception. He lived close enough that it was a brisk walk or quick bus trip. He pointedly mentions that he would not be cycling- ‘In a suit? God, never’- and makes sure you know that the uber would also drop you both back to your flat and he’d walk home or take another separate uber.
There’s talk about your ‘backstory’, which he takes as seriously as he does exam periods. You tell him it’s not super necessary, that saying you met at work is more than enough exposition for the gaggle of college friends you’d not seen in years. But he was never one to do things in halves.
“We obviously would have met at school.” He says, like it’s a given. Ryland is laid out on the reading rug at the back of your classroom, staring at the ceiling. And the fake clouds that are actually just a hobby-fill glue gunned to paper and taped to the ceiling, he’d turned the fairy lights that are threaded though them on before he’d decided the floor was his resting place. “Maybe trivia is where it happened. We liked trivia.”
“We did like trivia.” You agree, pointedly.
It’s almost impossible to not just sit there and watch him, the student folders that you’re sorting worksheets into acting as a very inefficient distraction.
He’s got a button down on, some pale blue that looks nice under his grey wool blazer. The pale wash jeans and white converse are a bit more casual, but he wears the combination well. Too well. Laid out like this, with one knee up, he looks far too attractive for you to swallow. Glasses pulled down to hang off his jaw, sitting there catching the afternoon light as it came through the windows, casting rainbow refractions onto the back wall.
“Maybe trivia was a date. What would you have done?”
“If you’d asked me to trivia as a date?” You glance up. He’s already looking at you, head tipped to the side, something soft, tentative there in his eyes.
“Yeah.” You can see the way his throat bobs when he swallows, how his chest rises with each breath.
Ryland sounds… nervous, in a way that does remind you of the first trivia night you’d gone to. He’d been dressed similarly there, you remember thinking he looked nice, polished up a little more than he did in the school day with dress shoes and what smelt like cologne. Handsome where he waited by the entrance, backlit by the bar’s warm lighting. He’d been a little twitchy for the first hour or so, but settled into himself by round two.
With the way he’s looking at you, now as he plans out the false scenario that’s beginning to sound a lot more like a confession, you’re starting to get the idea that trivia could have been a date. If either of you had put it into words.
“Enjoyed it, probably.”
“Really?” He looks shy, a bit of a flush working its way up his cheeks.
You smile at him, thinking about how nice it would have been to kiss him in that bar with a sweet cocktail on your lips, dizzy from his flattery about your trivia skills. You hum, nodding a little as you look at the folders and sheets spread out over your desk, feeling a flush rise to your own cheeks.
He knocks when you’re halfway through lacing up the back of your dress, holding the cords with one hand as you open the door. Ryland’s not been to your apartment before, something you’d failed to realise until he called you and asked during his walk over, if you’d have to buzz him in.
He was appalled to find out the front door to your building was sporting a broken lock and had been tied back with a length of rope for the last two months while the landlords procrastinated fixing it.
“See,” You say, opening the door for him, keeping it propped open with your foot as he shuffles in. “My door locks.”
“Still one less lock that you’re supposed to have.” he grumbles, stepping out of his very nice dress shoes. They look expensive- black leather shined up propper.
Actually, Ryland looks expensive.
“You look nice,” he says, smiling a little shy, as if the compliment had just slipped out and he was supposed to be embarrassed about that.
“I uh,” You pause, swallowing thickly.
Holy fuck he looks good in a suit. It’s the only thought spinning around your head. It’s a proper one, tailor made no doubt. Blazer, slacks and undershirt, all three of them a deep inky black. The navy tie he’d sent you a photo of is done up around his neck in a knot neater than you’ve ever seen him wear to work. The pocket square is folded too, fluffed up with a little volume that suggests he did so intentionally.
Suddenly you’re reminded of all those times he’d complained about all the formal conferences and charity gala’s he’d attended during his days in academia. You realise you have made a grave error.
There have always been little parts about Ryland that oozed wealth, the glasses he wore for one, that he told you were antique when you’d asked. The watch on his wrist that you thought looked like some practical sporty thing but found out was actually worth three months rent when you’d googled it out of curiosity. These little things fall out of the spotlight and become footnotes that are often ignored when he’s in his classroom, or tiny apartment.
Dressed in such a nice suit, here in you apartment definitely wearing cologne- the same from that very first trivia night, something a little warm, woodsy like oaky bourbon, sharp and contrary to the fresh nothingness he smelt like at work- Ryland seemed so far beyond you.
“You look good.” You manage, letting the door slip shut and dropping the lace of your dress, it loses its tension a little but stays in the same spot for the most part, to run a hand over the lapel of his blazer. “How long have you had this?”
“Ages. Dug it out of the back of my closet. A little tighter than when I last wore it, but it will do the trick. Right?” He tacks that last bit on, like he’s waiting with baited breath for your approval.
“I’ll say.” You slide your hand down the lapel a little bit, down over the press of his chest. The tightness just shows the subtlety of his build, lean muscle that comes from idle exercise and good diet, maybe even a splash of genetics. He’s tidied his facial hair up a little, slid the electric razor over all of it to make sure it’s the same length, no doubt. Ryalnd’s still got his glasses on, you were a little worried he might have opted for contacts and are very relieved you get to see this outfit complete with the lenses that frame his face so well.
With a realisation you might be getting a little lost in your head, you drop your hand, turning to walk further into your apartment, towards the couch where your shoes for the night sat on the floor. “Right, we'll, I'm nearly ready. The uber will be here soon.”
“Do you need a hand?” Ryland asks, and you’re about to turn, ask him, ‘with what’ when you feel his fingertips against the small of your back. It sends a jolt though your skin, he’s cold. From the outside air, where as you’ve been nice and cosy with the heat on while you’d done your hair and make up.
Goosebumps rise under his hands as they gather the ties for the back of your dress. Something low swoops in your gut, like the dip of a roller coaster, free falling as he chuckles a little behind you. “Sorry, cold fingers.”
You swallow. “It’s.. it’s okay.”
“How tight?” He asks, giving the strings a gentle tug. You almost sway with the moment, feeling a little swept off your feet already.
“Bit tighter.” You manage, as he presses a flat palm against the small of your back, over the criss-crossing cord, and gathers both ties in one hand to pull slow and firm. It tugs you back into his hand, a steadier hold than you’d expected.
“There?” He questions when the dress is pulled in to sit flush with your skin but not dig in. You get the feeling he might have done some research, when he plucks at each string to even them out and make sure none of them are too tight, on how these dresses are supposed to sit.
“Yeah, perfect.” It leaves you like a sigh, as his palm dips, brushes where the zipper sits before pulling back to tie a neat bow, tugging the cords out carefully so both loops are even.
All of it has you lightheaded, directing more effort than necessary to get yourself to the couch and pull your heels on, black mary janes that are comfortable enough to walk in. As you fiddle with the buckles, you eye him.
Ryland’s hair is tousled, intentionally a little messy, not combed or slicked back. Looks like it would be nice to run your fingers though, and you find yourself wondering if that’s why he’d opted for the style, if he’s here, dressed up as the guy with ‘better hair and a better jawline’ that Margot had pitched, unaware that he already was exactly who he’s trying to be.
He holds an arm out for you to loop yours though, walking down the stairs in steady but slowed steps. You smile. “Wow, full gentleman experience.”
“I told you, I can't just ‘put on a suit’. It’s more than that.” He chides jokingly, and you pity the version of you that didn’t realise this was an option.
He opens the door for you- the car door, the door into the building door tied back by a rope (he glares at it when you pass it)- then rounds the back of the little toyota that’s polished up to try and seem fancier than it was. You don’t talk much on your way to the venue, comfortable silence that the driver thankfully settles into.
It’s nearing sundown when you pull into the driveway, a big circular road that’s already crammed with other cars and guests climbing out.
“You can just let us out here.” Ryland says to the uber driver, unbuckling his seatbelt to hop out, then rounding the car again to open your door, hand held out like it’s necessary, when the car is nowhere near low or high enough to warrant such assistance.
You place your palm in his anyway, letting him pull you from the car, no more temperature disparity in your hands since you’ve both been in the car for fifteen minutes, but it still makes your skin tingle. He’s got cufflinks, the same pale gold as his glasses, in the shape of atoms. You flick one lightly. “I like these.”
He smiles, something a little smothered like he’s trying to stamp it down from a grin as he threads his arm though yours again, beginning the small walk to the venue's front steps. “Well I like your dress, so I think we’re even.”
It’s a ballroom, with these big stained glass windows in the room they hold ceremonies in, you’d seen some lovely shots on the venue’s website of sunset light streaming through them. Imagining Ryland in the warm sunlight has you in a good mood, he’s always suited it, even if the city’s never had much to offer.
“Not too much for our first date?” You tease.
Something like a laugh tumbles out of his lips, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “First date was trivia- and you were underdressed. Keep up.”
You flush, crowding a little closer to his side to make it through the entryway without shoulder checking anyone. Had you been? It was so long ago you could hardly remember anything other than jeans, tight ones that dug into your waist when you sat down- tight jeans hardly felt like being underdressed, they probably meant you wanted him to stare at your ass. Either way you let him have the win, as minute as it is.
Doesn't really matter what you wore back then when you’ve got him like this now.
Together you sit about halfway down on the bride’s side, the pew’s nearly empty, only someone on the other end you don’t know but looks vaguely enough like Daisy, that's you’d guess extended family.
“So why’d you like this guy so much?” Ryland asks, quiet enough for it to just stay between the two of you. He’s glancing around, but his eyes keep bouncing back to Jack at the front of the venue, where he’s talking to gaggle of similarly dressed guys, his groomsmen.
“What?”
“Him,” Ryland says, tipping his head a little to gesture at Jack. “What had you talking about soulmates? Couldn't just be the hair, tons of guys have good hair.”
“They do.” You answer, raising a hand to tangle one of the longer stands where it’s dangling over his forehead around your pointer finger and give it a light tug. Ryland’s eyes settle on you, like there’s nothing else to look at. “He made me feel like the only girl in the world.”
“That’s a cliche.” He refutes. “And a song lyric.”
You smile. “I’m serious. He’s like that with every girl he went out with. He’s like it with Daisy. He just loses sight of every other woman, so attentive.”
Ryland stays silent for a moment, eyes searching for something in yours. Maybe permission, or a want, for him to keep digging, it’s almost as if he’s scared what he might find. “What'd he do? To make you feel like that?”
It’s cute, how nervous he is, despite the fact it feels as though all week, the pair of you have been laying this ground work, a path to follow that will lead you somewhere inevitable, like a trivia date, or the messy sprawled sage green sheets or Ryland’s bed. You smile at him, wondering if he’s thought about you in them. You wonder if he knows how easily you could be, that you might just follow him to the edge of the universe.
Still, you answer his question, offering a peek into your brain, the way you used to operate when teenage giddiness was closer than adult yearning. "Took me dancing. Kissed me slowly, cared about how I wanted things to go. It was like he just couldn’t stop looking at me, for me. It was intoxicating.”
“I can’t.” Ryland blurts out, all reckless abandon, and he’s looking at you like you’ve already kissed him breathless just by being here. You let your leg shift to press the length of your thigh against his, warm even through the layers of fabric.
You breathe in deep through your nose, the scent of his cologne sticking dizzyingly to the air, a scent you think is enough to get drunk on even without the assistance of wedding champagne. "Can't what?”
“Stop looking at you.” He clarifies, eyes darting down to your lips. “I can do the other things though.”
A flutter knocks about your chest, unsteady and uncoordinated. “Yeah, you like dancing Doctor Grace?”
“If it’s with you.” He amends.
“And slow kissing? You like that too?”
“Yeah I do.” He’s not even trying to hide it now, gaze settled on the dusty pink line of your lips, his own a little slick with spit when he darts his tongue out to trace one quick line along them.
You almost asked him to prove it, but in your peripherals, down the aisle and pausing at the sight of you, was Macey, another one of your college friends, smiling. So you place a hand on Ryland's thigh, just above his knee. “Good. Really good.”
Ryland looks dizzy with the praise, like it’s all rushed straight to his head.
“Hey Macey, good to see you.” You greet, using your hand on Ryland's knee to tip his legs towards you, making room for Macey to shuffle into the pew.
“Oh my god, good to see you too! It's been awhile, hasn’t it?” She leans down a little awkwardly to wrap you in a hug as you half stand, and it’s good to see someone after so long, to look at them and remember times when things were simpler and you were allowed to be a little stupid, a little dangerous. It’s nice to see her here, for her to sit next to you- Macey’s always encouraged you to be a little wild, and with the way Ryland’s been looking at you all night, you might need her ego-bosting tonight.
“I’m Macey, nice to meet you.” She extends a hand to Ryland over your lap and he shakes it curtly, offering his own introduction.
There’s a big rock on her finger, and you remember seeing it on an instagram post, some dreamy forest scenery with a ‘coming soon to a theatre near you’ caption under it.
“I suppose it will be your wedding next then,” You tease, “Where’s Jamie?”
“Oh she had a work trip, couldn't avoid it. She wanted to come though.” Macey waves off. Her and her fiance met on some film set, both camera operators, at the time, although you faintly recall reading something about Jamie’s name working its way up to director for some upcoming project, amongst the throws of social media posts from people who once knew everything about you and now you only see once every few years.
“So Ryland,” Macey starts with a glimmer in her eyes, something evil and mischievous that throws you back to seeing her in the living room with a bottle of tequila and monopoly board. “How’d you two meet?”
“We teach at the same school,” He grins, a hand sliding to your knee, just along the inside of it, where your dress fabric hangs low with slack, enough for his palm to press there, thumb drawing slow lines back and forth. “A little cliche but I don’t mind.”
Macey smiles, fans her face a little like that’s just soooo romantic. “What do you teach?”
“Science, opposites attract I guess.”
“Please tell me you used that line.” She practically swoons.
Ryland huffs a little laugh. “No, the kids threw that one at me actually.”
“Really?” You question, a raised eyebrow because that was not part of the backstory he’d been cooking up all week.
“Oh yeah. You should hear them. “Mr. Grace, you and Miss are ,like perfect for each other. You should ask her to the spring dance. They’re relentless, I swear.”
He pitches his voice a little, lazy tones and improper grammar leaking out in the way it did when he did impressions of your students and you can’t help but giggle a little.
“Their heads might explode when they find out.” Macey laughs too, then like a stroke of inspiration, slaps her hand against your arm a few times in pure, unrestrained excitement. “God- remember when we found out Professor Morisaki and Professor Collins were married? Holy shit it was like our heads exploded.”
You bark a laugh, muffling it under your hand considering the rather low level of idle chatter in the venue. “Oh my god, I forgot about that.”
“Professors of yours?” Ryland asks, this soft smile spread across his lips still.
“Yeah, we were doing a car-wash fundraiser! They were kissing in the background of one of our photos!” Macey still whispers gossip like she did in college, like your students do now.
Ryland looks a little red in the face when he asks. “A car wash fundraiser?”
Macey smirks, always too good at picking things up from others' words and you kind of want to stomp your heel over her toes to tell her off before you remember how this evening had been going so far. “Oh? Don’t you know? We were a little wild in college.”
You scoff. “A little?”
“Okay, a lot.” She corrects. “The car wash was an annual thing. White tshirts, bikinis. There’s definitely pictures. I have pictures.”
“Macey.” You scold, mostly joking.
She shrugs, straightens up and sits to face the fronts, pointedly not looking at you with a smirk on her face. “Hey- I’m just reminiscing on good times. Don’t you remember the kissing booth we ran? Of course you do you were the most requested-”
Now you stomp your foot onto hers, although she doesn’t do anything but laugh to herself.
Ryland is back to that dazed look, like he’s on some far off planet in his mind, when he murmurs, "Kissing booth?”
You glare at Macey, for a sharp moment. Before patting one hand on Ryland’s chest, leaning in close when you say, loud enough for Macey to hear. “Tell you about it later, handsome.”
He ducks his head a little close to you, a tiny little movement that stops as soon as it starts. His cheeks are the reddest you’d ever seen, looking a lot like he’s about to kiss you now, when there’s a music cue somewhere further up the aisle and a hush falls over everyone. He doesn't look away at first, eyes glued to yours for a long second before he bites his lower lip, to stop himself saying something and reaches a hand up to lace his fingers together with yours over his chest. He pulls it gently to his lap, smothering it in between his warm palms, fiddling with your fingers as the ceremony starts.
It’s beautiful, truly. The light lowered through the stained glass windows, reflecting and casting colour across the whole room, gentle music and teary vows. Picturesque really, and it reminded you of that time you’d all made ‘vision boards’ as a bonding activity, and Daisy had a little corner on hers that outlined the life she’d like to live, from a small sunset ceremony to the little white picket fence outside a cottage. You’re happy she’s finally arrived there, that she has a man who’s willing to give her everything she’d dreamed of.
You tell her as much, when you catch the pair of them in the reception hall. A warm hug for each of them and a firm hand shake between Jack and Ryland. It’s a lot less daunting than you had thought it would be, seeing them with the knot tied, no bad blood lingering or awkwardness about what once was. Just contentedness, with where your lives had led you each.
The food is good and the atmosphere is better, seeing people from a previous life chapter all reunited, laughing and catching up. The reception is held in a ball room, with gorgeous polished hard wood floors and lovely low lighting that hangs from the ceiling in delicate chandeliers. There’s a classical band, a memento board for people to take polaroids and write well wishes on them, a corner with photos from Both Daisy and Jack’s lives, in albums and tacked up on walls, showing where they meet and things bleed together into their future. All of it’s beautiful.
It’s heading into the later part of the night, when some people have excused themselves and cake has been cut, a hefty supply of the champagne depleted, that a nice slow song comes on.
You aren’t really paying that much attention to it, until you see Ryland shift beside you, rising and holding out one hand, palm up, towards you. “Care to dance?”
Something warm spreads over your face, a flush probably, as you lay a hand in his and he ever so gently pulls you to your feet, right in close to him. He leans down again, lips pressing feather-light to your temple before he leads you towards the dance floor.
It’s littered with other couples, celebrating the love they have for each other as well as the bride and groom.
All of it has you a little dizzy, settling a hand on Ryland’s shoulder as his palm slides around your waist, fingers slowing around the lace up back of your dress, pressing into your skin with gentle intent. He’s warm, firm against you, breath fanning across your cheek as you look up at him. “I know this isn’t the kind of dancing you meant, but it’s the best I can do for now.”
You humm, feet shifting in time with his, a slow waltz you weren’t even aware he knew. “I think I prefer this kind of dancing nowadays.”
Ryland’s lips tick up into a smile. “Yeah?”
He looks as good in the warm lamp light as he does in sunlight, kissing across his tanned skin and stubble, showing off the highlights of his hair. You want to run your hands through it, press a kiss to the scruff of his jaw. You settle on talking instead, worried he’s not one for such public displays of affection. “Left my wild nights behind in college.”
He sighs, like this is a devastating blow, hanging his head slightly, glasses slipping a smidge down his nose. “A shame. I was looking forwards to an appearance.”
You purse your lips, lifting the hand from his shoulder to cup his jaw, tilting his head back up a little, the pad of your thumb pressing his glasses back up to where they're supposed to sit. “Might do a private showing. Just for you.”
“You going to wash my car?” He asks, teasing. Eyes following the movement of your hand as it slips back down into place on his shoulder.
Your forehead falls, pressing against his collar bone as a furious blush blooms over your face, the worst it has been all night, murmuring, “You don’t have a car.”
He must have known what you were going to say, or some semblance of it because you certainly weren’t speaking loud enough for him to catch all of it, but he still sighs, a little dramatic. “Guess we’ll have to go with the kissing booth then.”
You lift your head a little, to look up at him where he’s smiling down, mirth dancing about in his eyes. “Oh, what a shame.”
The drawl has him crack a grin, cheeks flushed as he looks away. Fingers dancing slowly along the skin of your back, between the cords he’d tied up so perfectly for you.
For you, all of it. His nice suit he’d dug out from the back of his closet, the smart shoes nudging against yours with every step of the waltz. Ryland would do a lot for you, the realisation comes a little late, considering everything. You lean forwards a little, resting your cheek on his chest, as the song slows right down, indulgent.
“You got plans after this?” You ask, and it sounds so cheesy, so bland once it’s left your lips.
Still, when he answers, the smile is audible in Ryland’s voice. “Thought I was getting a private show. Is that offer off the table?”
“Think I can manage it,” You murmur, listening to the final few chords echo about the ball room, basking in the way his voice had rippled and rumbled through his chest, low against your cheek.
He lingers for a few seconds in the quiet, holding you close against his chest. You wonder if he, too, is basking in it. The closeness, the idea of having something that you’ve both been pretending couldn’t happen, wasn’t there in the air of exhaled breaths and weighted stares.
When he pulls back, there is nothing but adoration in his eyes, hand that holds yours falling low, but not releasing it, palm soft against your waist, almost as if he doesn't want to let you go just yet. “Wanna get out of here?”
“Bit forward, Ryland,” You tease, “we’ve not even taken photos yet.”
His eyes follow yours to the polaroid board in the corner, considers it for a moment before he’s pulling you gently by the grasp of his hand around yours, towards it.
The polaroid camera is a little hand held thing, there’s a stand for it, and poster board instructions on how to set a timer delay.
Ryland insists on taking one of just you, and while you’re grinning, trying to convince him to join you against the black fabric backdrop, the shutter goes off.
He rolls his eyes, but lets you drag him in beside you for the next photo. The timer is set, and just as you’re preparing to smile, something a little sweet and knowing, he gets one hand around the small of your back, knocks one of those very smart shoes against your heel and tilts you into a dip. It leaves you a little breathless, as he smiles, nose almost touching yours, shutter flashing off to the side.
He lets you choose which photo goes on the memo board. “Whichever one you don’t put up there, I’m keeping.”
You look a little silly in both, at least you think as much, caught off guard, and laughing a little out of breath. Ryland insists you look amazing in both. Something a bit selfish pulls at your gut, as you apprise both photos, and eventually, hand the one of you and Ryland to him- liking the idea of getting to see it again, of having a physical reminder of the night you two have spent together.
He grins like he’s won something, pulling his wallet out from his jacket pocket- a crisp brown leather that looks worn but well cared for- and to your mortification, tucks the photo into the clear slot. The one most people put their licences, or photos of loved ones, like heart-shaped lockets back in the old days. Ryland says nothing on the matter and he folds his wallet back up and slides it back into his pocket, waiting for you to write your message on the other polaroid’s back.
You scrawl some comment about happy endings and humble crazy beginnings, Signing your name on the bottom under the image of your laughter, and tack it up on the board next to the one Macey’s left.
Ryland’s got his arm out, hooked there for you to loop yours through again.
You manage to catch Daisy by the bar on your way out, and give her a tight hug, telling her again how beautiful the wedding has been, how happy you were for her.
The night air is crisp and the second you’re outside, waiting for the uber that’s just a few minutes away, Ryland strips off his suit jacket, draping it over your shoulders with a lack of hesitation that makes it seems as if he’s been waiting to do it all night.
You look at him and raise a brow, but don’t say anything when you catch sight of his pleased smile. It’s almost devastating to realise he looks even better in just the black button down and tie than he did in the full suit.
Again, the drive is mostly silent, but you notice pointedly, that you’re not going back to your apartment. And when you tilt Ryalnd’s phone and tap the screen awake, you recognise his street name in the trip’s destination.
“Presumptious.” You smile.
He grins back, lets a warm palm wander to the curve of your knee, fingers curling around it then venturing to settle a little higher around your thigh. “How are you going to wash my car if we don’t go to my place?”
“You don’t have a car.” You repeat, curious where all this teasing confidence has come from, if perhaps your very clear signals have finally given Ryland the means to throw out all of that unnecessary nervousness and doubt.
“Right,” He hisses, patting his other hand on his leg, as if to say ‘drat, there goes that plan’. Then he leans in close, whispers to you, “What was the back up plan again?”
“You are much bolder after a few glasses of champagne.”
He hums, a considering sort of sound that rumbles in the minimal air between you. “More so when I know I'm right.”
“And what, pray tell, are you right about?”
“That you like-like me.” He teases, like a child on the playground and if you were a little less level-headed, you might have kissed him right there, leant across the middle seat to lock lips with him in an uber.
But you don’t want the first time you kiss him to be viewed through a rear view mirror by a driver who looks very unimpressed by the conversation happening in the back seat. “You gonna prove that hypothesis in your apartment?”
“That’s very forwards of you.” He teases, head tipping down like he is going to kiss you.
Expect you turn your head, and his lips brush against your cheek, as you tut. “All scientists say experiments are supposed to be conducted in controlled environments.”
He leans back, still close enough for his warm breath to fan across your face. “You’ve been seeing other scientists? I’m heartbroken.”
“Give yourself some credit, your classes are very interesting.”
“Earsdropping, huh? Didn’t think you were the type.” He looks far too pleased by the idea that you’ve listened to him teach, like he doesn't know that when you come for something during class hours that you linger by the door and wait for him to finish whatever he’s saying, as if you could look at anything else when he was so captivating.
“I’ll Tell you exactly what type I am in,” You glance down to tap his phone awake, checking the ride estimate. “four minutes.”
He nods and you wonder if he’d get that head-rush distant expression on his face if you praised him for the patience. It’s something you want to save for later, you decide, for private. Just for you.
Ryland manages to wait, even keep his hands to himself, once you’re both out of the car, leading you though his building with a sort of reverent silence, that you get the impression wouldn’t return once broken. You stand across from each other in the elevator. With both his hands braced on the bar at hip height, Ryland fixes you with a look that echoes in the space, though the mirrors surrounding you and over the idle hum of machinery. You’re still wearing his jacket, over your shoulders, a slight barrier between the handrail and the curve of your back, as you stand with your arms crossed smiling at him.
The giddiness that bubbles up and about inside you, as you huddle in close behind him through the hallway, as he unlocks his door and lets you squeeze in past him, is something you’ve not felt in a long time. There’s not much room for childish excitement in the modern dating landscape, it feels as though everyone is in a rush, trying to get where they want to be with a relationship before it’s too late.
Ryland though, he’s here. You watch him latch the door, before he turns, standing there to let his eyes run up you again.
“Soooo,” He says, pursing his lips and tangling his hands together in front of him, like he’s suddenly nervous.
“So?” You ask, taking a few steps forwards to run your hand down the plane of his chest again, feeling it under your palm just like you did when he’d turned up at your apartment that afternoon.
“It’s been four minutes.” He swallows, and this close you can see how his adams apple bobs. Your other hand reaches up to scratch feather light against the stubble of his jaw, hand on his chest catching on the silky soft fabric of his tie, the one he’d picked out just for you.
Rylands hands are slow, one moves to the dip of your waist, landing where it had during your waltz, if not a little more firm as it presses you close against him. He catches his jacket by the collar, lets it slide back off your shoulders and hang from his grip as it slides to settle on the curve of your hip.
“It has.” You lick your lips.
Tuggin on his tie was not supposed to be a demanding thing, more so a gentle tease like you have been doing all night, stepping around that first move like it was a pitfall trap you’d never make it out of. Expect he pitches forwards much easier than you expected and Ryland's lips are pressed against yours.
Soft and still a little honeyed by the champagne, he moves slowly against you. He takes one step back, then another, pulling you with him and not letting his lips leave yours as he backs himself up against his apartment door.
Your teeth catch on his bottom lip, and a sharp inhale escapes him, almost a gasp, before he melts into the wood at his back, parting his lips and slipping his tongue up against yours.
It’s slow kissing, it’s dizzying and it’s want. Everything he’d promised you hours ago, in the afternoon sun of that venue, looking like a dream come true.
For what could be hours, you stay there, pressed up against him, kissing at his skin, until he shifts his legs, just slightly, enough to press one somewhere between yours, a soft presence halted by the fabric of your dress.
Breathless, you break the kiss and he lays a sweet peck against your temple, an echo of earlier, before he begins to nose at the line of your jaw, your neck. Kissing then sucking at the divot along your collar while you pant. “Ryland,”
He says your name, just as breathless against your skin, his hand dropping the jacket to pull at the chord of your dress.
“Is your doorway where you take all the girls?”
“There are no other girls.” He murmurs like a confession, far more earnest than you’d been prepared for.
“Just me?”
He pulls back, pupils blow wide and face flushed blotchy and red. “Yeah.”
Ryland leans forwards, crowds impossibly close until your feet begin to shuffle, back, back, back into his studio apartment. It passes in a blur as he presses in to kiss your lips again, glued to them until he deems it’s been enough backwards paces and presses another kiss to your jaw. Using his grip on your sides, Ryland turns you around, folds in around behind you.
His bed’s unmade, messy sheets splayed out in front of you, a pile of sage green cotton that feels like a promise, a sight you’ve dreamed about far too many times.
There’s pressure there, against your ass, a hard length that’s tight against his slacks and it makes your stomach swoop to know he’s so turned on by the slow kissing you’d been thinking about all night. His shuddering breath rushes like wind by your ear, as his fingers pull at the bow he’d tied himself. “Been thinking about this for too long.”
“Yeah?” You shudder when his lips find their place against your neck, sucking and biting at the skin there in a way that will probably result in a lasting reminder. “Since you laced it up?”
“Since you showed me this zipper." He pulls at it and the fabric gives, parting to sit low on your hips. Ryland kisses at the juncture of your throat, biting, and nipping.
The dress doesn’t fall, not with the straps still hanging loosely from your shoulders, but it’s a damn near thing. One of Ryland’s hands winds around your waist, dragging you back against him as he presses up with one slow grind that has him choking on a groan. His cock, still trapped in his slacks, drags between the zip and against your underwear in a tease that’s maddening with far too much still left to your imagination.
You try to turn but he’s got you wrapped up so firmly in his arms that it’s not plausible, so instead you reach a hand back, over your shoulder to tug at the knot of his tie, fingers slipping against the silky marital, catching in the bulk to it to tug. A particularly hard tug has him whining.
“Okay,” You huff out as he sucks a little harder just under your jaw that will definitely result in a hickey if you let him continue for much longer. “Come on, don’t you wanna fuck me?”
You punctuate this by groping around between you both until you get a hand over his cock, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Need to remember this bit.” He mumbles, hand around your waist retreating to slip inside your dress from behind, curving back around so his fingers can skate over the soft skin of your stomach, tips slipping just under the waistband of your panties.
It has you clenching down on nothing and you become actually aware of how uncomfortably wet you’re beginning to get. You squeeze your thighs together, squirming in his grasp.
“Next time, Ry-” He splays his hand over your stomach, using it to press you back into him. “Ryland, come on. Need you.”
It tumbles out in a breathy whine, and it’s like you’ve said the magic words. He’s turning you around in his grasp, hands reaching up to slip the straps off your shoulders and marvel at the sight.
He swallows as you reach for his tie again, loosening it gently now you can get your fingers into the knot properly. Ryland’s hands hover nervously before settling against your rib cage, fingers brushing anxiously against the underside of your breasts.
Your dress was not one that lent itself to a bra, so you’d gone without. You had assumed that he’d figured that one out, given how he’d both laced and un-laced the back of it, but now that it’s out of the way, he’s looking at your chest like he hadn’t expected to see it so quickly.
“You mean it?” He manages, sounding all tongue tied as you pry the tie off, letting it fall onto the floor, blending into the puddle of your dress- a perfect shade match. “I.. I get a next time?”
“Yeah.” You breathe, working on his shirt buttons, one after the other, coming apart as easily as Ryland did under your gaze. “As many as you want.”
When you get to the bottom of his shirt and reach for the belt buckle, Ryland’s hands move from where they’ve been gently nudging your breasts, to your wrists, snagging them gently as he pulls them back. His shoes nudged against yours, another one of those silent signals to step back that you didn’t know you understood so well until tonight.
“Let me.” He says, one hand coming to your hip to push you gently back and down onto his bed.
You land softly, mattress springing underneath you as you shuffle back, leaning on your elbows to gaze up at him as he toes off his shoes and pulls off his socks, a little off balance like the whole path from the door has altered his centre of gravity.
Ryland is a sight, heaven-sent.
His hair’s spiked out in six different directions, and you want to scratch at his scalp and pull at the strands all over again. He slides his glasses down his nose and sets them on the nightstand. The skin of his chest is just as tanned as his arms, a wide expanse that’s begging to be marked up with your teeth and nails.
The belt buckle clinks softly in the empty air as he slips it open, unbuttoning his slacks before he shrugs the black dress shirt off. God, you want to bite his shoulders.
Your teeth clamp down on your tongue at the thought, kind of wishing the tie was in the picture so you could pull him down on top of you. Just when you’re about to reach up, aiming for his shoulder or maybe even his cheek, Ryland surprises you by taking a knee.
His fingers are a little clumsy as they wrap around the heel of your left shoe, pulling it up onto his bent knee as he fumbles with the buckle. He’s gentle with it, more careful than he was with his own shoes that are certainly worth more than your cheap pair, right shoe, then the left.
Still, it has your stomach tied up in knots to witness with just how much reverence he’s treating you. And the sight of Ryland between your legs is certainly one you could get used to.
He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee before blinking up at you. “Are you… Can I-”
Ryland cuts himself off and that same unwarranted nervousness from before takes over his face, fingers curling tightly around your ankle, as if to ground himself. You smile at him, something that feels a little too giddy and a little too much like your 20 year-old self from college, fumbling and laughing your way to bed. “What is it Ry? You’ve already got me on your bed, no need to be shy.”
He bites his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth as he considers the words. “If you say so.”
Then he gently leads your leg, by the ankle that’s still gripped tightly in his palm, off his propped leg as he drops it to kneel, and hooks it over his shoulder. Ryland kisses a path up your calf and along the inside of your leg and with an overwhelming flood of realisation, you fall back against the bed, bracing for the moment where he presses a soft kiss on your clit, through the fabric of your underwear.
Despite his earlier hesitance, Ryland does not dilly-dally. Once he hears your shuddering breath that sounds more like a moan than anything else, he hooks a thumb though the crotch of your panties, pulls them to the side and presses another slow kiss against you.
It’s maddening, has you gasping out his name as he licks a stripe up your cunt, sighing into it like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. He’s been teasing you long enough that when he presses two fingers along your folds, teasing the resistance of it, they sink in easily. He hooks them up, pressing up against the spongy wall and pulls another moan from your lips.
You're not sure how long Ryland spends between your legs with your hands in his hair and name on your lips, but it’s got you dizzy, clenching around his fingers as he strokes them inside you, languid and slow as he lays gentle kisses over your clit. His stubble scratches against your thighs in a way you’d expected to hate, but are getting rather fond of.
It’s a slow build that crests with you moaning his name and clenching around his fingers as his tongue slows, your hips twitching a little with overstimulation post-orgasm. He moves his kisses to the inside of your thigh, the one not hooked over his shoulder as you catch your breath and it’s highly plausible that he’s leaving another hickey there.
When he does pull back, Ryland is just as breathless as you. Cheeks flushed and chest stuttering as he licked his lips clean. His pupils are blown wide, so much so you can hardly see the blue as he gazes up at you. “You said I could fuck you, right?”
“Yeah,” you swallow, throat scratchy and dry. “You can.”
With your head still spinning from the attention and care he’s taking with you, it’s a moment before you realise his hands are back at your hips as he shuffles you around the bed, up until he can fit his palm behind your head and lift it onto a pillow that smells like him.
Ryland’s above you, propped up on one elbow and a knee to keep his weight off your body. You can feel each heavy exhale on your cheek. “Like this?”
“Just like this.” You say, nodding hand reaching up for his cheek to pull him down into another slow, languid kiss.
He leans in close, whining against your mouth as you part your legs for him to set his between and get a hand on the small of his back, pressing until he gets the hint and grinds downs. It has you both moaning and panting against each other.
You’re getting impatient, and while he must have ditched the pants somewhere between eating you out and repositioning you right side up on the mattress, he’s still got his briefs on and you’re still wearing your underwear.
“Off,” You grunt, hand pulling at the waistband of his briefs.
Ryland’s head drops to the space beside yours, just above your shoulder as he reaches a hand down to pull his underwear down over his cock and down his legs, kicking them off somewhere at the end of the bed.
He gasps, a shaky exhale hitting your skin as you wrap your hand around the length of him.
Warm and heavy in your palm, he’s bigger than you’d expected. When you slide your hand up, swiping a thumb over the head of his dick, there’s so much precum that it pools on your thumb pad. You give him a slow pump, slide eased by the wetness.
Ryland mouths at the skin of your shoulder, and the hand he’s not using to keep himself above you finds its way to your hip, slipping under your panties, pulling at them.
“Condoms. I need-” He cuts himself off with another groan, biting into your skin then kissing it softly like an apology. “I need a condom.”
His hand slips out from your underwear and he gets his knees up either side of your hips to reach over, straining for the nightstand. You take the moment to kiss along his collarbone, using the hand that’s not wrapped around him to tug your panties down, wriggling them off and down your legs.
It doesn’t go unnoticed, and he drops the condom wrapper somewhere beside your head as his gaze whips back to your face. “I was going to do that.”
He sounds a little bit thrown, like he’d really been looking forwards to pulling your panties off.
“You were also going to fuck me.” You prod, giving his cock another languid stroke, watching his face contort with pleasure as he groans. He eases himself back over you, legs between yours and his weight pressing down in a way that has you sighing in contentment.
“Not fair.” He pants, forehead dropping against yours. A hand, so gentle and far too tender comes up to brush the hair by your temple, away from your eyes. “Next time, you let me take my time, okay?”
You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “We’ll take turns.”
The condom wrapper crinkles in your fingers and you pinch the edge of it between your teeth and rip the corner off, splitting it open with your thumb. Ryland whines, louder and needier than you’d heard him all night, when you roll it over his dick, hips bucking into your hand and cock bumping against your stomach.
He gets his hand down between your bodies, runs three of his fingers through your folds, making your breath hitch. Then he nudges your hand out of the way and runs his cock though them next. You whine, high pitched and stuttered.
It’s a slow steady push when he slips inside you, one that draws out a long moan from your lips. Ryland moans your name, panting and kissing at your throat.
“God,” he pants. “You feel so good, baby.”
A broken whine sneaks past your lips, one hand reaching up to slide around the back of his neck, to lead his face back to yours so you can kiss him all over again.
This type of slow kissing might have been your new favorite, Ryland’s tongue teasing the seam of your lips before you slip them apart, tracing the line of his teeth with your own tongue. He rolls his hips, grinding down in a slow motion. The curve of his cock drags along your walls, along that spongy spot before bumping so deep inside that it must hit your cervix.
You hook a leg up around his waist and it has his stomach pressing up against your clit when he moves again. Moaning into his mouth, you see stars. “Fuck, that’s perfect- so good.”
Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling in a way that earns you a whine and a jerky thrust of his hips. “Y-yeah?”
“Yeah Ry- perfect. Feel so full.” The praise kicks him into gear and his slow occasional grinds turn into a building pace, hips pushing against yours and he buries himself to the hilt with every thrust.
You kiss at the line of his jaw, mouthing and biting at the stubble there. He moans, sharp exhale hitting your cheek. “‘M not gonna last much longer, sw-swetheart.”
“S’okay. Let go, baby.” You murmur by his ear, free hand slipping down to press against your clit.
The pressure alone is almost enough to tip you over the edge, pussy spasming around him. Ryland groans, loud and unrestrained, his rhythm falling apart as you do.
When he does come, he manages a couple more thrusts, shallow as they nudge up against that perfect spot inside you. Ryland whines, shaking a little with over stimulation.
“Couple more.” You moan, fingers winding tight little circles over your clit. “Almost there.”
Your spine goes stiff and a drawn-out whine slips out as you cum, clenching around the weight of him. Ryland stills inside, buried deep as he pants.
Slowly, he eases himself down over you, the gentle pressure of his weight relaxing. Ryland only takes a few moments there though, before sliding an arm under you and around your waist, slowly rolling you both, so he’s sprawled out with his back on those sage green sheets with you draped over him.
He kisses your temple, mumbling your name like a prayer. “‘S a good kissing booth. Might be a repeat customer.”
You push up a little to look at him, hands either side of his chest, and a hitched breath sputters out of his lips as you shift, his cock still inside you. “Might? What happened to ‘next time’?”
He smiles at you, hands reaching for your hips as he draws slow lines up and down your skin with his thumbs. “Well, I don’t wanna push my luck.”
“You’re not pushing anything.” You murmur, leaning back down to kiss him proper.
Once the aftershocks of your orgasm have faded and the idea of being empty no longer pulls painfully at your chest, you raise your hips up and let Ryland’s now soft cock slip out. He exhales heavily, and you lay beside him, eyes on the slow spinning ceiling fan.
He sits himself up not long after, slips the condom off and wanders off to the tiny door that you now know is his bathroom. He comes back with a damp cloth, smiling at you shyly as he cleans you up, gentle swipes over your core and along the inside of your thighs.
Ryland walks over and pulls some boxers on, then returns to the bed to slide a pair over your hips too. “You want a shirt?”
You bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to smother a grin. “Only if it’s one of your nerdy ones.”
He kisses the smile off your lips and wanders back over to his wardrobe, throws a shirt in your general direction then goes about fixing the sheets.
You admire the sight. It had never occurred to you how nice his arms were, you want them around you again. He pulls the sheets straight, then up over you before he crawls in beside you.
“This okay?” He asks, pulling you over to lay up against him.
“More than okay.” You snuggle closer, cheek pressed against the warm plane of his chest. “Been thinking about this.”
The confession slips out in a rush of endorphins, like you’re so happy to be wrapped up in his arms and sheets, smelling like him, that you just can’t help but let him know.
You can hear the confusion in his voice when he speaks. “Having sex with me?”
No. You almost say, even though you had. It wasn’t where you were trying to go with this though. “Sleeping in your bed. With you.”
The rise and fall of his chest, of a heavy exhale, moves beneath you. “Oh.”
“I think our next date should be trivia.” You declare, a quiet sort of smile on your lips as his fingers trace slow little circles on your back between the waistband of your borrowed boxers and the ridden up hem of the shirt. “So we can get it right this time.”
“Deal.”
[ Masterlist ]
baby's first Goose fic? more proabaly on the way, although next fic published will proabaly be an oc one, with either Ryland Grace or Holland March from the nice guys.
Beautiful Stars
Ryland Grace x Reader
Summary: A joint classroom demonstration has you falling harder for your dorky fellow science teacher. He might have just finished charming you.
Word Count: 2.3K
Warnings: TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Teacher Ryland, lots of space facts and flirty science because I said so
A/N: Ryland Grace, I love you. - Birch<3
"So the sun, or as we call it, Sol," Ryland says, pointing to the giant glowing model at the front of the room, "produces 3.8 x 10²⁶ joules of light energy every second! Wild, huh?!" The lights are off in the room - the only sources come from the glowing models of planets and the sun, as well as the constellations projected onto the ceiling.
The students' eyes grow wide and curious the more Ryland rambles about the star at the center of the solar system and how the Earth and Moon orbit it. You're standing off to the side, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed and a hip popped.
Truthfully, you can't deny it. You're just as enthralled as the students.
There's something about the sparkle in his eyes as he talks and the animated way he points and claps when students answer his questions correctly that is captivating.
The idea of having a joint demonstration for this part of the unit had been your idea, actually. Use one of the school's big offices to set up the sky dome with the projector, and then use the models you and Ryland have collected to allow for interactive study of the stars. Pretty neat, right?
The students have all loved it. You don't think you've ever seen your class so chatty before, and it seems like they are making friends with the students from Ryland's class. It's nice to see kids be kids for once.
You and Ryland decided to flip-flop who teaches every class period. That way neither of you gets worn out and - you can see each other in action. Ryland offered to take the class right before lunch after what felt like a marathon of lectures since 8 in the morning.
That sweet act definitely has not helped the massive crush you're sporting on the blonde-haired science teacher.
Ryland is just about to wrap up this part of the lecture when he does something that he hasn't done with the previous classes. He digs into a pocket of his blazer and pulls out three individual hacky sacks. The first is bright orange and yellow, the second is blue and green, and the third and final one is gray.
He sets them on the desk he's got in front of him and quickly shucks off his blazer before tossing it to the side. The sleeves of his blue dress shirt are rolled up, exposing the thick muscle on his forearms. You have to force your gaze from his arms back to the little bean bags with interest for why he has them.
"This," he says, lifting the orange and yellow hacky sack into the light of the projector, "is the sun. This is the celestial body that controls pretty much everything in our solar system." He begins slowly tossing it up and down in his left hand rhythmically.
This certainly piques your interest.
Before anyone can question him, Ryland picks up the second hacky sack that looks like Earth in his right hand. "This is Terran, or as we all know it, Earth. This is where all life as we know it lives." He begins to toss this one up and down in his right hand with opposite timing of the orange hacky sack.
Ryland has successfully captured everyone's attention in the room as he points with his chin to the gray bean bag still in the desk. "That, right there, is the moon. We've sent astronauts there and they have done extensive work on non-Earth materials."
He smiles at his students, continuing his motion before he prompts, "Pretty cool, right?" He gets some giggles and nods of agreement. Some of the kids mumble to one another, curious where he's taking this.
The blonde-haired science teacher certainly has you curious. You watch him with a playful smile and a cocked brow, and he glances over at you with a dorky grin. Goodness gracious, he's cute. You can't help but wet your lips with your tongue and bite at your bottom lip as you sheepishly glance down. Yeah. You got it bad.
Ryland turns his attention back to the class and continues to toss the Sun and Earth up and down in each hand, respectively. "You see, as we talked about, the Earth orbits the sun." At that, Ryland tosses the Earth from his right hand into his left hand, launching both the sun and the Earth up and down in his left hand in a circular motion.
He does it with such ease and he doesn't even break a sweat at it. He leans forward and grabs the gray hacky sack with his now free right hand and quickly straightens up. "We call Earth making it one full revolution around Sol a year."
Ryland's smile grows and he continues, "But we also talked about how the Moon orbits the Earth, right? Can anyone tell me how long the Moon's orbital period is?" About 5 hands shoot up and Ryland juts his chin towards a hand in the back. "Go, Felix!"
"27 days!"
"That's right!" Ryland says with a proud nod. "27 days!" His eyes scan the classroom and he pauses. It's just enough to get the kids to all lean forward to see what he's going to do next.
He waits and smiles, still tossing the orange and blue-green hacky sacks up and down in his left hand.
Then, he finally says, "And the Moon, Earth, and Sun, all work together in a really neat way. You can imagine it almost looks like this." Without waiting now, Ryland tosses the hacky sacks higher into the air and the gray one now joins the other two.
The blonde haired science teacher easily juggles the three little bean bags and everyone in the room seems to lose it. Kids start laughing and giggling. Applause and cheers erupt.
You can't help but gasp and cover your mouth with one hand to hide your surprised giggles as Ryland juggles at the front of the room. He's got a crooked grin tugging on his mouth as he tosses them with ease, his eyes trailing each as they soar through the air.
He's gorgeous like that. His wild curls falling over his forehead, glasses reflecting the light of the models around the desks and the stars dotting the ceiling.
"And!" he calls out over the cheers, "They all have something in common. Can anyone guess what it is?"
"They're all spheres!"
"All of them are in our solar system!"
"They're as old as you!"
That last one makes you snort. You have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep the sound from escaping, but Ryland caught it. His eyes dart over to you in between his hacky sacks and his smile grows sheepish.
"You aren't- heh," he chuckles, focusing on his juggling for a second, "You're all technically correct. But what I was looking for is the fact that they all move relative to the position of the North Star! No matter if you were on Earth, the Moon, or the Sun, the North Star still points north!"
There are a couple of groans and grumbles from the students. There's a giant star projected on the center of the ceiling with the title of Polaris next to it. Ryland's eyes find yours and he gives you that same, dorky smile as he juggles. "Everyone needs to find their own North Star," he says softer without pulling his eyes off of you.
You take a quick breath and hold it. There's no way he's talking about- "Don't you mean Polaris?" a student blurts out. Ryland is still looking over at you as he quietly replies, "Yeah."
It's in that moment Ryland miscalculates one of his tosses. The hacky sack goes flying through the air at an awkward angle and it crashes right on the top of his head. "Oof!" he grunts at the impact, blinking through his disorientation. He subsequently loses control of the other two hacky sacks and they go soaring through the air before landing on the ground.
You can't help but snicker a little at the adorable fail, and the students join in the giggles directed toward Ryland. He takes it like a champ, though. You've got to have thick skin working with middle schoolers!
If anything, he's more bashful because he got caught up staring at you.
No one gets to comment on it because the bell rings. Class change. The students scatter, ducking for their bags and notes. It's chaos for a few moments as they all start chattering and yapping, chairs scrape the floor, and they all bustle out into the hallway for lunch.
Ryland sheepishly reaches down to grab his fallen hacky sacks but only manages to find two of them in the dark. One has rolled across the floor towards you. You've pushed off the wall and are making your way over to him. You spot the fallen hacky sack on your way, the orange and yellow one, you note, and reach down to pluck it up.
You come to a slow pause next to Ryland and offer it to him with a soft smile. "Looking for this?" you ask gently, although your voice is ever so slightly teasing. Ryland ducks his head and chuckles sheepishly before nodding. "Yeah, actually, I was. Thanks, Y/n."
He takes the little bean bag from you as you place it in his hand, his eyes darting over your face as the glow from the constellations above you brightens your figure. Holy crap, you're pretty. He swallows thickly and sets it on the desk with the others. Now what? he asks himself. You kind of just made an idiot move!
"Polaris, huh?" you ask as you flush slightly, rubbing at one arm as you watch him for a moment. "I'm sure you'll be getting some flack on that one from the next period after lunch." Ryland moves to sit on the desk and folds his thick arms over his chest with a shrug of one shoulder. The smile on his face only grows as he laughs, "Yeah, you're probably right."
He nervously glances at you and watches as you come to join him. You jump up onto the desk next to him and your feet swing slightly. You playfully lean over and bump his shoulder with yours. "I think it was a good answer," you tell him softly, fighting off the feeling of butterflies in your stomach.
Ryland tilts his head to look down at you, his figure illuminated by the giant glowing sun model on the other side of the desk. "Yeah?" he asks softly. Hopefully. You nod and give him another smile. "Yeah. I do."
He glances down for a moment and then finds your gaze again. "I was going to also accept that they're surrounded by beautiful stars," he murmurs. His eyes flit over your face, noting the constellations dancing in your eyes and the way the glow of the sun's model brightens your face.
You search his features for a moment, trying to see if he's saying what you hope he's saying. Ryland takes a shallow breath and his arms unfold from across his chest. His hands find the lip of the table on either side of where he's sitting as he nervously rambles, "Polaris just happens to be my favorite of them. Unmoving, bright, and just... radiant."
Your heart flutters in your chest and you watch his fingers closest to you tap anxiously on the desk in between the two of you. Bravely, or stupidly, you aren't totally sure, you reach forward and rest your hand over his.
"Sol is my favorite," you say softly, your voice not much greater than a whisper. "It's warm and close to home," your smile widens, "it brings life to those around it. It's... uhm." There's no going back now. "It's something I look forward to seeing every day."
Ryland's eyes dart between your hand on his and the sincerity in your eyes. Is she? Does she mean...? Am I? The sun? He sees nothing but hopeful vulnerability in your eyes, although it's slightly guarded. Like you could shift the topic to just the science if it starts to backfire.
He loosens his fingers just enough that your digits thread through his. He retightens them and murmurs, "I never get tired of looking at Polaris. I... often wonder what it would be like if she was the last thing I saw before bed."
Your eyes widen a little and your breath catches in your throat. Is he? Does he mean...? Am I? Really Polaris? You slowly tighten your grip on his hand and rub your thumb over the back side of his.
"I often think about what it might be like to wake up to the sun's rays touching me," you whisper back. Ryland's eyes grow wide now. Okay, yeah. That's...
He slowly brings his right hand up, the one on the far side of him, and carefully tucks a piece of hair out of your eyes. He brushes it behind your ear but lets his thumb graze over your jaw ever so slightly.
"Y/n, I..." he breathes out, unknowingly leaning into you. You're doing the same, leaning up and into him without realizing. Just like that, the two of you are caught in each other's orbit. Your breathing grows shallow as he draws you closer, and your free hand comes up to tenderly brace on his chest.
His nose brushes yours and your breath catches in your throat. "Ry," you murmur back, your eyes flitting between his before dropping to his mouth. Ryland can feel your breath fanning out and hitting his face and his stomach rolls with butterflies. You're no better.
And as he tilts forward and captures your mouth in a soft, sweet kiss, he knows right then and there he's found his North Star.
All that can be seen from the now empty hallway is the backlit figure of two people in love, surrounded by constellations decorated with beautiful, beautiful stars.
Fly Me To The Moon : ̗̀➛ Ryland Grace x Reader
Pairing: Teacher!Ryland Grace x Teacher!Reader
Summary: The entire school knew how close you and Ryland Grace had become since you'd joined Grover Cleveland Middle's staff a year prior. That knowledge only fueled the rumor mill, that one that ran between the staff and students alike, on just how close the two of you were. It didn't help that you were definitely head over heels for the slightly awkward and endearing science teacher.
Warnings: pre-Project Hail Mary and should not include spoilers but caution anyways just in case, pre-movie storyline, tooth-rotting fluff, idiots in love, workplace romance, friends to lovers, slightly suggestive-ish comments but no smut, female reader but no characteristics described, definitely some incorrect science information but I am not a scientist so apologies, I am also not a teacher so I am sorry for any inaccuracies there lol, lightly edited so apologies for any mistakes
Word Count: 14,596 words
Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧
“Can anyone tell me why it was that Penelope asked her suitors to string Odysseus’s bow?”
The silence that followed was deafening. Your eyes shut for half a second, a tiny sigh escaping through your lips. Reopening your eyes, not a single one of your students had dared to raise their hands. No one except for Olivia, your star student, who waved her hand repeatedly in the air from the back of the classroom. A single glance to the clock told you all you needed to know.
11:55. These kids were already in lunch mode, and there was zero way you were getting them to listen to you.
With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you gave Olivia the okay to answer the question. She happily took your permission and ran with it, always the first to answer any questions you posed in class. If only the rest of these damn middle schoolers were as eager as she was.
“Penelope didn’t want to marry anyone else, so she gave them an impossible task,”
“Why does she always know everything?”
Marcus thought his comment was whispered just low enough that you wouldn’t hear him in the first row, but he was never quite that lucky. He quickly shut his mouth and looked anywhere but in your direction the second he caught sight of the disapproving look you were casting directly at him.
“You are exactly right, Olivia. Thank you for answering my question,” there were a few chuckles in the room at the obvious sarcasm laced through your words, as you hopped up onto your desk to relax and get a better look around the room full of kids. “Penelope knew the only person that could string her husband’s bow, was her husband himself. She needed to buy time, especially when these suitors only really wanted to be the ones to inherit Ithaca-”
There was a loud knocking on the door to your classroom that had been left open for the last 20 minutes of class, interrupting your words. You weren’t surprised in the slightest to meet the eyes of none other than Ryland Grace, the science teacher.
“Uh- sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt important book talk stuff. Super important, you uh-you never know when Shakespeare will come up at your future desk job,” the cringe that Ryland physically did at his own comment was easy to see, even from across the room. He gave you a sheepish smile, his glasses barely hanging onto his face from their unconventional spot hanging off of one of his ears. The blonde held up the brown bag in his hand, and you could practically smell the food that rested inside. “I’m early, I’m sorry. Didn’t think you’d want to have a cold burger for lunch.”
“I told you!” Marcus still didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, leaning over to his best friend Jason at the desk beside him, slapping him on the arm. “They’re totally dating!”
“As if Mr. Grace could pull her,”
There was a chorus of snickers and laughter through the class, any semblance of order you might’ve had descending into chaos as every single one of your loveable, little shits just kept casting looks between you and Ryland, who still stood awkwardly in your classroom doorway with reddened cheeks.
Your face was surely no better, you were sure you could feel the heat that was emanating off of your skin, as you ran a hand down the burning skin of your face and wondered why you chose to teach these little menaces for the rest of your life. The world decided to be kind to the pair of you though, for once, letting the lunch bell save you from any further embarrassment from a group of 13 year olds.
“Please come to class prepared to actually answer questions tomorrow!” you called out over the hustle and bustle of the class as they grabbed their things, eager to scurry off to their lunch hour and finally eat. “Your unit test is at the end of next week, and I would prefer not to fail all of you.”
They weren’t listening, but by this point in the day you were hungry and didn’t have the energy to try and argue with them.
Any of that tiredness they brought to your bones? It disappeared the second you watched the way they all interacted with Ryland on their way out the door.
Big smiles, every single one of them excited to see the school’s favorite science teacher lingering in the doorway to their English class. You could just barely hear the tail end of one of Ryland’s terrible science puns, something about a hungry planet needing a ‘light snack’ that got a groan out of Marcus. All it did was bring a soft smile to your face, though, one that somehow softened even more at the quick, secret handshake Olivia shared with him before she was out the door.
Then, it was just the two of you, smiling like idiots as you locked eyes across the room again. And god, did you want that fluttering group of butterflies in your stomach to calm down for just a moment.
Having a crush on Dr. Ryland Grace, the former molecular biologist turned San Francisco middle school science teacher, was inevitable from the moment you turned up at the school for your first day over a year ago. Incredibly smart, amazing with kids, and so incredibly handsome you thought your heart stopped beating the first time you saw him–hell, Mrs. Doyle, the math teacher for over 5 years, said there were at least 4 other young teachers that absolutely had crushes on this man. You were far from the first.
He broke that perfect vision of himself you were building in your head within 5 minutes of meeting, tripping over his own two feet and knocking the stack of papers a mile high from the Principal’s hands, but you had only found it even more endearing.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he apologized again, long legs striding across the room and reaching your desk in a matter of seconds. “I had a free period before this, a-and you mentioned this morning you forgot lunch so I grabbed some for both of us-”
“Sal’s?” you questioned, pointing to the bag of foot now sitting on your desk with the familiar logo. “They’re, like, 10 blocks away. Why’d you go that far?”
“Because I know they’re your favorite,”
The flare of heat in your cheeks was instant. Ryland Grace, who rode a damn bike to the school every day, used his free period to ride 10 blocks away and pick you up lunch from your favorite spot, all because you mentioned offhandedly at 7 a.m. about forgetting your lunch for the day.
Well, he certainly didn’t do that for the four fresh out of college teachers that had crushes on him. You’d mentally consider that a hefty win in your book.
“How sweet of you to remember,” Ryland simply waved you off, head turned away as he passed your wrapped burger into your hands, taking up space on your desk chair while you stayed comfortable on top of your desk. “You even remembered tomatoes this time!”
“I forgot them one time and I never hear the end of it,” laughter was shared between you both for a moment as Grace took a bite of his own burger. “I caught the tail end of that discussion. Olivia answering all your questions like a champ?”
“Isn’t she always,” you shot back with another laugh, turning slightly on your desk to better face him. “I swear she’s the only one that I can ever get to answer any of my questions. She might be the only one that does any of my assigned readings.”
“To be fair, can you blame her?” Ryland’s words were muffled slightly by the food in his mouth. You couldn’t even contain the slight smile that grew as he managed to just barely catch the ketchup dripping off his burger before it could smear itself on the stack of papers that needed graded at your desk. “Shakespeare was just…so interesting. Couldn’t get enough of his stuff. Don’t know why your kids don’t want to read it.”
There was silence for a moment, your eyebrow quirked in his direction. The blonde stopped mid bite of his burger, looking back at you quizzically, trying to figure out what he had said wrong.
“You know we’re currently learning The Odyssey, right?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll let you think about that for a second,”
He did, just slowly blinking in your direction. He glanced at the chalkboard behind you, covering in little notes you’d made throughout the class discussion, before they flickered to the copy of the book that sat on your desk. That was finally when you saw the light bulb flicker on above his head, Ryland’s eyes shutting as he let out a loud sigh.
“...that wasn’t written by Shakespeare, was it?”
The laughter that bubbled out of you practically had you throwing your head backward.
“No, but I’m sure Homer won’t be too offended,” feet landing on the ground as you hopped off your desk, you gave Ryland’s shoulder a quick squeeze as you moved past him. “The attempt was cute, though, it was a good try.”
Cute. Why in the world did you let that one slip? You were practically cursing yourself in your head for that one, taking another bite of your burger as you worked to erase the whiteboard to prepare it for your next class. You didn’t dare steal a glance over at Ryland, in fear that your little slip-up was going to ruin everything.
There was only quiet for a moment before the single moment of awkwardness was gone.
“I promise you I know Homer wrote that. I swear!”
The desperation to believe him drew another laugh out of you. Sparing a glance in his direction, Ryland was giving you his best, exaggerated puppy dog eyes, begging you to believe him, as a smile just barely squeaked its way onto his lips.
“Right, of course you did. My mistake. Whatever you say, Ryland-”
“I mean it!” It was his turn to laugh this time, a sound that had those butterflies rattling around once more. “I was just…distracted.”
“Uh-huh, distracted,” as if you were preparing to scold one of your students, you turned to face him fully with a hand on your hip, eyebrow raised expectantly. “By what, exactly?”
If a human being could buffer, Ryland Grace always seemed to be constantly buffering. Your eyebrow remained raised, waiting for him to piece together his response. All he could do was open and close his mouth like a fish, before looking away and taking another bite of his food.
“Nevermind that, just finish your food before it gets cold. I did bike, like, three miles to get that thing,”
With a roll of your eyes that held zero malice what-so-ever, you made sure the blonde could see your next bite of your food, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Back to the previous topic,” you steered the conversation in another direction, wiping off the last bits of chalk on the board and writing down your next period at the top so that you could start the discussion on the reading over again. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard to get some of these kids to just read the content. They all pay attention in your class!”
“I heard Jason make a comment yesterday during class that Marcus has a crush on Olivia. Maybe they’re too distracted to read,”
You shot him a skeptical look.
“Marcus, crushing on Olivia? He was just making fun of her before you came in the room,”
Ryland averted his eyes, suddenly very interested in his ID badge hanging around his neck from his school issues lanyard.
“W-well, maybe he just doesn’t…know how to express his feelings,” he spared a glance up at you, seeing you were still watching, as he tripped over his words again. “It can be hard for boys–and men–of all ages, to…tell someone how they feel.”
“Well, I don’t know where he’s learning from, but making fun of the girl you like isn’t the right way to go about things,” you shot back.
“Then teach them!” Ryland sounded absolutely ecstatic, that light bulb over his head going off again as he looked like he’d come up with the world’s greatest idea. “Classic literature, there’s plenty of great love stories in there. Get his interest by teaching them about that, so he can learn from them.”
“Alright, give me an example then, Mr. Suddenly an Expert in Classic Literature,”
“Romeo and Juliet,” he said like it was the easiest thing in the world, balling up the remnants of his finished food and tossing it in the bag it came in. “Greatest love story ever told, so great Taylor Swift wrote a song about them.”
“Except they don’t run off and get married and live happily ever after, Ryland. Romeo thinks she is dead and kills himself with poison, and when Juliet realizes he’s dead she stabs herself,”
Ryland’s excitement fell slightly, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape.
“...oh,”
“Don’t think that’s what I want to teach young, impressionable pre-teens about love-”
“Daisy and Gatsby, then! He loved her so much he stood on that dock staring at the-the bright yellow light of a stoplight for her,”
“It was a green light and it was the dock light, first of all. I’m not even sure how you could be that off. Secondly, Gatsby is murdered at the end of the book and Daisy doesn’t even attend the funeral, she and Tom move away and pretend it never happened,”
Ryland’s eyes are shut at this point, his fingers massaging his temples and those glasses just barely hanging on from their place around his neck.
“...does anyone not die in these old books?”
The sound of your laughter permeates the room and you sweep over, collecting his trash and combining it with yours. You never even spared him a glance, though you could feel his eyes on you, as you swept the trash away with you to the other side of the room, his voice echoing across to you.
“I’m going to get lucky on one of these guesses!”
What Ryland Grace was really lucky about was how adorable you found him, and how head over heels you were for him, because his lack of literary knowledge was astounding.
❤︎
“I’m sorry, you’re trying to tell me that aren’t currently fucking the eye candy that is the science teacher in room 305?”
“Evelyn!”
Evelyn Doyle was in her late thirties, married since she was 18, and already had three kids with her high school sweetheart. Since you had transferred into Grover Cleveland Middle, you’d become fast friends and she had become a great mentor.
She had, sadly, caught onto your pathetic crush on Ryland Grace before you had even fully realized it, and was now ‘vicariously living through you’ as she always said.
“There’s not a single child left in this entire school right now,” she shot back, gesturing around her empty classroom, as she finished cleaning up anything her students had left around at the end of the day. You rolled your eyes at her excuse, perched on the edge of her desk. “Please, I’m tenured, what are they going to do?”
“I’m more so yelling at you for butting into my love life, once again,” was your reply through laughter. “Ryland and I are good friends, that’s it.”
It was her turn to laugh, finishing up her cleanup around the room before she joined you at her desk, packing her things away into her shoulder bag.
“Oh please, you keep denying that little crush of yours-”
“I never said I was denying that,” you cut her off. “Lord, you realized I liked him before I even did. But he and I aren’t anything besides friends. I’m not lying.”
Your pleas fell on deaf ears, like they typically did when you were around Evelyn. She simply waved your statement off, tossing her bag over her shoulder as you followed her out of her room and down through the quiet of the school hallway. The quietest the hallway ever was, in the hours right after students were sent home for the day. You’d rather be anywhere else, preferably at home, but these mandatory once-a-month staff meetings were unavoidable.
“Whether you’re telling me the truth or not, you have to understand why everyone thinks so–teachers AND students. I think even some parents think so!” The only response she got was an eyeroll, her shoulder bumping into your’s playfully. “He brings you lunch at least once a week, meaning he rides that dingy bike to get whatever you’re craving that day.”
“It’s usually just something random-”
“Constantly in your classroom, or vice versa,” she cut you off, and you quickly realized you weren’t getting a single word into this conversation. “I’m pretty sure Principal Marshall has considered, somehow, moving your classroom closer to his just so he’ll stop being late to classes because he’s busy talking to you.”
Okay…yeah, you didn’t have a retort for that one. Your classroom was on the opposite end of the school building from Ryland’s own, and yet every time he had even a split second he was somehow always leaning in your doorway. Even if it only resulted in a conversation that lasted all of a minute.
Many times those ended with your students having to remind him that the bell rang and he definitely had students in his own class unattended, waiting on their teacher. More than once he’d slipped as he tried to sprint back to his classroom from yours. It didn’t matter how short those little conversations were, though, because every second around him was precious to you.
“Awe, look at you blushing about it-”
You slapped Evelyn’s hand away, throwing her a look of disdain that didn’t really hold any true malice to it.
“Look, all I’m saying is the ball is in his court,” was the response you finally settled on as Evelyn propped the door of the small auditorium open for you to enter. “Ryland is nothing but friendly to me, so if he’s interested then he’s got to show me.”
“You’re acting as if you’ve made your own feelings clear, honey,”
“No, but I clearly don’t do a good enough job of hiding them,”
Speak of the devil: there he was. Ryland’s head shot up the moment the pair of you walked into the auditorium. Those damn glasses hanging down from one side of his face, framing his stubbled jawline perfectly. A smile lighting up his face the second those blue eyes found yours, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.
A packed auditorium, as you and Evelyn were the last ones there. Every seat up practically filled, and yet Ryland Grace sat among a crowd of people, eyes trained on you and a single seat saved for you amidst it all.
All you could feel was the heat in your cheeks, and the touch of Evelyn patting your back as she laughed, voice low but loud enough to hear as she shifted past you to find a seat of her own.
“Doesn’t have interest in you my ass,”
Her words swam through your head with every apology you muttered to the other teachers as you snuck past them in the cramped rows, happily taking the empty seat beside Ryland.
“You didn’t have to save me a seat, you know,” your voice held a hint of teasing to it, but it was soft. Filled with an adoration that you knew you were terrible at hiding. Luckily, Ryland was terrible at picking up on it.
“Wanted to sit next to you,” he whispered back as Principal Marshall began to drone on about updates neither of you particularly cared about. He leaned in close, a hint of his breath wafting over the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You make these slightly less boring.”
Close proximity to this man was your worst nightmare, and the cramped auditorium wasn’t helping. That single touch of his breath against your skin was enough to send a simultaneous shiver down your spine and another round of heat to your cheeks. His suit jacket covered arm rested on the shared armrest between your seats, the edge of his bicep ghosting against the bare skin of your arm with every little shift he made, tapping incessantly against the armrest.
The slight action made you smile. He never could sit still in these meetings, always hated them.
“Did anything fun happen in class today?” you kept your voice low, eyes trained on the principal, as your head tilted slightly over to Ryland so he could better hear you.
“Uh, if you count Madison telling me that she thinks the sun orbits the earth, then sure,” you had to stifle your laugh at that, casting Ryland a side glance as he grinned at you, doing a terrible job of whispering back at you as usual.
“How could she possibly think that?”
“You’d be surprised,” Ryland leaned just a tad bit closer, the side of his arm pushed up fully against your own. You could almost hear the smile in his voice without even having to look over at him. “The National Science Foundation estimates that 26% of Americans still think the sun orbits the earth.”
“Jesus, that many?”
“Well, 100% of them are stupid, so,”
Nasty looks from other faculty were shot your way that second you choked on your own breath, slapping a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop yourself from breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. You gave them the most sympathetic look you possibly could, learning how to breathe normally again before mouthing sorry at them all.
Ryland didn’t care in the slightest for the warning look you shot him, a bright smile on his face as his eyes seemed to trail over every inch of your face.
“If you keep doing this in every faculty meeting, they’re going to separate us, Ry,”
“I met Madison’s parents for the first time last month for parent-teacher conferences,” he continued, ignoring your plea. Instead, he leaned in even closer, eyes locked on yours, and god it was impossible to look away. “They are, 100%, undeniably, part of the Flat Earth Truthers Club.”
You shook your head, a smile creeping back up on your lips. Ryland’s gaze could still be felt on the side of your face as you turned back to face the front, eyes focused back on the principal again in an attempt to pay attention to the meeting.
“Flat earthers are ridiculous. They’re just scared of science,”
“Well, you know what they say…the only thing they have to fear is sphere itself,”
There simply wasn’t enough time to clap your hand over your mouth and conceal your laughter, a split second of it breaking through the quiet of the auditorium. And Ryland? His smile was somehow even brighter than it was before, still locked onto your face, never having strayed once.
“Dr. Grace, is there something you feel needs to be shared with the rest of your fellow faculty?”
Principal Marshall’s voice was enough to knock Ryland out of whatever trance he seemed to have put himself in. Eyes wide as if he’d just seen a ghost, hands barely able to catch his glasses as they almost fell right off of his ear where they dangled, a burst of red spread through his cheeks instantly as his deer-like eyes locked onto the unamused principal.
“I-I uh, no. No, nothing, Principal Marshall,” he scratched at the back of his head, ruffling up his already messy hair, a nervous tick you’d picked up since the moment you’d met him. You simply buried your head in your head, eyes trained on your shoes and Ryland out of the corner of your gaze, terrified to look up at your fellow faculty that you’d already apologized to once. “Just getting super jazzed about faculty updates. Hard to keep it in here. I’m like a mushroom, getting all…hyphae…”
A collective groan sounded through the auditorium at the terrible biology pun that rolled off of him with ease. All you could do was smile into the palm of your hand.
“Please just…pay attention to the meeting, Dr. Grace, before I separate you and your other half,”
Other half. That’s not how she meant it, but it was impossible not to let your mind wander to the idea.
Early mornings. Coffee, the smell of eggs and toast burning in the kitchen. Ryland and his hair that was surely even more unkempt that early in the day. The guarantee that he definitely had about 120 science puns ready to go at any moment.
Late nights. Curled up on a couch. A movie, a shared blanket, warm in the embrace of his arms. The quiet of just being with someone that made you happy in ways you’d never felt before. The promise of another day with them on the horizon.
It was becoming increasingly harder not to think about Ryland Grace like that every day, of what a life with the awkward, endearing science teacher could be.
And as Principal Marshall continued her meeting, and your eyes met the blue ones that were already looking at you: soft, kind, a hint of something you couldn’t understand in them, you could only dream he thought the same thoughts when he looked at you.
❤︎
“Alright, who can tell me the day of the first human space flight?”
Not a single middle schooler, packed into the building’s planetarium, raised their hands at first. Many of them started whispering to each other, confused looks on their faces, but Ryland just waited with a smile on his face. A brave soldier from Mr. Harkin’s class, Damien, finally raised his hand.
“Uh, Mr. Grace? Wouldn’t that…be today?”
“Excatly!” Grace’s clap echoed through the room as he pointed toward the young kid sitting in the front row of seats. “International Day of Human Space Flight, commemorating the first human space flight by Yuri Gagarin. It was a trick question, and you passed my tiny friend.”
Were you excited about losing a chunk of your day to escorting your class to the planetarium, along with other classes in the building, for a special science presentation? Absolutely not, especially not with how terribly your class did on their last The Odyssey assignment.
When you found out that Ryland was giving the presentation during your allotted time? Suddenly, The Odyssey meant nothing to you. Not when you could watch Ryland teach, something he did so effortlessly.
The way he captured every single child’s attention with ease. That glowing smile on his face every time they answered a question right, and simply the way he seemed to love what he taught. You were captivated every time you got the chance to see him teaching the thing he loved so much.
“Yuri Gagarin was a Soviet cosmonaut who became the first person in space in 1961 aboard the Vostok 1,” the planetarium was lit up with the night sky, little stars reflecting down. You could almost see them in the students eyes, in their bright smiles as they looked up into the vastness of space. Your eyes trailed to Ryland, already looking at you with a soft smile of his own, before he cleared his throat and moved throughout the room, focusing back on the kids. “Over the course of 89 minutes, his ship traveled to a maximum altitude of 187 miles, as it orbited the Earth.”
“Wait, so we weren’t the first people in space?” one of your students, Lydia, called out. Ryland laughed, pointing over at her.
“No, we kind of sucked,” you rolled your eyes with a grin at Ryland’s statement, though it drew a laugh from all of the kids. “No, America had actually scheduled its first space flight for May 1961, so this was a huge blow to us. It really heated up the space race.”
“He really is good with them, isn’t he?”
Glancing over, Mr. Harkin had saddled up beside you on the edge of the room, head tilted toward you and voice low so as to not disrupt the lesson the kids were being taught. Your gaze drifted back to Ryland as he continued his lesson, eliciting more laughter from the kids. It only brought another soft smile to rest on your lips.
“He is, in a way that I just don’t understand,”
Those blue eyes you’d become so fond of met yours for a moment across the room, face illuminated by the light projecting onto the planetarium’s dome walls. The little grin he wore seemed to drop just slightly, gaze still locked on you but flickering every moment over to Mr. Harkin as he spoke to the students. Harkin’s elbow dug lightly into your side.
“Careful, you’re giving him major ‘heart eyes’ across the room right now,”
You did your best to conceal your laughter, shooting Harkin a look, Ryland’s gaze still felt on the side of your face even as you looked away.
“Why do I feel like I’m about to find out that every teacher in this school has a secret betting ring going on when it comes to Ryland and I?”
“I mean, it’s not a secret. Principal Marshall runs the damn thing,”
“Mr. Grace?” one of the youngest girls in the grade, Aurora, called out, raising her hand up to get Ryland’s attention. “My mom told me the other day that there’s 8 planets in our solar system. What happened to Pluto?”
Ryland went to answer when Mr. Harkin beside you laughed, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, as he shook his head at his young student.
“No, honey, scientists a couple years ago decided that Pluto wasn’t a planet anymore,”
Your eyes flickered to Ryland, who was already staring at Harkin from across the room as he tossed his little crochet earth back and forth in his hand. His response was a bit of a forced laugh.
“Well, your teacher isn’t wrong. Scientists classified Pluto as a dwarf planet a couple years ago,” he explained to the kids, eyes trained on the little crochet sphere in his hands. “But there’s 8 other very important, even closer planets that we should focus on. I mean, who really cares about a tiny, slow planet that takes 248 years to orbit the sun–honestly, he should just accept that he’s slowly falling into obscurity and stop trying to steal the spotlight.”
The room got quiet. Your eyebrow raised slightly, head tilted, as everyone just seemed to stare at Ryland, who had yet to look up.
“Uh, Mr. Grace?” some student in the back called out. “Why did you call Pluto ‘he’? Are the planets boys and girls like us, too?”
Ryland’s head shot up, as if he suddenly remembered he was in a room full of students. His eyes shot to you, his mouth opening, then closing, before he quickly looked away.
“I–well…planets don’t really…I’m not trying to misgender the planets, you know? That’s not for me to decide, that’s for them to–you know what, does anyone else have any other questions that aren’t related to Pluto?”
You really didn’t want to laugh at Ryland, but only he would be able to accidentally turn a lesson about space and planets into almost a lesson on bodily autonomy. He caught your eye, his widening just slightly and you could almost see his cry for help written across his face, but it only made your laughter worse.
It was little Madison that raised her hand next, speaking before she’d even been called upon.
“Are you sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe?”
Ryland hung his head in shame, the shaking of his head evident from across the room as a few of the kids around laughed at the young girl’s comment. You were quick to shoot them a warning look, not keen to hand out any detentions today.
By the time your gaze turned back to Ryland, he was already looking at you. His gaze flickered to Harkin, then back to you, and it was like a light bulb had just flickered on the way his eyes lit up.
“Yes, Madison, I’m sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe. And I can show you,” his long legs crossed the room in seconds, his body sliding between you and Mr. Harkin as his hands landed on your shoulders with a tiny little squeeze that sent your heart leaping through your chest. “But to do that, I’m going to need this volunteer that I’m not quite giving a choice.”
“It’s not volunteering if you didn’t ask, Ry!”
You exasperatedly tried to whisper to Ryland as he steered you across the room to stand before all the kids. He only shook his head as a bunch of your own students started cheering for you around the room, only worsening the red that coated your cheeks the second his hands had landed on your body.
“I need you for this,” he shot back hastily, positioning you in the middle of the room, standing in front of you. His body blocked the students from your vision, blue eyes boring down into yours, hands gently squeezing at your upper arms as you begged the blush in your skin to not be too obvious. “You trust me?”
A ridiculous question, because the only answer was yes. You gave him a nod, and Ryland’s smile only widened as he turned back to the kids in the room.
“Alright, kids. Your gorgeous teacher here is the Sun,”
Little oohs and awes sounded from the kids around the room at Ryland’s little slip in of the word ‘gorgeous.’ There was a sting in your bottom lip as you bit into it with your teeth, trying to contain your own smile. Marcus spoke up from across the room without raising his hand, as usual.
“Then what’s Mr. Harkin?”
“Oh, he’s Pluto,” Ryland shot back immediately, nodding his head. “Suits him.”
Laughter rang through the room, the young boys as rambunctious as ever. Ryland met your astonished look with a tiny wink of his own, one that forced a small laugh to tumble from your lips. Then, he began to slowly spin, walking around you in a circle.
“And I am the Earth,” he called out to the kids, and you could only hope he didn’t trip over his own two shoelaces. “The Sun holds 99.8% of the mass in our solar system, which means it’s packing some massive gravity.”
Ryland stopped spinning himself, still moving around you in a circle. He held his hand out toward you, and you slipped yours into it without hesitation, spinning in that circle slowly with him.
“Because the Sun holds such intense gravity, it’s actually pulling Earth into it. But, Earth has such high forward velocity that it actually keeps us moving sideways. Put these two together, and it keeps Earth moving in an almost perfect circle around the sun. Can anyone tell me another fun fact about our movement around the sun?”
The words went in one of your ears and straight out the other. There was no paying attention, not when Ryland’s hand held your own. Soft skin, just slightly rough around the edges, and those blue eyes were so soft, locked onto you as if there was nowhere else he wanted to look.
“Our speed changes!” Olivia called out from somewhere in the back, but you didn’t even try to look and find her. “When we’re closer to the sun in our orbit we move faster, and the further away we are, the slower we move.”
“Very good, Olivia!” Ryland called out, sparing just a quick glance over to the kids in the room as his hand held yours tighter, still spinning slowly together. “Madison, we also know this works because there’s other sun-like stars out there that are also orbited by planets. Like Tau Ceti, which has four Earth-like planets orbiting it.”
“Is the sun important for other things, besides just being the center?”
Ryland’s eyes flickered to you, and you watched as he paused. The slight hesitation on his face, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple for a moment, before those blue eyes locked onto yours and refused to look away.
“I-It is…for a lot of reasons. The Sun is the Earth’s entire reason for existing. The Sun gives the Earth life. The Sun is the reason the world is beautiful,”
Your breath hitched, eyes still trained on Ryland. There was something in his words, something in that earnest, raw look that he had written across his features as he looked at you that added a weight to his words. A weight that sent a tiny chill across your skin, raising the hair on your arms.
“Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing,”
There was quiet across the room. Then, a couple snickers, followed by Olivia’s smug little voice.
“The Sun sounds beautiful the way you talk about it,”
“She is,” his voice was lower, softer than it was before. Until, he seemed to realize what he said, the red on both of your faces spreading further than before as his eyes shot wide. “THE SUN I mean! I-I’m talking about the sun, obviously, b-because this is a science presentation!”
Laughter rang through the room, little chants of your names mashed together coming from some of the kids as the bell rang and saved either of you from further embarrassment.
Ryland, being Ryland, chose that moment to finally trip over his own two feet. You pulled on his hand as hard as you could, saving him from plummeting to the ground as he instead just landed on his one knee.
“Make good choices,” Ryland commented lowly as some of the kids walked past the two of you, still snickering and giggling to themselves. You let go of his hands finally, simply resting it on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Don’t uh, I don’t know, blow up the world during lunch or anything. Or pop those chip bags and give kids heart attacks, whatever you kids do these days.”
You laughed, stepping around Ryland as your kids lined up outside of the room, waiting for you. He shot you a sheepish smile from the floor, and your skin still burned with heat at the memory of his words as you looked at him.
“Every time I think you’re doing well with those kids, they manage to knock you down a peg,”
“Yeah, well, what’s new?”
When you met your class outside, you didn’t let them get a word in before you warned them not to say anything. You could still hear little comments talking about ‘shipping’ their English and Science teachers the entire way back to your classroom.
❤︎
Ryland Grace didn’t understand how he had ended up here.
Well, he did. Calling the leading scholar in his field a “staggering waste of carbon” at a UNESCO conference in Denmark was an easy way to get blacklisted from the field he’d studied in for many years in college. It was an easy explanation for how he ended up teaching middle school science at Grover Cleveland Middle in San Francisco.
Not that he had a problem with teaching! He actually loved it. Loved his kids, loved talking about science. He loved teaching the future little scientists of the world about why every facet of science was awesome. The pay wasn’t great, though.
Especially when it was the reason he rode a bike to school daily.
And there was currently the equivalent of a monsoon raining down from the sky onto the pavement, the reason he’d been standing at the front doors for the last 20 minutes hoping that the rain would simply let up. The heavens didn’t take pity on him, though, and it only rained harder and harder. His rain coat and bike were not meant to withstand heavy rain and damaging winds to this extent.
Best cast scenario? It takes him a little longer to get home on his usual 20 minute bike ride than normal. Worst case? He crashes and dies, dead in a ditch covered in mud.
“Ryland, please tell me you aren’t thinking of riding your bike home in this?”
Then there was you. You were probably the single greatest reason why he loved teaching at Grover Cleveland Middle. If he ever had the unfortunate chance to meet that scientist from the conference again, he’d thank him this time for being a staggering waste of carbon, because it led him down a path to you.
“I can’t be that bad,” he tried to joke, waving you off as a crack of thunder seemed to shake the entire building, and his fake confidence faltered for a second. He glanced back at you, coat wrapped around your bag instead of yourself in order to keep its contents dry. “Just, you know…the slight threat of bodily harm.”
He really wished the path that led to you was less bumpy and full of himself looking like an idiot, but at this rate he’d take what he could get from the universe.
“Yeah, absolutely not,” was your immediate reply, head shaking as she fished your car keys out of the bag still covered with your coat. “I’m giving you a ride home, can’t risk the best science teacher’s life over a dumb storm.”
Ryland immediately shook his head, turning to face you beside him. He was not letting you risk your own life in the storm for him. If it really came down to it, he’d sleep at his desk. There was a change of clothes he kept in the bottom drawer, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to do it.
“I can’t let you-”
“This isn’t up for discussion,” Ryland snapped his mouth shut as you cut in once again, dangling your car keys up in front of him with a little shake. “I…care about you, okay? I want to know you are home safe.”
There was no stopping the immediate heat that filled Ryland’s cheeks, and he knew it. There was red blooming across your own, but Ryland shook all wishful thinking from his mind. The AC unit in this school was unreliable, you were definitely just flushed from the heat. No other reason.
Ryland decided he wasn’t going to put up a fight at this point, but he wasn’t going to let you do this without anything in return. He shrugged the yellow raincoat hanging over his own shoulders off as he kicked the glass door in front of him open, the muffle sounds of the torrential downpour now louder as droplets of water splashed into the front door. He held the jacket out, hanging it above your head to protect you from the rain.
“At least let me save you from getting drenched,”
“You’re going to look like a dog that just had a bath by the time we reach my car,” Ryland only smiled at your joke, and the little giggle that fell through your lips. The close proximity didn’t help as he held the jacket up around you.
“Actually, it’s not windy today,” he shot back with a grin, nodding out the propped open door into the rain. “That means if we run, I’ll be drier than if we walked, because the rain that’s hitting us from above is proportional to time. Though, the rain hitting us from the front is proportional to distance, and when running-”
“Ryland Grace, you are adorable when you get all science-nerd, but if we’re going to run…we should run,”
Ryland was thankful that you couldn’t see the renewed heat flooding his cheeks, as you were both too busy sprinting through the torrential downpour to the staff parking lot.
Being a gentleman (who was head over heels in love with you and too terrified to say a damn thing) was thrown out the window with how fast you were booking it to your car, the idea of shielding you from the rain with his jacket abandoned after just a moment booking it across the lot. He could feel the coolness of the water settling against his skin as it soaked through every layer of clothing he had, every few seconds having to furiously wipe at his glasses in hopes of seeing through them.
None of it really mattered in the end, not when he heard your laugh. The little shrieks of laughter as a particularly big drop happened to fall right in your eyes. Or the laughter as Ryland managed–in his signature fashion–to slip on the final step into the parking lot, and you had to double back in laughter to help haul him to his feet.
He’s spring clumsily through the rain a thousand more times if he got to see you smile like that. And that is why his kids always told him that he was definitely ‘whipped’ for you. Whatever that meant.
The second you had both jumped into your respective seats of your vehicle, doors slamming shut, there was only a moment of silence between the both of you. Ryland felt like his chest was going to explode, remembering why he always hated gym class, his heavy breathing mixed with yours as you both caught your breath, before you locked eyes over the center console.
Then the laughter resumed.
He held his hand to his stomach, feeling an ache settling in as he couldn’t stop his own laughter. Your’s grew slightly louder in his ear as you leaned over, trying to help him wipe at his glasses that were still covered.
“I was right, you look like a wet dog,”
Ryland’s only response was to shake his soaking wet hair like one, a simple reaction that earned yet another shriek of laughter from you and a light slap to his shoulder. You muttered something unintelligible under your breath, but Ryland found himself unable to tear his gaze away from your lips as you started the car and began to pull out of the staff lot. How soft they looked, the way the little beads of water running down your cheeks fell over them.
Whipped. He still didn’t get it, but he agreed wholeheartedly with his kids at this point.
There was no driving fast in this rain, especially when the windshield wipers were moving at their highest programmed speed and it still wasn’t enough. It was quiet in the car for just a moment as you pulled out of the parking lot, but Ryland broke it the second your phone had connected to the car’s bluetooth, music filling the space between him and you.
Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.
“Frank Sinatra,” Ryland couldn’t help the growing smile on his lips as the familiar song flooded through the car speakers. He kept his eyes trained on the side of your face, watching the little smile grow on your own lips, eyes focused on the road conditions in front of you. “Old books and old music. Didn’t know you had such an old soul.”
“You calling me old, Ryland?”
“N-no!” Ryland immediately back track, hands flying up and shaking back and forth as his eyes went wide. “I might say some stupid stuff some–okay, most of the time–but I know better than to comment on a woman’s age.”
“I’m just teasing you,” he could thankfully hear the sincerity mixed in with the teasing lit to your voice. “But yes, I do enjoy some old music. Always been a big fan of Sinatra, especially this one.”
“It’s a nice song…just not scientifically accurate,” he caught the side eye that you threw his way for just a moment, another crack of thunder banging across the sky and almost shaking the car. Ryland couldn’t help but jump slightly. “Jupiter only has a 3.13° tilt to its axis, so it doesn’t experience seasons like we do. Mar’s would, though, because its axis is tilted at 25°, only 1.5° more than our own tilt…”
Ryland trailed off as the car rolled to a stop at a red light, and he caught you fully facing him this time with a bemused expression written across your face. His smile dropped just slightly as he let out a sheepish laugh, adjusting his glasses as they slid back down the wet bridge of his nose.
“...I went full science-nerd again, didn’t I?”
Your laughter drowned out the rain beating against the roof of the car as your attention returned to the road once more.
“You always do, but I happen to enjoy it very much,”
If only teaching paid more, because the commute to Ryland’s apartment was a lot shorter than his bike ride home every day from work.
Parked in an open space across the road from the dimly lit apartment building, Ryland Grace hesitated with his hand on the handle of the door. His eyes swept out over the area around the vehicle, still being hounded with rain. The top of his road looked like the beginning of a river, the way the water was rushing down the small incline to pool at the bottom.
“Thanks…for this,” he gestured toward the weather right outside the card.
You moved to respond to him, when the weather alert on your phone propped up on your dashboard sounded out. Ryland could just barely make out the headline: FLASH FLOOD WARNING.
The roads were far too dangerous, and Ryland already knew from various conversations that you lived on the opposite end of town from him.
He…could ask you to stay for the night. Just for safety reasons, obviously! He was quickly trying to work through the pros and cons list in his head.
Pros: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be safe and not driving in this storm.
Cons: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be inside his tiny little apartment that looked like it had been hit by a separate hurricane than the one it felt like they were currently suffering through.
“I should probably get home-”
“Stay,” Ryland cut in, quickly continuing his words after his vague statement. “I-It’s just, the roads are bad, and you live on the other side of town. This storm is just going to get worse, and I-I’d hate to know something happened to you.”
You hesitated, he could tell, shaking your head.
“Ryland, I couldn’t ask you to let me stay,”
He hesitated himself for a moment, every feeling he’d kept bottled up for a year now threatening to escape past his lips. Instead, he settled on echoing your own words.
“I…I care about you. I want to know you’re safe,”
Moments later, he had his rain coat draped over your head as he rushed you inside his apartment to shelter from the storm.
Ryland’s hands shook the entire time as he put his key into his front door’s lock. The last time he had guests over…was never. His apartment was built and designed for him and his brain, scattered with notes and books and piles of arts and crafts that he worked on in order to decorate his classroom. It was not meant for visitors, especially not ones as pretty as you.
“Don’t, uh, mind the mess,” he mumbled, holding the door open and motioning after you, allowing you to take a step inside his apartment as he let out the small breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Chucking off his sneakers, little puddles of water forming below them on the ground, his jacket found its way into a pile with them. Ryland wiped his hands nervously against the thighs of his jeans, the action doing nothing against the soaking went material, as he watched you take in his apartment.
The apartment that looked like it had been ransacked, at least partially. Stacks of books relating to a thousand different topics were stacked on the ground by the tv stand, on top of the coffee table along with the coffee cup he’d abandoned there early in the morning in a haste to get to the school, and and by his desk that had a stack of papers scattered around it after her strewn them about in order to find one specific slip of paper at 11 p.m.
It was a mess, and Ryland regretted everything.
“It’s not messy, it’s homey,” your reply sent a burst of heat through his skin as you turned to him with a bright smile, leaving your own bag and coat by his pile of wet items before gesturing to your own soaking wet clothing. “Do you maybe have something a little less…wet?”
He scurried away into his bedroom, trying to ignore that little section of his brain that took your comment in a MUCH different way.
His bedroom was worse. Ryland wasn’t letting you sleep on the couch, but he surely wasn’t letting you see his room in a state like this.
Clothing was thrown across the room and Ryland quickly ran about, shoving piles of clothing away into corners where he was certain you wouldn’t be able to see any of it. Throwing it into his closet and slamming the door before it could fall out, pushing it down in his laundry basket, kicking it under his bed so it was out of sight and out of mind, whatever he could think of.
“Great idea, Ryland,” he muttered to himself, pulling on a dry pair of sweatpants and a tshirt for himself, trying to shake the remaining water out of his hair as he rummaged for something you could wear. “Almost get the woman you’re in love with killed by letting her drive you home in a monsoon. Invite her to stay the night in your apartment that makes you look like an even bigger loser than you are. Amazing idea. A doctorate in molecular biology and this is the best you can do.”
You were waiting by the couch in his living room, just glancing around at everything with a smile, when he reappeared. Sheepishly, he handed the folded clothing over to you, hand running through his soaking wet hair as he pointed down the hall.
“You can take my bed for the night. Uh, just leave your clothes in the bathroom, I can throw them in the dryer in a bit. I can scrounge up something to eat in the meantime,”
“Thanks, Ry,” your hand reached out, squeezing his upper arm lightly, and he felt the heat in his skin instantly bloom under your touch. “For all of this.”
If it wasn’t for the giant crack of thunder that flickered the lights of the building for a moment and made Ryland jump out of his skin, he would’ve forgotten how to breathe again.
He rummaged through every part of his kitchen, desperately trying to find something that he could make the two of you to eat that also wouldn’t make him seem pathetic. All he could come up with…was a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jelly.
Yesterday. He’d stayed late after the end of the day to help in tutoring. He forgot to go grocery shopping. Ryland let out a sigh at his realization, back to his fridge door and head banging back against the stainless steel, hand running down his face and dragging against his skin as his glasses were knocked off, hanging off of one ear.
“Great,” he muttered into his palm. “Just absolutely freaking great, Ryland.”
Ryland Grace desperately wished he had the guts, the bravery, to just simply tell you how he felt.
From the moment he met you, when you had arrived for your first day at Grover Cleveland Middle, he was a goner. It had been a long time since he’d had a partner, his last one certain that he was too busy with his head in the clouds to pay attention to her, and she wasn’t wrong. But from the moment he looked at you, waving and smiling as you introduced yourself to all of the teachers that had gathered to welcome you, you were suddenly the only thing his brain wanted to focus on.
He had been so focused on you, too busy admiring every inch of you in silence, that in his typical clumsy fashion he tripped over his own two feet and knocked Principal Marshall’s papers out of her hand, spreading them five feet across the floor. But you’d joined him on the ground, laughing lightly to yourself, as you helped him clean up the papers, and Ryland knew he was a goner for you.
It only continued every single day, getting worse, and you somehow became his friend. His only friend, if he was being quite frank. So he tried to hide the way he really felt, too scared to mess anything up. He’d rather have you in his life in any way he could, then mess this up and lose you forever.
Keeping those feelings in was getting increasingly harder in the last few months. Which explained why he’d traveled cross town just to get lunch from your favorite place, or compare you to the sun and basically called you his entire reasoning for living in front of a bunch of children-
Either Ryland was going to blurt it out at some point, or he was taking these feelings to the grave with him.
“Peanut butter and jelly? Sounds like we’re eating like royalty tonight,”
He shouldn’t have looked over at you. He really, really shouldn’t have. Leaning against the opposite wall of the kitchen, hair still damp and dripping onto the cheesy “I had potential” shirt he’d been gifted by one of his students the following year. Sweatpants that were bunched up around your ankles so that you didn’t trip over the length, waist tied in as tightly as possible so they didn’t just slide right off your hips.
Ryland Grace had never thought it possible that you could look more gorgeous than you did every day, but he stood corrected. He felt more in love than he ever had just looking at you right in this moment.
“Sorry, I don’t exactly…live a life of luxury,” Ryland awkwardly laughed as he spoke, pulling out two sad paper plates from the cabinet next to him and flashing them in your direction, shaking them lightly in the air. “Hope this doesn’t ruin my perfectly curated image.”
His eyes followed you as you brushed past him, humming to yourself with a little grin. You fumbled through every drawer in the kitchen, looking for something, when Ryland quickly popped open the one right next to him, showcasing his small selection of utensils. You flashed another heart-stopping grin at him before digging out two knives from the drawer.
“That image cracked a long time ago, Ry. Like that time you let Marcus perform some chemical reaction and got the fire department called to the school,”
The tall blonde groaned to himself, rubbing at his temple as you pushed past him to throw some of the bread down onto the plates and crack open the jars of peanut butter and jelly set out.
“That was one time!” he tried to defend himself, saddling up beside you as you passed him one of the knives. He almost completely missed the opening of the peanut butter jar, eyes too transfixed on the sight of you in his clothing. It was still up in the air if his heart was actually working correctly yet. “I learned my lesson very quickly not to let him handle any more chemicals.”
“Don’t worry. I made the mistake of doing popcorn reading when we were working on The Outsiders. Marcus seemed to end up with every single instance of profanity in the book, which he would yell at the top of his lungs,”
Ryland snapped his fingers, glancing down at you at his side with a teasing smile.
“You know what? That explains that really loud ‘HELL’ I heard across the school a couple months ago. I was so sure that it was going to shatter the windows of my classroom,”
“Oh, shut up! It wasn’t that bad!”
Your laughter permeated the air, elbow digging into his side as you spoke. And when your eyes locked with his, and Ryland got the perfect look at every square inch of your face, he could see it so clearly in his head.
Mornings just like this, where you’d both struggle to get out of the warmth of the blankets. The way he would surely annoy you with his very disorganized morning routine, but he’d make up for it with coffee already set out for you, just as you liked it. The lingering moments by the door, too wrapped up in each other because you didn’t want to leave the peace of this space, even though you were going to the same place.
Late nights, curled together on the couch with some movie playing on TV that neither of you were particularly paying attention to. Whispered words, laughter shared. Kisses that lingered, hands that trailed-
Thunder broke Ryland from his spell, thoughts gone in a flash. He was back in his dingy kitchen, with you just inches away, staring up at him as the picture of true beauty.
“T-This is nice,” he cleared his throat, turning back to his sandwich as he spread his toppings along the bread, heat blooming across his cheeks again. It always did around you. “Making dinner with someone…no matter how sad the dinner is. I haven’t done this in awhile.”
“Right,” your voice responded after a momentary pause. “Sarah, wasn’t it? You were dating her when we first met. What, uh…what ever happened to her?”
“Oh, we broke up a long time ago,” Ryland waved the comment off, shaking his head. “She just, uh, thought my head was too far in the clouds. Didn’t think I wanted to be down here on Earth. She wasn’t wrong. It was for the best, though. She hated…all of this. The rundown apartment, the lack of a car, my love of science. She just never understood it. I was just…too much for her. But she’s with Mark now, so I’m sure she’s happy.”
Ryland chose not to mention that his last relationship had been dead long before it officially ended, the pair not having seen each other in well over a month by that point. If his math was right, which it usually was, Sarah had started dating Mark before she’d even broken it off with him.
He also failed to mention the relief he felt inside when she had called it off, knowing his heart had belonged to you the moment your eyes had locked with his.
Fingertips just barely ghosted over Ryland’s cheek, and he froze in place. Eyes trained on the plate in front of him, he could feel the way your hand curled around his cheek. The way your thumb glossed over his skin, back and forth, and the way your other fingers barely grazed over the shell of his ear. He couldn’t help the way he instantly leaned into the touch, a touch he hadn’t felt in so long.
Ryland turned his head, still resting in the palm of your own, to look you in the eyes. You gave him the softest smile, hand trailing across his cheek and ghosting over his jawline. His eyes watched it move, the way your fingers gently curled around the frame of his glasses dangling precariously from his face, and placed them gingerly back where they belonged, resting on the bridge of his nose.
His breath caught, your body so close to his, as your hand trailed back down and rested on his chest for just a moment, your own gaze flickering to its resting spot while his gaze stayed on your face.
“You are never, and will never be, too much, Ryland. Not for the right person. They’ll love every part of you. The clumsy parts, the nerdy parts, every part that makes you…you,”
The Sun. That’s what you were to Ryland Grace. He meant every word he had said in that planetarium that day, driven by the rare jealousy of seeing Harkin that close to you.
The Sun was the reason Earth had life. Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing.
Without you…well, Ryland Grace had accepted long ago that he didn’t understand what it was like to truly live until he’d met you.
Your eyes flickered for just a second, and Ryland took in an audible breath, swearing they settled on his lips for just a second. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the pattering of the rain against the living room windows.
The moment shattered with yet another terribly timed clap of thunder, your body jolting away from his, focus turned back to the counter in front of you, face hidden from his wide eyes.
“Y-you know…I can’t tell you the last time I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,”
Ryland shook his head, smiling slightly to himself at the little stutter in your own words, turning back to finishing his own food as well. But the moment still lingered in his head, the heat that bloomed from where your skin touched him still lingering.
“Since peanut butter is banned in school for allergies, probably awhile,”
“I almost forgot that rule a couple weeks ago and almost packed peanut butter crackers,” you joked back, before Ryland heard you snap your fingers. “Oh! Speaking of work, did you put yourself down to volunteer for the school dance next week?”
Sandwiches finished off, Ryland packed the ingredients away and stashed them back in their appropriate spots, laughing awkwardly to himself.
“Hah, uh, no I didn’t. I chaperoned last year and kind of left covered in punch, became the kids’ favorite ‘meme’ for a week afterward since one of them got a picture of it,”
He turned back to you. Leaning against the island counter, holding your sad little sandwich in your hands, face still lit up red as you smiled toward him.
“I think so far it's me, Doyle, and Harki, plus Principal Marshal and I think Katie and Dawson from the front office. We could really use another teacher,” he swore the fluttering of your lashes was on purpose just to kill him and his resolve. “Sign-up? For me?”
Well, there was no universe in existence where Ryland said no to a request like that.
Rejoining you at the counter, he held his own sandwich in his hand, reaching out and tapping it against yours as if you were sharing a toast.
“For you? Totally,”
Even as you both took a bite of your sandwiches, eyes still locked together, Ryland felt as if something had shifted in the air. Your eyes were still as kind, your smile still bright, but it felt like there was a new weight to your gaze as you looked at him.
And he swore–and hoped–for just a split second, that your eyes had just flickered down to his lips again.
❤︎
The student council had outdone themselves with this end of the year dance.
As you stepped through the main doors of Grover Cleveland Middle’s building, the smile on your face grew immediately at the sight before you. The walls were lined with little fairy lights, little styrofoam planets hanging down from the ceiling at various lengths, glow in the dark stars right around them and glowing. Silver streamers hung around the fairy lights, with the check in desk decorated with tons and foam and lights behind them to look like twinkling lights in the clouds.
“A space theme?” you called out as the two kids in front of you ducked away from the registration desk. Evelyn Doyle finally looked up from the sign-in sheet, grin growing as she took in the sight of you and rounded the desk. “I hadn’t heard anything from the student council on the theme, but they did well.”
“Nevermind the theme, you’re finally here!” you laughed as you threw her arms around you, reciprocating the hug, before her hands landed on your shoulders in order to get a good look at you, eyes trailing you up and down. “And look at this dress, oh my god!”
The deep yellow dress fell right around your knees, the fabric light and airy as it swooshed through the air with every move you made. Buttons lined the front down to the tie around your waist, leaving just enough room for the little gold necklace resting against your collarbone. You thanked yourself for choosing a short sleeve option, already feeling the heat in the building from how many kids were all packed in and dancing together.
“Thank you,” was the sheepish reply you gave your friend as she let you go. “I’m sorry I’m late, I caught one of my student’s parents in the parking lot and they turned it into a mini parent-teacher conference, sadly.”
“Not a problem,” she waved the comment off, gesturing toward the doors of the gym just off to the left of you both. “Just get on in there, have some fun, and keep those slow dancers at least 12 inches apart at all times.”
If the hallways were gorgeous, the inside of the gym shone even brighter. Bathed in blue and purple, even more little lights twinkled around the room, hung off the walls, the ceilings, and on every surface they could possibly find. Moon and star decals, made by the art students, hung off the walls and from the ceiling, almost glowing under the lights.
Your eyes trailed over all of your children, scattered throughout the room, already having been dancing for at least thirty minutes. The smile on your face grew as you watched each one of them, gathered with their friends as they danced together in groups, or even stood off to the sides and just observed from beyond the dimly lit dance floor.
Mr. Harkin had been stationed at the punch table, and you could hear him from across the room warning these middle schoolers not to try and spike the punch. You could only giggle to yourself, shaking your head at his antics, before your eyes swept over the crowd once more-
The music seemed to stop in your ears, breath hitching, the second you laid eyes on him across the room. Ryland Grace.
He wasn’t in anything fancy. A nice pair of jeans, the worn pair of black dress shoes you’d seen by his apartment door that night. A dark green shirt was tucked into his jeans, adorned with a worn, navy blue suit jacket overtop, and those same glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose as he spoke animatedly to Olivia.
Ryland looked good. Too good, in your eyes.
For just a second, he looked up, and his eyes happened to meet yours across the room. You thought for sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.
Whatever had happened that night, in the silence of his apartment with only the beating of the rain against the windows and the roof as a witness, had shifted something. From the moment your fingertips had ghosted along his skin, your hand had rested against his chest, and you’d been close enough to see the specs that danced in those ocean blue eyes of his up close, nothing had been the same.
Like the little bubble you had been existing in with your harbored crushed had finally popped. Like a toe had dipped just slightly over a line, and there was no going back from then on.
You always blushed around your friend, every time he’d manage to fumble his way through a comment that borderlined on a kind-of-not-just-friendly compliment. But since that day just a week or so ago, every time he has been within a few feet of you, your face lit up like a hot summer’s day.
Moments where he’d find a second to linger in your classroom door, held a new weight to them. Sharing lunch together, fingers just barely brushing for a second as you both reached for your food, to moments when you’d simply be walking together down hallways, back of hands brushing along each other’s but no one making any moves to stop it from happening.
Something was different, and you weren’t sure you wanted to go back to how things were before. Not after touching his skin, or existing in his orbit like that. Not when you’d seen the side of him beyond these school walls.
You were in love with Ryland Grace. You had been for a long time. And, finally, you were done trying to pretend that there wasn’t at least a small chance that he felt the same.
“I need your help,”
The heated staring contest between you two was broken by the sound to your right. You turned, just to see Marcus standing directly beside you and reaching up to pull on the sleeve of your dress. His hands wrung together, foot tapping incessantly on the ground, and you immediately knelt down in front of him to get a better look at his face that he was trying to hide from you.
“Marcus? Honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently, hands coming to rest on his arms as you tried to get him to look at you.
“I…I like Olivia,”
Oh. It was one of those problems. The anxiety you felt in that moment finally washed away, an easy smile falling to your lips as you took a quick glance over in Ryland and Olivia’s direction, the former’s eyes still locked onto you from across the room.
“I did hear a rumor about that. Olivia is a great girl,”
“She is,” he said quickly, finally looking at you. His nerves were basically written across his face. “I-I’ve been really mean to her. I didn’t mean to be.”
“I know, honey. Sometimes feelings can be confusing,” you stood up, hands on your hips as you looked down at him with a smile. “Do you want to dance with her?”
“I do,”
You held your hand out toward him with a smile.
“Then why don’t we start by going and apologizing to her?”
With Marcus’s hand in yours, you confidently led him across the room, eyes locked back onto Ryland’s as you approached. He stood with Olivia at his side, who was talking his ear off, a dopey looking grin on his face as he nodded to whatever she said as he continued to watch as you approached him.
“Dr. Grace, I’m sorry to interrupt you and Olivia,” you announced yourself to the pair with a grin of your own, hands on Marcus’s shoulders and you lightly pushed him forward. “But Olivia, there’s something that Marcus here wants to say to you.”
The young boy shuffled awkwardly forward, hands wringing together again as he stood in front of his crush.
“I, uh, I wanted to say I was sorry. For being really mean to you. I didn’t mean it,”
Olivia’s eyes went wide, as she too shuffled uncomfortably for a second. Ryland saddled up to your side, the pair of you sharing a glance as you watched the interaction happen right before your eyes. His hand graced over yours lightly, and it took everything in you not to reach out and lock your fingers with his.
“Oh! It’s, um, it’s okay. Thank you,”
“Say, Marcus?” Ryland called out to them both, catching the boy’s eye and gesturing toward Olivia with a wink. “What do you think of Olivia’s dress?”
“I…I think she looks really beautiful,”
That comment finally seemed to catch Olivia off guard, her eyes wide in shock as she giggled nervously.
“Oh! I…thank you, Marcus. You look really nice too,”
“Thank you,” his posture seemed to straighten out at Olivia’s reaction, like seeing her accept his compliment gave him the confidence he needed. “Do you want to dance with me?”
Olivia shot you and Ryland a look, and you both immediately gave her a thumbs up. Then, your happy eyes could only watch the two pre-teens awkwardly shuffle away together to the dance floor, not daring to meet the eyes of the other.
“Look at us, playing matchmaker for middle schoolers,”
“I think they did that for themselves, we just helped,” you laughed, turning your head. The laughter died on your lips the second your eyes met with Ryland’s, voice low and breathy as you whispered to him through your smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he whispered back just as breathily. His hand came up to the back of his head, running through his hair for a moment, and you could see the red and pink hues that lit up his cheeks. “I got worried when I didn’t see you. I was ready to call you.”
“You could’ve,”
“I’ll remember for next time,” he shot back, hands finding their way to rest in the front pockets of his jeans. His eyes moved back over the crowd, finding your two young students once more. “I’m proud of him for that. That…must have taken a lot of guts to do.”
You followed his gaze, landing on the pair as they danced together, laughing and talking like old friends.
“Like you said before, it can be hard for boys to express their feelings. All he needed was to pull up his big boy pants and ask her,”
Ryland laughed beside you.
“Yeah…I should probably follow in his footsteps,”
You glanced back to him, seeing him already watching you. A single eyebrow raised toward him quizzically, even though your heart felt like it was ready to beat directly out of your chest.
Ryland’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were trying to force out words that he couldn’t quite seem to get right. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath, hoping inside that whatever he wanted to say would address the weight that seemed to be hanging between your gazes.
“Stay here,”
There wasn’t even time for you to respond before the tall blonde rushed away, almost tripping as he dashed over to the DJ booth across the way from the makeshift dance floor. He whispered something to the DJ, and you could see the thumbs up he got in return, before he rushed back over to you, panting slightly.
“Ryland?” you questioned softly, the man who held your entire heart without knowing it standing just a foot in front of you with a nervous grin on his face. “What did you just do?”
As if on cue, the song changed, and familiar lyrics floated through the room, bouncing off the walls.
Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars
“I’m pulling up my big boy pants,” he responded with a nervous laugh, his hand outstretched toward you. “And asking you to dance with me.”
Nothing else existed the second that you slid your hand into Ryland Grace’s without hesitation, letting him pull you in. You weren’t in the school, not in a room decorated for a middle school dance, and certainly not surrounded by middle schoolers and a bunch of faculty that had placed bets on you both.
It was just you and Ryland Grace. That’s all you wanted it to be.
Your arms found a place to rest around his shoulders, fingertips just barely brushing past the strands of hair that tickled the back of his neck. There was a fluttering in your chest the second that his hands made their way to your waist, curling around the divet just above your hip bone, pulling you into him just by another inch.
In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling, kiss me. Fill my life with song, and let me sing for ever more.
"I didn't tell you yet…,” his voice was soft, words whispered just between the two of you in a crowded room. “But you look beautiful,"
"You don't have to flatter me, Ryland,"
"No, really, you look-"
"Like a banana in this yellow dress?"
He paused. His tongue poked out, running along his bottom lip, and you could see the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple before he spoke again.
"...like the sun,"
You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.
Oh. That fluttering in your chest was back, and suddenly, you weren’t at a middle school dance anymore. You were back in that planetarium, spinning in circles. And this time, there were no doubts in your mind. You were the Sun, and he was the Earth. And what was the Earth, without its Sun?
"Ryland-"
"I wasn't lying,"
You cocked your head.
"...about what?"
"That I knew Homer wrote The Odyssey,"
That drew a short laugh from you, but you could still see the nerves that were laced through Ryland’s smile.
"Right, you were just distracted,"
"I was. By you. I'm always distracted by you,"
In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.
You took a deep breath. He’d crossed the line for you, thrown himself onto the other side, and was waiting for you with open arms. It was just a leap of faith.
“I’m always distracted by you, too. Since the day we met,”
The song faded away, melting into the next. There could’ve been eyes on you both, either from students or from faculty, but nothing would break either of your gazes away from the other.
Ryland took a quick look around the room, before his hands took hold of your own, bringing them down between you both. He gave you a grin, one filled with more happiness than you had ever seen–and you knew your own matched his perfectly–before he tugged you toward the doors of the gym.
“Come with me,”
“Ry, we’re supposed to be chaperoning!”
“I don’t see Principal Marshall anywhere. What’s the worst she could do, fire us?”
“Quite literally, yes!” you shot back with a laugh.
Ryland only shrugged his shoulders, tugging you again, and you didn’t even try to fight back. Your feet simply moved with him.
“Worth it,”
Hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, your laughter echoed off the walls of the empty hallways as Ryland Grace ran you down them, a destination clear in his mind. Every few seconds he’d look back, just smiling at you as his eyes trailed over every single inch of you, before you’d yell at him to look at his own feet before you’d both be sprawled across the linoleum floors.
The door to his classroom was open as you flew inside, hand slipping from his as you caught yourself on the projector cart sitting in the middle of the room. Spinning on your heel, you caught his eye just as he shut the classroom door behind him, and the silence enveloped you both once more. Finally alone, no prying eyes to watch.
The momentarily confidence that seemed to seize hold of Ryland dissipated in that moment. He wiped his hands against the front of his jeans, chuckling awkwardly as he took a few steps toward you.
“What was your plan here, Dr. Grace?” you teased, taking a couple steps toward him as well, too high on the feeling of everything you’d just finally realized. High on the feeling of finally not denying what your heart knew long ago: you and Ryland Grace were never just friends.
“I’m not going to lie,” he shot back, coming to a stop just in front of you, barely an inch or two separating you. “I hadn’t thought this far ahead.”
“Then stop thinking,”
No one had leaned in first. It had been both of you, as if drawn together like two magnets, as your lips finally found one another's.
Goosebumps rose across your skin as Ryland Grace’s mouth moved against yours with an ease that shouldn’t exist between two people that have never kissed before. It was like a perfect dance between two partners that knew each other better than anything.
Your lips never left his, moving against his as if you couldn’t believe you had deprived yourself of this for so long, as your hands wound around his shoulders. Fingers curled into his hair, finally carding themselves through the blonde strands that felt so soft between your fingers.
The slightest little moan, enough to send heat coursing through your body the second you heard it, slipping from Ryland’s mouth into your own. His hands grasped at your hips, winding around your back to press into your lower back and tug you as close as humanly possible, as if he was a starved man that craved to touch you in any way that he could.
His lips were soft, a feeling that you knew you were going to crave for the rest of your life now that you’d had a single taste of them. You pressed further into him, a small mewl tumbling from your own lips and swallowed by his mouth as you pressed every inch of yourself into him, desperate to hang onto the moment in case the world would be cruel and wake you from this dream moments later.
The need to breathe was what finally separated you, but not far. Ryland’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning out across your skin. His hands still gripped at your hips, holding him to you, as yours stayed carded through his hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as you chest heaved as it tried to level your breathing back to normal.
“If I haven’t made it clear already, you’re my best friend,” his words were breathy, accented by the way he was still trying to catch his breath. But his smile was bright, his eyes almost shining, as he looked down at you. “And I’m completely in love with you. Literally, since the moment we met.”
You laughed, trapped in this little bubble with him, as your hands slid from his hair to instead cup his cheeks. The tip of your nose just barely brushed against his, and he bumped his right back against yours without hesitation.
“I’m completely in love with you too, Ryland Grace. Since the moment you tripped over your own two feet,”
The sound of your laughter filled the empty, dark science classroom again as Ryland’s hands came to scoop you up around your thighs, spinning you in relentless circles. All you could do was hang onto his broad shoulders and smile, his lips peppering a thousand kisses to every inch of skin he could possibly reach.
The Earth needed the Sun, like how Ryland said he needed you. The person that makes it all worth it, that makes the days brighter, that makes this short little life worth it.
The Sun needed the Earth too.
exhibit g.
summary: after re-acclimating to earth life for a whole year, grace comes to your museum on a random monday in the middle of april to view the "project hail mary" exhibit.
pairing: ryland grace x reader (— see tags!)
word count: 5.0k
tags: starts with grace's pov and then shifts to reader’s, timeskips, older!grace, fluff and angst, rocky and eva mentions, minor original characters, gn!reader — kept it largely platonic, attraction is still there if you squint
cross-posted to ao3 a/n: based on this ask from @lessthcn3 !! lowkey went off-track (#self-indulgent), but i hope this satisfies to grace-coming-back-to-earth itch !! <333
The second time Grace wakes up from the induced coma, he knows exactly where he is and exactly how he got there. He remembers the last morning in his foggy, coastal enclosure—throwing that ship-standard duvet over the top of the mattress, folding his cardigans into the packing cubes. He remembers the bittersweet goodbye to his class of younglings, who solemnly sat through that final science lesson. He remembers the team of Eridians who prepped him to go under with a masterful replication of Earth anesthesia.
Above all, Grace can recall the sight of Rocky looming over him as they hovered the silicone mask over his mouth—a melodic set of hums and thuds on the ground of the ship: Erid miss Grace. Rocky miss Grace. Grace, Rocky saved stars. Now, Grace go back. Try Earth again. It had taken Grace so long to think on it—going back to Earth, surrendering the life that he’d built for himself on Erid.
He wakes up on a regular old hospital bed, clinically white bedding tucked around his legs. Grace’s glasses are folded up on the bedside next to a large bouquet—lillies, he thinks—and a stack of books, none of which he knows the titles of. New releases. Grace has to remind himself that he’s skipped quite a few years. Beside the books, there’s a collection of cards, all themed with some variation of generic messaging. He can spot “Thank You,” “Get Well Soon,” and “Happy Birthday” on the table all at once.
Decoration aside, there are two very serious, clearly government agents, all suits, who are standing at the foot of Grace’s bed. Then, to his left, one nurse, checking his vitals on the analog screen. To his right, one doctor—pressing a cold, steel stethoscope to either side of his chest beneath the papery texture of his middle gown. It all seems so practiced. Grace squints. “Dr. Grace, do you know where you are?” Grace tilts his head in the direction of the voice beside him. It’s the doctor; she’s withdrawing her stethoscope from his chest, checking his eyes with the narrow beam of a handheld, pocket flashlight. “Hospital?” he rasps out—vocal cords still not acclimated to speaking aloud. She pockets the flashlight. Grace can see swirling blues and greens over his vision in absence of the bright light, a film that fades very slowly as he settles into his consciousness.
“Pupils are responsive,” she affirms to the two agents, and the nurse—who rattles her fingers quickly at the keyboard at his bedside. Then, to Grace: “I’d recommend that you rub your hands together, Dr. Grace. It’ll help kick your blood flow back into action. Though, I’m sure you’re already very wise on the procedure.” Modestly, and almost apologetically, the doctor tells him, “I have to tell you regardless.” She hands him his glasses off the bedside table, and Grace slips them onto his face with a still stirring movement. His arms and legs still feel just as numb as they did the first time.
“You’re currently at the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center,” the doctor tells him. “You’ve been here for about three weeks.”
“In Los Angeles,” one of the agents tells him, matter-of-factly. Scully, Grace labels.
“I’m in Los Angeles?” Grace almost chokes out a laugh. The last time Grace had been to L.A. was for an academic conference, and he’d been rather disillusioned by the morning traffic.
“Yes, right by UCLA,” the other agent confirms smoothly. And Mulder, Grace thinks. “They had you air-lifted from around Vancouver after your pod touched down.”
Cedars-Sinai, UCLA, Vancouver. Grace chants the three in sequence over and over in his head. They tell him with such ease. There’s no extra explanation about what’s where, no request for a further meaning. If there’s anything that Grace misses about being around people—human people—it’s the familiarity of living in around the same place. The ability to landmark. There’s nothing remotely confusing about “L.A.” or “freeway” or “smog.”
Scully bends over to open a leather satchel at the foot of Grace’s bed. She pulls out a hefty pile of newspaper clippings and she tosses it plainly onto his lap. At first, he only looks at the headliners, fold-by-fold:
Extraterrestrial Life Declassified by UN Task Force’s Eva Stratt
Sun’s Luminance Recovered By Grace’s Taumoeba
Dr. Ryland Grace To Be Inducted Into U.S. Astronaut Hall of Fame
“This is…” he rasps out. It’s not brain fog. He knows exactly what it is, and what it is is a little bit much. Even after spending all that time in an entirely different planetary system, it’s a little bit much. Grace can feel the tension setting between his brows, and he lets the papers sit heavily in his lap. “Stratt. Eva Stratt—is she around? Can I see her?”
“I’m not sure if there’s a good way to say this, but… Stratt has been MIA for the past couple of years. She got in a lot of trouble for the project, ethical-environmental reasons, nothing very surprising—”
Grace raises up his hand to interrupt Mulder, shocked that he’s even able to do so with the speed that he does. Grace echoes, with pure urgency, “But, she’s MIA. As in… nowhere to be found.”
“Yes, that’s correct, Dr. Grace.” The agents are somewhat despondent about the situation—neither here, nor there.
“Okay. Okay, I’ll take it.” A win: Stratt evades imprisonment indefinitely. She’s on one of the smaller newspaper spreads on Grace’s lap—a front-facing portrait, Stratt at the head of a speaker’s platform, looking as serious as ever. She’s grayer, too. Grace tries not to pay any mind to the thought of how young they were when they first met.
If there was anything that Grace had made peace with in all those years gone, it was with Stratt. How she’d dragged him around that carrier ship like a dog on a leash. How he’d settled into those small moments of respect for her; Stratt was as faithful to his intellect as she was headstrong. Grace had come to understand her, even after he remembered what she’d done. He has to trust that she’s well now, somewhere on the water near Greenland or somewhere colder.
He’s slow to flip through the flimsy pages, entranced by the number of times his name is written in each column. The newspapers in the pile are years apart from one another, the earliest dated only a month after his initial launch, and the latest just a week after the Mary’s recovery: Dr. Ryland Grace Recovered Off British Columbia Coast. The photograph of his landing pod and its parachute bobbing in the water makes the journey home appear so simple—so small.
In all of his contemplation, Grace pays very little mind to how the room shifts around him. Scully and Mulder—he should really ask for their real names soon—appear to tilt their heads to the doctor and the nurse. The nurse hurries to double check Grace’s IV lines before stepping outside. The doctor follows closely behind her. Scully clicks her tongue: “The Hail Mary was captured on satellite imaging at the start of last year. We’ve been anticipating your arrival for a while now—so we ask that you forgive us if we’re a little… antsy. There’s something else for you.”
Scully pulls a flatter box out of the satchel and comes closer to Grace’s side, while Mulder goes to sit in the visitor chair in the corner. As he sits down, semi-slouched in the seat, she opens the box. Black leather, Grace realizes. He sits up a little bit more in his hospital bed, gown shifting uncomfortably against the sheets. He makes sure to tidy the newspapers as best as he can, before placing them weakly onto the bedside table beside the books and the cards.
Scully opens the box gingerly, rotates it towards Grace, and gently hands it over to him. Grace blinks. “Wow. This is… a medal.”
“It’s a Nobel Prize, Dr. Grace.” It says it there, Alfr-Nobel, and has the profile of a gentleman's face across it. There’s Mr. Nobel, Grace thinks, Obviously. It’s real gold, heavy in Grace’s hands. He doesn’t know if he should say thank you or not; it seems as if it’s about to come out of his mouth—but he simply gulps it back down.
“You were awarded it a month after they photographed the Hail Mary on satellite,” Mulder explains—when they found out Grace wasn’t dead. “Word traveled fast, and the Committee was very intent on awarding it to you. For the longest time, they were storing it in the Kennedy Space Center, but they made sure to ship it out to Pasadena last week in preparation for your arrival.”
Scully clasps her hands together, “Every laureate also receives a cash award with it. Eleven million krona—that’s about a million U.S. dollars, and some change.” “Oh.” Grace is baffled. In his head, he can picture himself being handed a giant check on a stage, with a handshake and the flutter of a bunch of camera flashes. He hadn’t really needed money on Erid. He’s not sure what he’s going to do with it all—besides, maybe squander a small amount on real food. No burgers. Maybe salmon?
Scully lays a soft hand on Grace’s left shoulder that startles him into attention. “You’re a historical figure, Dr. Grace. Congratulations.”
—
Grace finds out that Scully and Mulder are actually Agents Franklin and Lineham—though, in the end, the discovery is ultimately pointless. They seem to recede into the background within his first week of being back on Earth, replaced, to Grace’s disappointment, by a series of politicians, scientists, and journalists. Despite great promises to “take things slow,” Grace is launched—yes, launched—into a flurry of press conferences with a plethora of national governments.
Grace knows what it’s like to be the center of attention, to an extent. In his twenties, it was the bad sort of attention, the kind that made people flee from the sight of him in a Hyatt lobby during academic conferences. It’s a good thing in the classroom, because it means that he’s doing his job correctly—the sign of a good lesson plan. Attention now, in the celebrity sense, is a whole other beast—the kind that makes Grace want to shrink inside himself. He’s not sure whether it’s modesty or shyness. Both are likely. They have him holed up in a secured location, still, a nice studio flat in the middle of the hills—not so far from civilization that the conspiracy theorists can somehow reach him. He’s still around people, of course, but it’s not the most preferable thing, either. A year in, and Grace can hardly go to the grocery store without someone asking to have a picture with him. Or, to ask him some half-unique question about Eridian biology.
He’s maybe more charmed by the tributes to Rocky than he is the ones for himself. It’s not that Grace doesn’t like murals. Or statues. These things are all valid works of art; he can tell the amount of effort that’s been exerted into each of them, and he doesn’t discount the meaning that they hold for a surviving humanity. It’s more… strange than anything else to see a giant bronze version of himself presiding next to bridges and parks.
In an ideal world, he’d be able to send a transmission up to his old friend—Look, pal, Grace would write, Everybody loves you down here. Thought you should know. Is it weird for you, too?—and age for long enough to see a response.
—
Nobody tells you that Dr. Ryland Grace is coming to your museum on a random Monday in the middle of April. Usually, there’s some sort of warning about celebrity visits—non-disclosure agreements and photo release forms and security guards up and down the place. You hate it when they happen, and they happen at least once every exhibit rotation. But, when Grace comes, there’s a simplicity to his visit.
You’re in the middle of talking with your assistant curator when he comes in through the front entrance. He goes straight into the ticketing line, pays in full. Gives the appearance of really any usual guest. What really causes you to float out of your conversation is the sight of him dropping a folded-up $20 bill into the see-through donations box near the restroom. The assistant curator is talking logistics to you about the incoming dino fossils, and some suggestions about where to position stanchions. But, the sight of this generous and unsuspecting guest causes your attention to flee elsewhere. “It all sounds good,” you say blankly, “Just…”
The assistant curator doesn’t seem too phased—merely turning their head over their shoulder to trace your gaze. They spot it as quickly as you do, and jut their thumb out sideways: “Is that—?”
You nod briskly, “Yeah. That’s definitely a twenty. Would you mind if we finish later?” They nod. It doesn’t take much more for you to sidle away, in search of the mystery donor. You wonder only for a second if it’s weird to tail him. The other, more desperate side of you tells you that this is definitely a potential patron with a lot of money to hand over to your workplace. Local history museum meets funding—an unusual feat. So, you dedicate yourself toward trying to search for him. He seems to disappear a bit, shrouded by seniors and young couples wandering about the lobby. But, his trajectory is clear: the Hail Mary exhibit.
There’s a ton of goodies there—really, some of the museum’s best work. The last curator had worked immensely hard trying to acquire a set of items from a lot at an auction, including printed mission reports, photographs of the astronauts, and donated personal items. The real jewel of the exhibit is one of four “beetles” sent back down to Earth. It’s an empty shell now, though it once held a vat of taumoeba packed up straight from Tau Ceti. Across, a tape-label reads: Ringo. John, Paul, and George are all scattered across other larger institutions across the country. You’re very lucky to have Ringo. He’s a real crowd-pleaser.
There are various, different swaths of kids dividing you and your generous visitor, some from the local after-school program and some on family trips. A young boy skids on the floor right at his feet—can’t be older than eight. At once, he takes his hands out of his pockets and rushes to help the boy up onto his feet. Once he turns to guide the boy back towards his parents, you can get a better look at his face. A couple of initial thoughts: kind, handsome, and too familiar. You pretend to tidy up a stack of maps in a nearby information kiosk. But… you realize, eyes darting between Ringo and the generous guest, that there’s something particularly striking about the frames of his glasses. Thin, silver rectangles.
You know who he is. Even if he wears a black NY baseball cap and the plainest of windbreakers and he’s just a little bit grayer than the pictures, you know who he is. You try to suppress the memory of you unpacking the photos of him down in the archives when the museum first received them, fingers grasping the corners, a fluster on your face. From memory, you can recall that in half of the photos, Grace has a sideways grin and a dorky little thumbs-up.
Dr. Ryland Grace is standing in the middle of his own exhibit. There are things you should do—tell the museum director, for starters, that the world’s most known public figure is standing in the middle of your institution. At the least, you should introduce yourself, offer up a guided tour, make a good impression. But, seeing as Dr. Grace looks like he’s about to cry at the sight of his own photographs, you’re not at liberty to bother.
Instead, you watch as Grace walks into a partitioned room—a clean black box with a wide bench in the middle. On the projector, there’s a looped one-hour compilation of various different interviews related to the project. The one on now shows a Chinese man in his mid-forties, sitting on a high stool with one leg crossed over the other. He has a cool sort of look to him, comfortable—not averse to the camera. The speakers echo out: “Your name for the tape?” An interviewer.
The man responds: “Connor Yao.” From behind, you can see Grace’s posture straighten out. Recognition. Maybe you should walk away now, try to give him space. But, you don’t feel right in leaving him be, either. Perhaps, because you know the contents of the interviews, you feel a little guilty in leaving Grace to his own devices. You have a quiet, disconcerting need to watch over him, like some kind of guardian spirit. Half-guilty, you watch the video with him from the hall.
“And can you tell us about your father?” the interviewer asks.
“Sure,” Connor nods, “My father was Yao Li-Jie. He was the assigned commander of the Hail Mary. I was, think, three years old when the Petrova Line was discovered. Eight when the Hail Mary launched.”
“And what do you remember about him?”
“He liked to laugh. A lot. He liked to sing along to the radio when he drove—which my mom only pretended to hate. She was always telling me about how he’d always try to serenade her when they were first going out. I think it was more fun for him than it was for her.” Connor makes himself laugh, makes the interviewer laugh. And, somewhere in between them, you can hear Grace laughing, too. It’s a sweet anecdote. With it, you decide to leave him be.
—
When you return at the end of your shift, you find Grace on the opposite side of the exhibit at another video station. He has his windbreaker off now, revealing the navy-blue knit sweater underneath. Here, there’s an older woman on-camera, tucking her hair back behind her ears. The interviewer tells her: “You can ignore the lens. Treat this like it’s just you and me.” Sara seems to shrug the tension off her shoulders, trying to appear more relaxed. Only half of her nervousness is skimmed off. The interview continues. “Could you tell us a little bit about yourself—your name and why you’re here?”
She responds, “My name is Sara Carter-Yuito. Formerly just Sara Carter.”
“And, Sara, can you tell us what you recall about Dr. Ryland Grace?” You can see Grace straighten up as she speaks, head tilted at the mention of his own name.
On-screen, Sara smiles. “Right. Yeah. I went to Grover Cleveland Middle, so I took Mr. G—Mr. Grace—for Science in the eighth grade. He would do all these really great lesson plans about atoms, thermodynamics, plate tectonics. You know, eighth-grade material. But, he’d always do this really great job of making sure we weren’t zoning out. I’m pretty sure I owe him my PhDs.”
You’ve seen this interview as many times as you have the others. It’s probably one of the most charming of the bunch. Sara Carter-Yuito, Professor of Physics at Whitman College in Washington. Graduated from University of Washington with a B.S. in Biophysics. Then, two PhD’s in Biophysics and Biochemistry. She was born and raised in San Francisco, attended Grover Cleveland Middle and then the high school next door. You wonder if Grace remembers her face—or, at least the youthful, base features of her face that still remain.
Sara continues, “There was this thing he’d do with a hacky sack? Kind of like hot-potato—” Yes, you think, Grace must remember. While Yao had his son, Connor, Grace had a plethora of kids at Grover Cleveland. His kids—all grown up.
And you finally build up enough courage to knock on the pitch-black wall with a gently-spoken: “Sir?”
You can see him turn once, then twice, in a double take to look at you. It’s difficult not to feel too self-conscious, and it appears this sentiment rings strong for the both of you. “Uh… yeah,” Grace blinks in rapid succession, trying to suck a couple tears back into his eyes, "Yes?” He’s probably wondering if you’re going to berate him with a question, or ten, while you, seemingly in your natural habitat—at work, like usual—almost definitely feel like an intruder to his space.
“Dr. Grace?” Saying his name aloud is a regretful thing, and you feel it even more so seeing the way his eyes widen maximally in response to it. “The museum closed about fifteen minutes ago.” You give a quick point with your index finger to the museum ID-card hanging on your lanyard. Grace sighs in relief. Thank God you’re an employee, his polite smile screams.
“This thing’s useless,” Grace says, grabbing his NY cap off the top of his head, and inspecting it with a lightly aggravated eye. You have to stifle your laugh. In truth? It wasn’t very difficult for you to spot him out. But, you’re not in the particular mood to tell him that you think exactly that. Your eye catches on the tinges of silver hair amidst the dark blonde.
Shyly, you tell him, “You were also walking around throwing twenties into our donation boxes. Nobody does that.”
“Caught me.” He stands up, hands wringing against one another. He makes sure to swipe up his windbreaker off the bench and hold it to his waist. “I heard the announcement earlier. Sorry. I’m sure you probably want to go home.”
“No, that’s alright. I stay ‘till close regardless,” you say, “There’s a bit more of the exhibit in the archive not open to the public. If you’d like to see it…” Your voice shrivels into itself. You’re not even sure if it’s a good idea—but all things considered, global hero and all, it almost feels like you have a responsibility to offer this to him. He looks uncomfortable, shifting his weight to either foot, hand constricting around his windbreaker. So, you shoot out a: “You don’t have to—”
“No—I’d like to. I’d love to, actually,” Grace nods.
—
When you bring Grace down into the basement, it feels a lot smaller than you remember. The filing cabinets feel tight, and it’s dead quiet under the low-lights. Grace has his arms tucked behind his back as he watches you slide the metal drawer open and wedge gentle fingers in between the yellow folders. “Grover Cleveland and a couple other schools donated these to us about a decade ago to make room for, like, traffic guard uniforms or something. The museum’s committee had them up for the first couple of weeks of the Hail Mary exhibit, but they took it down to make room for the interviews.”
You pull the closest one out. The handwriting—your handwriting—on the lip of the folder reads: 2022, Grover Cleveland. You surrender it over to Grace in a hurry, fingertips brushing against his in a staggered, jumbling attempt to hand him the file. He opens it with raised eyebrows; there’s about fifty pieces of paper in this bunch, some letters, some art—all grades. Before, Grace might have been able to recognize certain students’ handwriting to a T; he can’t be sure now.
“Wow.” There are some good drawings and some bad; regardless, they seem to fill Grace’s chest with some kind of warmth. “Right. That’s me,” he points to the middle of a sheet. It is him, scribbled messily with splotches of beige and yellow. A formulation of misshapen rectangles that look like glasses. There’s plenty in the folder like that. He flips through a couple more. These are better than any sculpture that he’s ever seen.
You point: “I think that’s you in space. That’s Tau Ceti.” And, again: “There’s Rocky holding… a balloon?”
Grace makes sure to slide this particular pastel drawing out of the folder and tilt it right-side up. “Actually,” he hums, matter-of-factly, “I think that is actually supposed to be the Petrova Line. ‘Cause the red.” You look up at him, and back down at the drawing. Upon closer examination… you can only half-see it. “You’re the expert,” you snort. Too loud. Grace tilts his head at you, hearing you laugh. Thus far, you’ve been sort of reserved. Lightly professional, and heavily timid. It seems like he’s almost pleased to see you so comfortable so easily. You have to focus with your greatest efforts not to look at him. Intently, you point at another one—a long, long-legged Rocky presiding over a very vibrant Earth, like some kind of triumphant god. Maybe symbolic enough for you to say, “That’s a really good one, actually,” though it’s very possibly a distraction on your part. Grace is too close and too observant.
He agrees, “It’s superb. Very… Dalí-esque.” Funny. Is he trying to get you to laugh again?
—
And somehow, within the hour, you find yourself eating dinner in the archives with Ryland Grace, takeout sushi delivered to the employee entrance of the museum. Rule bent, you aren’t supposed to even have food down in the basement—but the occasional exception has to be made. You’re cross-legged on your chair, now, table scattered with drawings, letters, and other collected ephemera—all on him. You’re chowing away at the sashimi, his treat, as he looks through all of the materials. Grace looks so amused, mouth tilting up into a small, contemplative smile, and you have to raise an eyebrow at him. What gives?
He shakes his head rapidly, rasping out a soft, “Sorry. It’s nothing.” He takes his glasses off his face and folds them up, before setting them on the table beside his tray of sushi. “It’s just not how anybody’d expect to spend a Monday night. We’re sitting and eating raw fish over the equivalent of a me-shrine. And you’re…” Grace sucks in a deep breath, before letting out a jumbled, “A very, very cool individual with a very big heart.” What? The compliment makes you smile, but it still feels like it’s only half of what Grace actually wanted to say.
The two of you continue sorting through the materials. Clearly, Grace has a preference towards the art; he seems to arrange them very closely to his right side—and leaves the pictures of himself to the sidelines. He slides one small 5x7” print across the table with a couple of taps. “You know, it seems like you would’ve gotten along with this guy.”
You stare at this photo of a pre-Erid Grace—a yearbook photo cutout. He’s young here, a bit out of his element being photographed. A suit jacket and tie over jeans, very pseudo-professorial. His glasses are close to glinting against the flash, and he has his hands shoved into his front pockets. He’d probably take his students to your museum in the fall on a field trip, and, admittedly, you’d probably find him pretty cute. The Grace before you only seems a little bit older, but when you look at him, there’s still the same quality about him that you’d come to pick up on in his photographs. Still boyish, despite time passing. But, you also know what Grace is trying to say: he’s older than you—technically, a lot older than you, with the time dilation taken into account.
Still, you persist: “I think I am getting along with him.”
It takes a moment for Grace to settle with your words. “Right. I guess you are.”
And, silence. He seems fixated on the photo still. “Do you still feel like you’re up there?” you ask him blankly. “I mean, obviously, you’re back on Earth. You’ve been back. But, I’ve always wondered if your head—and your heart, I guess—would still be…” you direct your index finger up above the two of you. In space.
“Well…? Yes and no. Since I’ve been back, I’ve been treated like the patron saint of space, which I don’t think I am. That title belongs to my Eridian friend here.” He points to a couple of stills from his video logs—Grace on his pilot’s chair, and Rocky with his jagged appendages waving right behind him. “Obvious reasons aside, I wanted to make sure I could know everything was okay here,” Grace explains, “I haven’t always been glad about that decision, but right now, it’s not so bad. Today’s been not so bad.” Though he’s shying away from saying it with words, Grace wants to say you’ve made it not so bad.
“You should take the ones you want. The drawings and the letters, I mean. They’re really yours, when you think about it. They belong to you,” you tell Grace.
He looks apprehensive. “Are you even allowed to give them to me?”
“I can figure something out.” Obviously, you aren’t supposed to just give away archival materials willy-nilly. “Maybe you could… volunteer here. Teach a couple science lessons to the students on weekends. I’m sure the director would consider it a fair trade—and we’d probably get more out of the exchange, qualitatively.” You stand up to gather everything together, hands reaching across the table to collect up the papers and stack them neatly into the closest open folder.
“I beg to differ,” Grace says, “These are priceless. And, teaching is like breathing for me. I’ve basically been hypoxic for the last year.” He huffs, realizing that he might have to cease speaking in code. He corrects, “I’m trying to say that I miss having students, and I think I might take you up on the offer.”
“Okay. Good,” you nod. Mission success.
“Great,” Grace echoes back to you. You come around the short table to hand them to Grace with both hands. His eyes soften as you surrender over the folder to him. You’re trying not to light up at the thought of him swinging by again. It’s not at all for the benefit of the museum programming, even if that is a big bonus. Selfishly, you want to see more of him. Even when gray, he has a sort of undeniable charm to him.
stay close, don't go alone. l Ryland Grace
Ryland Grace x Reader
warnings: lack of sleep is taking its toll on him; angry Rocky; cuddling, some flirting; Reader is in danger; Reader is hurt; Ryland is caring and sweet; Rocky is a menace
note : life on Hail Mary - lack of sleep, danger, but also the need for closeness.
A/N: Nothing special. I had one scene in mind, so I had to write everything around it. I wanted to thank you all because I see you're reading. It means a lot to me. It's hard to get back into writing after a break…
[Ryland Grace masterlist] [main masterlist]
"Grace stupid."
You looked up from your tablet at Rocky, who was shifting restlessly inside his xenonite enclosure. You couldn’t see a face—if he even had one—but his posture made it obvious: he was irritated. Ryland, meanwhile, dragged a hand through his hair, only making it worse. He was clearly sulking.
"Easy, buddy," he muttered, pointing at Rocky before turning to you. "Did you hear what he just called me?"
You pressed your lips together, setting your tablet aside with deliberate care. "Well… Grace, I don’t think he’s entirely wrong."
Ryland threw his hands up. "Wow. Okay. You’re taking his side!"
"You and Rocky alliance. Good. Grace still stupid."
For hours, the lab had been filled with intense work and loud arguments. The experiment they’d been so sure about had failed immediately. Neither of them gave up, of course—just pivoted, recalculated, argued, and tried again.
If not for you, Grace and Rocky would’ve forgotten to eat entirely. And when they ignored you, you had to physically herd them away like stubborn children, promising they could come back once they’d finished their food.
You checked your watch. Nearly sixteen hours. No wonder Grace was getting sloppy. No wonder Rocky was irritated.
"You need to lie down," you said, stepping toward Ryland. "You need sleep."
"I don’t need—"
You took the tools from his hands and pushed his goggles up onto his forehead.
"Don’t argue with me," you said firmly. "Rocky’s right. When you’re tired, you get irritable and act… stupid."
He rolled his eyes but didn’t fight you. "I just want this to work. We’re close. I can feel it. Another hour or two and—"
"And then Armando gets to hook you up to life support? No. You’re done."
Rocky shifted slightly in his enclosure, pretending not to listen, but he failed. "Grace must sleep. You correct. You smarter than Grace."
You bit back a laugh and rested a hand on Ryland’s shoulder before he could respond. The last thing you needed was another argument on the Hail Mary.
"You take Grace to sleep, question? You watch Grace, question?"
That got you thinking. Rocky rarely asked to be replaced while watching Grace—not like this. He must have been in a really bad mood right now.
"I promise," you said gently, tapping the transparent wall. "Everything okay, Rocky?"
"Will be good after Grace sleeps.” But he tapped lightly in return.
You took Ryland’s arm and led him toward the dorm.
"He likes you more than me," Grace muttered, glancing back.
"Don’t be jealous," you said quietly. You knew Rocky could hear every word anyway. And you also knew he’d still be listening.
The dorm lights were dim. Grace kicked off his Converse and set his glasses aside with zero precision. At some point, the two of you had pushed your mattresses together. One was too narrow. Two were better. Safer, and somehow - less lonely.
He collapsed onto the bed with a long sigh. You sat against the wall, picking up a jumpsuit and examining the tear in the sleeve. Quiet work felt right while he rested. Maybe you’d put on an audiobook—there were still so many left in the archive.
"What are you doing?" His voice pulled you out of your thoughts.
"I’ve got a suit to repair," you said, holding it up.
"Don’t be ridiculous. Come here."
"You need sleep."
"Yeah, and how am I supposed to sleep if you’re sitting over there?" He propped himself up, frowning. "It’s bad enough Rocky’s probably still listening, maybe watching too."
You sighed. You weren’t winning this one. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. It’s science. Probably. I mean, there are studies—okay, I don’t remember them exactly, but it sounds like something science would support."
You raised an eyebrow. "That sounds made up."
"It is. But it’s also true."
"...Wow. Okay."
You slipped off your shoes and lay down beside him. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the distant hum of the ship, the faint sounds of the lab far away.
Then—
"I’m really glad you’re here. I mean—not glad you’re on a suicide mission. That part is objectively terrible. But… you being here is not terrible." he said. "I mean—this whole situation sucks, obviously. But… yeah. I’m glad it’s you."
You smiled softly. "I’m glad too. Though I would’ve preferred meeting you under better circumstances. Dinner or something like this, maybe."
Ryland swallowed. "Wait—really? You mean, like… a date?"
"Yes. A date. If you wanted."
"Yes—" he said immediately. Too immediately. Then he froze. "I mean—yes. Hypothetically. In a purely theoretical, post-not-dying scenario—yes."
You laughed. "Good. Then when this is over, that’s the first thing we’re doing."
He smiled, softer now. "Deal," he said, and paused. "That sounded too intense. I didn’t mean it like—okay, I’m going to stop talking now."
Your hand found his, your fingers threading together naturally. "You should be asleep," you murmured.
"Working on it." Grace yawned, his eyes already slipping shut. "My brain is currently running three parallel processes," he muttered. "One is exhausted, one is trying to solve the experiment, and one is… this." He gestured vaguely between you. "This one is the least efficient."
You smiled softly. "And which one is winning?"
"None," he mumbled. "Total system failure imminent."
You let out a quiet breath, your thumb brushing lightly against his hand.
"Dr. Grace," you said softly, "I once read a study that said hugging reduces stress. Don’t you think that, combined with your current research, we might—"
"I think that’s an excellent idea," he murmured, cutting in before you could finish. "Groundbreaking. Nobel Prize. Minimum."
His voice faded at the edges, words blurring as sleep caught up with him. You shifted closer, careful, resting lightly against him. For a second, he went still—just for a second— then relaxed. His breathing slowed, evening out, steady and warm beneath your cheek. You stayed like that, listening. It wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t what you would have chosen. But it was good. Somehow.
Rocky was already waiting when you stepped back into the lab. "Grace sleep efficiency improved, question."
You blinked. “Yes?"
"Good. Rocky observations confirm."
Ryland groaned behind you. "Oh no. What did you observe?"
"Heart rate lower. Breathing stable. Grace not stupid during sleep."
You pressed your lips together. "Rocky—"
"Also," he added, "proximity to you increases Grace survival probability."
Ryland froze. "I—what?"
"Conclusion: you stay close to Grace. For science." A pause. "Rocky approve."
Ryland buried his face in his hands. "I’m never going to recover from this."
++++++
"How are you doing?"
Ryland’s voice came through the intercom in your helmet.
"She fine. Question." Rocky said from somewhere in the background.
"It’s fine, Rocky. One more spot and I’m done," you replied.
You clipped yourself to the railing and moved along the Hail Mary’s hull. The damage wasn’t severe, but it needed fixing. The welder Rocky had modified worked perfectly, sealing the hull faster than expected.
Even before you left the airlock, you had to deal with Grace. He didn’t like you going out alone — it made him anxious.
"I’ll be fine," you had told him, pulling on your suit. "Eat something. Get some rest. I know what I’m doing."
"I know," he muttered, adjusting his glasses. "I just— I worry, okay? You’re— I mean, you matter. To the mission. And— just— don’t die, okay?"
"Okay," you smiled, squeezing his shoulder. "Two hours. I’ll be back."
He nodded, but it didn’t really reassure him.
"How are you doing?" he asked again now, over the intercom. "Not trying to be pushy. Rocky’s worried."
"Rocky is not worried. She knows what she is doing. Smarter than Grace."
You smiled. "A few more minutes. What if—"
The ship jolted. The welder slipped from your grip, but you caught it just in time. Another jolt.
"Something’s wrong with the engine— I think it’s a short— I’m fixing it— just— hold on— are you there? Can you hear me?"
"I am, just—"
The next pull yanked you off the railing. The tether snapped tight, then recoiled like a whip, slamming you into the hull. Your head slammed into the helmet. A dull crack echoed in your ears. The air punched out of your lungs — nothing left, just panic and silence.
"Grace! She needs help. Grace! Focus. Fix engine. Now."
You couldn’t answer. Everything spun.
"Are you there? Can you hear me? Say something— please."
"Quick, quick, quick."
Warmth spread across your lips. Metallic. Blood. Your fingers tightened around the welder pressed to your chest as another violent tug shook you. You grabbed the railing again, pain shooting through your arm.
"She there. Time critical. Grace, take her."
The buzzing in your head grew louder. Nausea rolled through you. You clung to the railing, your only anchor. Your vision dimmed.
You were lying on something soft.
"Eye movement detected."
You tried to move, but a hand caught yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles before he let go — like he wasn’t sure he should. He pulled back a little too quickly.
"Hey. Easy."
Ryland.
You opened your eyes briefly — too bright — then shut them again.
"You had a minor concussion," he said, voice quieter now. "Some bruising. You’re okay. Medical system patched you up. You scared us."
"You came for me?" you whispered.
"Of course I did," he said immediately. "Statistically, you’re my favorite person."
"There are no other people here, Grace," Rocky pointed out.
Your lips twitched. You touched your head and felt the bandage under your fingers.
"You should lie down," Ryland said.
"You’re not that kind of doctor."
"Still counts. You’re concussed. You don’t get opinions."
You let out a weak breath that might have been a laugh. "You look tired."
"I’m not," he said quickly. "I’ll stay."
And he did.
When you woke again, hours had passed. Grace didn’t mean to fall asleep, his hand was still loosely wrapped around yours. Rocky watched over both of you.
Later, you managed to sit up. Then stand.
"I didn’t thank you," you said quietly as Ryland steadied you. "You saved me."
"You’d have done the same," he replied, watching you carefully. You scared us." He paused „You scared me."
"I’m sorry."
"Don’t be. Just— next time, you’re staying inside."
Two days later, you were moving on your own again — though neither of them let you do any real work. After you failed to complete your work outside the ship, someone had to do it. The choice wasn't difficult, or rather, you no longer had a say.
"Grace worried. Very, very, very," Rocky said.
"I know," you replied, watching Ryland on the screen outside. "He’s nice, isn’t he?"
"Grace heart rate changes when you speak."
You smiled faintly. "I like him too. And I like you too, Rocky."
"Grace observes you. Often. When you not looking."
"Rocky— stop." You felt yourself blushing and a strange shiver ran down your neck.
"Why stop? This is data."
You blinked. You looked up from the screen and looked at your friend. "What? No — we’re just friends."
"Grace looks at you differently. You look at him that way also. Grace very worried."
You glanced back at the screen, Grace still working. You knew you would have followed him without hesitation, whether his life was in danger or he suddenly decided to fly to the other side of the universe.
"It’s complicated," you said softly. "Humans are complicated."
A click.
"I’m done," Ryland’s voice came through the radio. "Heading back."
"I’m waiting for you. Be careful."
You saw the thumbs-up and smiled. You didn’t see it — the way he smiled, just for a second.
The airlock hissed open. You were already there waiting for him to help him with the suit. Ryland stepped inside, pulling off his helmet too fast, eyes finding you immediately.
"Hey," he said, a little breathless.
"Hey."
He crossed the distance without thinking. He ignored your hands that were waiting to take the helmet from him and threw it to the ground. "Don't do that again, don't go out there alone." he said quietly. "Please."
"I’ll try."
"That’s not—" he stopped, exhaled. "Okay. Fine."
His hand found yours, like it had before — but this time he didn’t hesitate.
“I thought I lost you,” he whispered. “When I came back for you… I’ll never forget it. And being there now, I kept thinking about it.”
“You didn’t lose me, Grace.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I didn’t.”
But he didn’t move away, not even a little. You were standing too close now. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slower, more deliberate. The look in his eyes was different than usual.
Your lips. Your eyes. Back again. Something shifted.
"Grace. Heart rate elevated."
Neither of you reacted.
"Significant. Cause: you."
You let out a soft breath, but neither of you pulled away. Ryland leaned in, closer. Close enough that you could feel his breath, uneven and warm. He hesitated— just for a fraction of a second— like he was giving himself one last chance to stop.
"Data indicates—"
Ryland closed the distance. The kiss was soft and careful. A little unsure at first — like he wasn’t entirely convinced this was real. Then his hand tightened slightly around yours, and something in him settled, and it was real. You touched his cheek gently, feeling his soft stubble under your fingers.
"—contact established," Rocky finished.
Ryland pulled back enough to look at you. His blue eyes were wide, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just done.
"…Okay," he breathed.
A beat of your heart.
"Statistically," he added quietly, "that was a good decision."
You laughed softly, and then he smiled – gently, a little crooked, but completely sincere. And this time, when he leaned in again, he didn't hesitate.
When everything around you was so crazy and dangerous, when you lived with the feeling that the end might soon come – this closeness was what you craved. What you deserved. What you wanted to wrest from fate together.
And it felt good.
thank you for reading <3
World Book Day!
Eeee more Ryland for you!! Had this idea in my head since seeing someone on tiktok dressing up as the princess and the pea!
Warnings: teacher!reader, female reader, “Miss” is used, fluff fluff fluff, gets a little steamy at the end but I can’t help it!!
——————————————————-
One of your favourite days of the school year. World Book Day. Kids got to dress up as their favourite book character and do a little reading on why. Teachers got to participate this year, which was extra fun.
You’d been a middle school English teacher for about a year now, settling in down the hall from Mrs Martha James and Mr Scott Adams, who were both lovely. It was by chance that you bumped into Dr Ryland Grace. During your first week, Noah’s dad came in with his lunchbox, interrupting your little tea break in the staff room. “I’m so sorry, Miss (L/n), we were late to school as it is”, he said.
You gave him a reassuring smile and took it off him, “No problem, I’ll go give it to him now” Noah’s dad nodded and thanked you before walking back down the hallway and out past the office. You sighed to yourself. “Right, Noah, where are you?”
After searching through all your schedules and calendars, physical ones and the online ones, you couldn’t find Noah’s schedule anywhere. Hence, you poked your head into Mrs James' classes, “hi, sorry”, you said, ducking as you walked in. The kids were doing some silent reading, but all looked up at you with curious eyes. You leaned over Mrs James' desk “You don’t happen to know where Noah S. might be right now? Lunchbox delivery”
Mrs James was newly pregnant. You’d actually become good friends in the week you’d been here. She was about your age, but had a high school sweetheart, which was why she was married. She typed away on her laptop and then turned it to show you the screen. “He should be with Dr Grace. Do you know where his classroom is?” She pointed at the screen showing you. This new system confused you; your old school used something else entirely. You thought for a moment, Dr Grace? You’ve never come across him, not even in the staff room. Mrs James stood, “Kids”, she clapped. “Five more minutes of reading and then we can continue, Miss Taylor, watch them for me”, she nodded to her teaching assistant, who winked back. “Come”, she smiled.
You followed Mrs James down a few halls while she told you about Dr Grace, he’d been here a while, turns up early on a bike and leaves late, doesn’t really come to the staff room unless he’s out of sugar for his coffee, apparently the teachers think he’s either married or single, single because no ring but this is the behaviour of a married male teacher. But she gushed about him, “Oh, the kids love him! And apparently some of the ta’s, but I don’t see it? Maybe because I’m married”, she trailed off.
In the science wing, she stopped and pointed, “Second door on the left” She smiled and turned, heels clicking down the hallway. You stood still; it wasn’t like you to be nervous, but you could hear a male voice faintly through the walls. You looked over Noah’s lunchbox, stickers of Transformers littered on it. You took a deep breath and drifted towards the door; two knocks, and you opened it.
Some kids perked up, “Miss (L/n)!” They whispered. You shhh’ed them. Dr Grace was standing at the front of the class, showing a diagram of some plant cells, which was covered in projector lights, not doing you much justice.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt, Dr Grace. I have Noah’s lunchbox; his father brought it in” You smiled towards Noah, a sweet kid; he jumped up.
“Wait!”
A small green sack flew towards Noah, and he caught it surprisingly well. Dr Grace moved out from the projector lights, giving you a proper look at him. Oh, you see what these teaching assistants are on about. Dirty blonde, short stubble, glasses hanging from his ear, resting on his chin and beautiful blue eyes. He was wearing a grey suit, a duck egg blue shirt, and a red tie. He was leaning back on a table, looking right back at you.
“Noah, roughly how long does it take for the sun's light to reach Earth?”
“8 hours?” The kid said.
Dr Grace's head dropped. He chuckled, “No, toss it back, get your lunchbox” Noah tossed the sack back and left his chair with a squeak. He thanked you for his lunch box.
“Miss (L/n)”
You brought your attention back to Dr Grace, who was motioning to him, throwing you the sack. You opened your hands, and he gently tossed it to you. The kids were watching eagerly.
“Which Apollo moon mission was the first to carry a lunar rover?”
He smiled so endearingly. It’s been years since even the thought of being attracted to someone crossed your mind. You were so focused on school and teaching. Well, if you’re going to do this, may as well try to impress him. You secretly hope he is actually single and not secretly married.
“Uh, Apollo 15”, tossing back the sack, it hit in the square in the chest with an ‘oof’. With that, you winked at him and quickly waltzed out the door.
He stood there for a while, smiling to himself. He hadn’t met the new teacher, but he heard of her. Mrs James caught him in the hallway once when he was opening his classroom “Oh, Dr Grace, you really must say hello, she’s such a pretty thing” She was right.
“Wow, Miss (L/n) is smart”, whispered the kids.
Which brings you to now. You’re sitting in your car outside your apartment, double-checking that it is World Book Day. The weather is dreadful, you’ve never seen rain like this, it’s almost hailing. Your book, tucked neatly in your tote bag, is The Princess and the Pea. Dr Grace had kindly lent you his green sack as the pea. You are dressed in blue check pyjama pants, a pink princess dress with milkmaid sleeves and a tiara. You would’ve worn the dress on its own, but it’s a school. And what’s more fun than wearing pyjamas?
Oh, Dr Grace. He’s going to be soaking. You tap your steering wheel thoughtfully. You fish your phone out of your tote bag and find his contact. “Dr Grace 🧪”, he’d labelled himself as. The only message history was general questions about school days off and teachers' meetings.
“Fuck it”
You pressed call. You sat, listening to the pounding rain, as your phone rang. You wondered if this was a message from a higher-up. Don’t go to school as a princess, no other teachers will be dressed up! It whispered.
“Uh, hello?” A voice came through the phone, you jumped, and I put it to your ear.
“Oh, Dr Grace! It’s (Y/n) I was just wonde-“
“Ryland”, he said.
“I’m sorry?” God had you offended him? Was calling him like this a bit unprofessional? Did you scare him off?
“I asked you to call me Ryland, and you still call me Dr Grace”, he mused.
“Right, sorry.” You tapped your foot on the accelerator pedal of your car, hearing her hum. “Look, it’s pouring down, and I’m just down the road from you. I was wondering if you wanted me to pick you up for work?” It was bold for sure.
“No, no! I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way,” he said.
Slightly deflated, you thought for a second. “Can I bribe you with coffee?”
“Deal.” He said quickly. You giggled, telling him you’d be there in 5.
Pulling up on what you think is the right road, you set your car into park and start moving your tote bag into the back seat. It was still hammering it down. Fuck. You just realised what you’d done. You were dressed as a princess, with a pea. See, when you asked Ryland for the green sack, you didn’t specify what for. You groaned and hit your forehead on the wheel. He’s so going to laugh at you.
The car door opening made you jump. And in slid Dr Grace. Who was dressed differently? He put his book bag in the footwell of your car, and you both stared at each other. He was wearing smart olive-green pants, a pale green shirt, a knitted olive jumper, and a green headband with eyes on it.
“You’re a princess?” He chuckled.
You blushed deeply and rolled your eyes. “Well, it’s better than… whatever you are!” You laughed.
He scoffed and pretended to look offended. “I’ll have you know I am a frog!”
You both laughed. “From what book?”
You watched as he reached into the footwell, rummaging through his bag for his book. He pulled it out and handed it to you. It was a book version of Disney’s The Princess and the Frog. “See, I am the frog”, he said, pointing to it.
You blushed even deeper now, peering up at him through your eyelashes. He knotted his eyebrows together in confusion, and then you watched, seeing the cogs in his brain turning. A deep flush settled on his cheeks, and you think he got it.
You were the princess. And he is the frog.
The turnout at school was better than you expected. Kids in comic book character outfits, and most teachers were dressed up this year. Before the kids settled in, you rushed in to see Mrs James. She was dressed as a tiger, a very pregnant one. Her favourite book was The Tiger That Came To Tea.
“You set me up!” You whisper-yell. She was sitting at her desk, nibbling on some toast. She was nearly crying from laughing so much.
“You’ve seen him then”, she said once calmed down, wiping her eyes.
“Seen him! Martha, I gave him a ride to school!” She belted out laughing, and now you were holding your head in your hands.
She rubbed her belly as she took in some breaths to help her stop laughing. “Listen, it’s time you did something about those longing looks”, you tutted and rolled your eyes. “I’ve seen it! He never used to come to the staff room, but now there he is! Cuddled up next to you,” She wasn’t lying.
You two often shared a sandwich or some toast during morning break, and you felt comfortable with him. He was always close, knees touching or shoulders touching. You’d always told yourself it was because the staff room was small, he didn’t have anywhere else to sit! But then he started bringing you coffee, in front of everyone, asking how many sugars, making it right in the staff room in your favourite mug, and bringing it to you with a soft smile.
The rest of the day went quickly. Kids usually can’t settle on a day like this, so teachers do small, fun tasks instead of actual work. The bell rang for the end of the day, and the room turned into a tornado of young fairies and superheroes running out the door.
“Knock knock.” Ryland was leaning in the doorway of your classroom. Halfway through the day, you realised that since picking him up, he didn’t have his bike to get home. So you could only offer to take him home.
“Ribbit”, you playfully said back. You slung your tote bag over your shoulder and faced him. He looked different. There was a look in his eye. Mischievous. More sure of himself, almost.
The ride back was filled with general work talk, how Mrs James was getting along with her pregnancy, what kids are causing you grief, etc. The rain had cleared up, but because it was winter, the sun was slowly setting.
“Listen about today”, Ryland started. Oh no, he was going to have this dreadful talk with you about how you’ve gone too far and embarrassed him, he’s married, of course, and you shouldn’t have overstepped that boundary-
“I’m sorry, " you cut him off. Focusing on parking. After you parked, you unbuckled your seatbelt and looked at him. “I understand today may have crossed a professional boundary, I may have voiced a silly schoolgirl crush to Mrs James about you and totally embarrassed myself-“
“No, (Y/n)-”
“Mrs James played along and maybe pushed too far-“
“(Y/n) stop.” He took your hands in his, causing you to fall silent. You met his eyes, and he looked bashful. “I may have asked Mrs James to set this up.” Your jaw dropped, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “How could I not, you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever met, and since working with you I’ve just….come to like you a lot more than friends.”
He whispered the last part. You were blushing deeply. This man, whom nearly every teacher’s assistant has had a crush on, has gravitated towards you. “Well”, you started. “I may or may not have a little crush on you” you blushed and looked away.
He chuckled. “Well, that’s good to know.” He squeezed your hand.
You both sat there a while. Holding hands and sharing looks. There was a slight patter of rain now, the sunset turning the sky completely orange, casting a golden light onto Ryland's face. “Can I ask you something?” He spoke.
You nodded. “Since I’m a frog”, he sat up now, pointing to himself. “And you’re a princess”, you nodded again. “I was wondering if you would be so kind as to turn me into a prince?”
You blinked. A prince? You studied his face to get any clues as to what he was talking about, and it was only when a deep flush settled on his face that it clicked. Of course. His book. In The Princess and the Frog, she has to kiss him for him to become a prince.
You leaned in towards him, your hand freeing from him and reaching towards his knitted jumper. Ryland watched with his mouth slightly open as your fingers curled around his jumper and pulled him closer.
Your lips ghosted his, and then you planted a soft kiss. It started softly at first. A small peck. Your eyes fluttered closed when you felt his hand settle on your jaw, deepening the kiss. Your hand reached up and settled on the back of his neck, feeling his soft hair. You tested the waters by opening your mouth a bit more, letting his tongue in. It was slow and sloppy. He made a noise, you barely caught it, and he pulled you away.
He was a vision. His eyes were blown, deep pink settled in his cheeks, and your lipstick smudged all around his mouth. His forearm was awkwardly pressed into his lap, and you realise what the noise was about. “I need to take you on a date.” He spoke. “I can’t be doing that before I date you, " he looked out the window now, shaking his head and laughing.
You giggled and started using your thumb to wipe off the lipstick around his face “Doing what?”
“You got me a bit excited there.” His voice was now gravely.
Your heart fluttered. You didn’t dare meet his eyes; you knew exactly what he meant. It was strange hearing it from him. This charming gentleman, who flirted with you through corny science jokes, had a hard-on. And you liked it. More than you expect. He leaned over and kissed your cheek. “Let me take you on a date. A proper one”
“Okay, handsome, when?” You met his blue orbs with a smile. And it was his turn to blush now.
“I’ll FaceTime you later, and we can set a date?” It was more of a question; he was rummaging around in the footwell now, grabbing his books and bag. You nodded, feeling excited but slightly sad he was going.
He stepped out of the car, and you watched him wave as he walked up the steps to his apartment. You sat there with your foot on the brake, feeling like a little girl again. Before you could pull off, you saw a blur of green running around the back of the car. Ryland was standing at your window, asking you to roll it down.
You slid down the window and spoke, “What are you do-“
Before you could finish, he cupped your face with his hands and brought his lips to yours. Sparkles flew as he sloppily kissed you, hands running through your hair. You savoured him as if you couldn’t get enough.
He broke off the kiss and grinned, “Sorry, princess, I had to! I’ll phone you later for the date!” He left you nearly bright purple in the car seat. Giggling as he ran up his apartment stairs. Ryland Grace was taking you on a date. Thank you, Mrs James!!
"Most people are lucky to have even one great love in their life. You have found two".
Characters belongs:
@cassandraclare
I couldn't finish this piece for William's birthday. But I'm very happy to have it to start the year, I hope you like it ☺️🩵
hope in this void is graceful and as steady as a rock
I‘m soo haydove pilled right now it‘s crazy ☀️
seeing a movie with actual colour again is so refreshing omfg. lionsgate i owe you my life
