pairing: Ryland Grace x afab!reader
description: rylandâs been gone for almost 22 years. From saving earth to saving Erid, he felt as if it was time to finally go back home. Back to you.
warnings: insane amount of angst..my bad. a bit of fluff at the end but genuinely most of this is just me crying and feeling like breaking everyoneâs hearts.
authors note: cough. i haveâŠno words. this is so long. and so sad. BUT WOOO HAPPY ENDING (sortve..) Thank you all for the love youâve given this story, i appreciate it so much.
Waiting was worse than mourning.
At least mourning had an end point, something solid to hold onto, even if it hurt. There was a kind of structure to it. A routine. You learned how to wake up, how to breathe, how to exist around the absence.
Because now there was something on the other side of it.
I stood in the kitchen, staring at the coffee maker like it had personally wronged me. It had been six months. Six months since I watched the last video. Six months since I heard him say it..âIâm coming homeâ. Six months of checking every news update, every official statement, every tiny scrap of information released to the public like it wasnât the only thing keeping me sane.
âCool,â I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. âThatâs fine. Totally fine. I love not knowing anything. Huge fan of it, actually.â
âDonât start with me.â
Silence. Then, with a quiet click, it finished brewing. I exhaled, grabbing the mug, his mug, still chipped at the rim, and leaned against the counter.
Wake up. Check for updates. Pretend to function like a normal human being. Check again. Try not to spiral. Fail. Repeat.
They wouldnât tell me anything.
Not really. Just vague, carefully worded statements from people who clearly knew more than they were saying.
Progress is being monitored. All available data is under review. No confirmed timeline at this stage.
Because somewhere in all of that, He was either getting closer, or he wasnât. And I had no way of knowing which.
I took a sip of the coffee and immediately winced.
âStill terrible,â I muttered. âYouâd hate it.â The words slipped out so easily now.
Talking to him. Like he could hear me. Like maybe, somehow, he would.
I pushed off the counter, pacing the length of the kitchen, the same path Iâd worn into the floor over the past few months.
âYou said you were coming home,â I said under my breath. âThat wasnât a metaphor, right? Because Iâm taking that very literally.â
My chest tightened, but not like before.
âYou donât get to say that and then just, what, take your time?â I continued, a nervous edge creeping into my voice. âNo, absolutely not. Iâve already done the whole waiting thing. Iâm actually very experienced in that area, and I would like to formally resign.â I huffed out a breath, stopping in the middle of the room. Silence answered me.
But now⊠It felt temporary. My gaze drifted toward the living room. Toward the couch.
Toward the spot where Iâd sat, over and over again, watching every single video heâd left behind. I could still hear his voice if I tried hard enough.
My grip tightened around the mug.
âYou better be,â I whispered.
âIâm still here.â The words settled into the room, soft but certain. Not broken. Not lost.
And this time..It wasnât endless.
It happened at 2:17 a.m. Of course it did. Nothing life-changing ever happened at a reasonable hour. My phone rang onceâŠ.then again.
I was already awake, waiting had ruined sleep for me, turned it into something shallow and fragile. So when the screen lit up on my nightstand, I grabbed it before the second ring could finish.
Unknown number. My stomach dropped.
âHello?â My voice came out rough, uneven.
âIs thisââ the voice on the other end hesitated, then confirmed my name. âThis is Dr. Alvarez with mission operations. We need you to come in. Immediately.â My heart slammed against my ribs.
âWhy?â I asked, already throwing the blankets off, already standing.
Then.. âWeâve received something.â
Everything in me went still. âSomething?â I repeated. Another pause. Careful. Controlled.
âAn object has entered Earthâs atmosphere. It matches the projected trajectory.â
I didnât remember ending the call.
Streetlights smeared together, red lights ignored, my hands gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles ached. Every thought crashed into the next, too fast to hold onto.
Itâs him. It has to be him.
He said he was coming home.
By the time I reached the facility, I was shaking.
Someone met me at the entranceâbadge, clipboard, the kind of calm that only made everything feel worse. âThis way,â they said quickly.
I didnât ask questions. I couldnât.
They led me through hallways I barely registered, into a room filled with screens, data scrolling, voices overlapping, tension so thick it felt like it had weight.
âStatus?â someone called.
âObject has landed. Recovery team is en route.â
Landed. My breath caught.
âWhere?â I asked, my voice too loud, too sharp. A few heads turned. Dr. Alvarez stepped closer, expression tight. âPacific. Coordinates are still being confirmed.â Ocean. Okay.
That wasâ âIs he..â My voice faltered. âIs there a signal? Anything?â
âWe donât know yet,â Alvarez said carefully. But I wasnât listening anymore. My eyes were locked on the largest screen in the room, a live feed flickering to life. Dark water. Search lights cutting across the surface. Helicopter blades roaring somewhere overhead.
âRecovery team approaching object,â a voice narrated. My pulse was deafening. A shape emerged from the darkness. Metal. Damaged. Scorched. But intact. âOh my god,â I breathed. âThatâs it,â someone said. âThatâs the return craft.â Return craft.
My hands flew to my mouth, tears already spilling over before I could stop them. âHe made it,â I whispered, shaking. âHe made it..â
âStand by,â another voice cut in. âThermal scan in progress.â I barely heard it. I couldnât look away.
The camera zoomed closer. Closer. The surface of the craft was scarred, burned from reentry, but there, near the side, A hatch.
âThermal scan complete,â someone said.
âNo heat signatures detected.â Everything stopped. âWhat?â I said, too quickly. âNo, run it again. That has to be wrong.â âRe-running.â
My chest tightened, breath coming faster. âThatâs him,â I insisted, stepping forward. âThatâs his ship. Heâs in there. He has to be.â
âSecond scan confirms,â the voice said, quieter this time. âNo internal heat signatures.â
âNo,â I said again, shaking my head. âNo, that doesnât make any sense. He wouldnât..he said he was coming home, he wouldnât justââ No one answered me.
On the screen, the recovery team reached the craft. One of them moved toward the hatch.âPreparing to open.â My entire body felt like it was about to collapse in on itself. âPlease,â I whispered. I didnât even know who I was talking to anymore. âPlease.â
The hatch released with a hiss. It opened slowly. Darkness inside. A light was shined in. I leaned forward, like I could see better if I just got closer, like I could will him into existence. âInterior isââ the voice faltered.
I didnât remember falling. But suddenly I was on the floor. Someone was saying my name. Someone else was trying to help me up.
âNo,â I whispered, my voice hollow. âNo, thatâs not- no, youâre wrong, you have to be wrong!â But the screen didnât change. The ship was there. Open. And empty. A broken sound tore out of me before I could stop it. âHe said he was coming home,â I choked. âHe said..â My chest felt like it was caving in, like all the air had been ripped out at once. âI believed him,â I whispered.
Silence swallowed the room again. Heavy. Crushing.
Until.. âWait.â The word cut through everything. Sharp. Urgent.
I froze. âWhat?â someone asked.
âThereâs another signal,â a technician said, eyes locked on their screen. âFaint, but, itâs not coming from the craft.â My head snapped up. âWhat do you mean?â Alvarez demanded.
The technician swallowed. âItâs further out. Same general trajectory butââ they hesitated, then said it, ââit looks like a second object.â My heart slammed painfully back to life âSecondâŠ?â I breathed.
On the main screen, the feed shifted, coordinates updating, the camera panning back out over the dark ocean.
âTrying to get a visual now,â the technician said. The room held its breath. So did I. The room didnât breathe. No one moved. Every screen was locked onto the same patch of dark, endless ocean as the coordinates recalibrated.
âVisual incoming,â the technician said, voice tight. Static flickered.
Then..something small broke the surface. Not like the first craft. Not large. Not damaged in the same way. A capsule. My heart slammed so hard it hurt. âThatâs not the same object,â someone said quickly. âItâs smaller, way smaller.â âZoom in,â Alvarez snapped. The image sharpened.
Metal. Scorched from reentry, but intact. A compact, narrow capsule rocking against the waves, half-submerged but holding.
âThermal scan,â I said, barely recognizing my own voice. They were already running it. Those few seconds stretched into something unbearable.
I couldnât blink. Couldnât breathe.
âThermal signature detected.â Everything in me stopped. âRepeat that,â Alvarez said. âConfirmed,â the technician said, louder now. âOne heat signature. Inside the capsule.â
A sob broke out of me before I could stop it, sharp, disbelieving, my hands flying back over my mouth. âHeâs in there,â I choked. âHeâs..heâs in there.â
âRecovery team, redirect immediately,â Alvarez ordered. âNew coordinates transmitting now.â On the screen, the helicopters shifted, cutting across the dark water toward the smaller capsule.
Closer. I couldnât feel my legs anymore.
Someone was saying something to me, asking if I needed to sit, but I shook them off, eyes locked on the screen like if I looked away, it would disappear. It had to be him. It had to be.
A decoy? A sacrifice? Something heâd used to..
My thoughts spiraled, too fast to follow.
All that mattered was, he was alive.
The search lights found the capsule, flooding it in harsh white. It bobbed in the waves, small and fragile against the vast ocean, but it held.
âApproaching now,â a voice said.
A diver dropped first. Then another.
The camera shook as they moved in, hands gripping the sides of the capsule, securing it. âPreparing to open,â came the call.
âCareful,â someone added. âWe donât know what conditionâ âI know,â the diver snapped. âJust stand by.â The hatch was smaller than the first one. Tighter. It took longer. Every second scraped against my nerves. âHatch is sealed tight,â the diver said. âLooks like manual override from the inside.â
My breath caught. From the inside.
âHe got himself here,â I whispered. âHe made it.âMetal groaned. Then, a sharp hiss. The hatch gave. Slowly, carefully, they pulled it open. Darkness inside. A light cut through it. I leaned forward, my entire world narrowing to that single moment. âContact,â the diver said. My heart stopped. âHeâs..heâs here. Heâs alive.â
Everything broke at once. A sob ripped out of me, my knees giving out again, but this time, I didnât feel the ground the same way. Didnât feel the collapse.
âHeâs conscious,â the diver added quickly. âBarely, but, heâs responsive.â A broken laugh escaped me through the tears. âOf course he is,â I gasped. On the screen, they carefully pulled him from the capsule. For a second, it didnât feel real. Too thin. Too pale. Wrapped in something I didnât recognize, his body limp as they lifted him.
âRyland Grace is confirmed,â someone said behind me. The name hit me like a shockwave. Not a memory. Not a recording.
âHeâs alive.â I pressed my hands to my mouth, shaking so hard I could barely stay upright. On the screen, his head shifted slightly. Just enough. Just enough to prove it wasnât a dream. And then..his eyes opened. Only for a second. But I saw it. âDid you see that?â I cried, half-laughing, half-sobbing. âHe- his eyes-â
They were all watching. Just like me.
Like the entire world had narrowed down to this one impossible, fragile miracle. âTheyâre bringing him in,â Alvarez said, softer now. âMedical is standing by.â I barely heard it. Because I couldnât stop staring. âYou made it,â I whispered, tears falling freely now. âYou actually made it.â My voice broke completely on the last word. âIâm here,â I added, like he could somehow hear me across the distance. âIâm still here.â
On the screen, they secured him, lifting him carefully toward the helicopter. Alive. And this time, he wasnât out of reach anymore.
The helicopter blades were already spinning when they rushed me out onto the pad. The cold air whipped around me, loud, disorienting, but none of it felt real. Not the lights. Not the people. Not the rush of movement. Only one thing did.
âETA?â I shouted over the noise as someone helped me into the seat. âForty minutes,â the pilot called back. Forty minutes. My hands clenched in my lap. That was nothing. That was everything.
I couldnât sit still. My leg bounced uncontrollably, my fingers twisting together so tightly they hurt. Every second stretched, warped, dragged itself out like it was doing it on purpose.
âWhatâs his condition?â I asked, louder than I meant to. A medic across from me glanced up from a tablet. âSevere dehydration. Muscle atrophy. Likely prolonged stress exposure,â they said. âBut he was conscious on retrieval. Thatâs a very good sign.â
âDid he say anything?â I asked. The medic hesitated. âNot that we have recorded yet. He was in and out.â I nodded, even though it didnât help. I stared at the floor for a second.
âDid he ask for anyone?â The question slipped out before I could stop it. The medic looked at me, something softer in their expression now. âWe donât know,â they said gently. âBut⊠heâs coming back to a world that knows heâs here.â
That wasnât what I meant. But I nodded anyway.
The helicopter ride felt endless. Too loud. Too slow. Too far. I kept replaying the footage in my head. The hatch opening. His face. The way his eyes had barely flickered open. Heâs alive.
Every time that thought hit, it felt unreal all over again. Like I might wake up and lose it. Like this was just another cruel almost. My nails dug into my palms. âNo,â I whispered under my breath. âNo, this is real. Heâs here. Heâs here.â
Like I was anchoring myself to it.
When we landed, I was out before the helicopter fully settled. âMaâam-â someone called after me, but I was already moving, already running toward the building lit up ahead. Bright lights. Open doors. People rushing in and out. Controlled chaos.
âRyland Grace,â I said to the first person I saw, breathless. âWhere is he?â They blinked, startled.âLevel three..medicalââ
The hallway blurred as I ran. My footsteps echoed too loudly, my breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts I couldnât control.
Every step brought me closer. Closer than Iâd been in years. Closer than I ever thought Iâd be again. My hand hit the door to the medical wing hard enough that it slammed open. People turned. Voices started. I ignored all of it.
âWhere is he?â I demanded.
A nurse stepped forward, trying to intercept me.âYou canât justâ!â âPlease,â I said, the word breaking apart in my chest. âPlease. I need to see him.â Something in my voice mustâve gotten through, because the resistance softened. Just a little. âHeâs in stabilization,â she said carefully. âTheyâre still working on him.â
âI donât care,â I whispered. âIâve waited long enough.â A pause.
ââŠRoom 7.â I didnât say thank you. I couldnât. I was already moving again.
The door to Room 7 stood at the end of the hall.
Everything in me slowed as I approached it. My steps. My breathing. My heartbeat. No..not slowed. Louder. So loud I could barely hear anything else. He was on the other side of that door. Not a screen. Not a memory. Not a voice in a recording.
Him. My hand lifted, hovered over the handle, shaking. For a second, I couldnât do it. Because the moment I opened that door, Everything would change. The waiting would be over. The not knowing. The distance.
My breath caught. Then, as quiet as ever, âIâm here.â And I pushed the door open. The room was too bright. That was the first thing I noticed. Harsh white lights, machines humming softly, voices low and clinical as people moved around the bed.
My breath caught. He was there.
Still. Pale. Smaller than I remembered, like the years had worn him down to something fragile, but it was him. Undeniably him. Wires ran from his arms, monitors blinking steadily beside him, a slow, rhythmic beeping filling the space.
But not awake. Something in my chest cracked.
All that distance, all that waiting, and now that I was here, I didnât know how to move. Then I took one step forward. Then another. No one stopped me. Maybe they understood. Maybe they could see that nothing was going to keep me away now.
âRyland,â I said, my voice breaking on his name. It sounded too loud in the quiet room. Too small at the same time.
No response. Of course not. He was unconscious. They said heâd been in and out, but still I moved closer, my hands trembling at my sides.âIâm here,â I whispered. The words barely made it out. My vision blurred again, tears spilling over before I could stop them.
âYou said you were coming home,â I choked. âYou-..you actually did it, you idiot.â A broken laugh slipped through the sob that followed. âI canât believe you actually did it.â My knees gave out beside the bed, my hand gripping the edge of it just to stay upright.
âI waited,â I said, the words tumbling out now, years of them all at once. âI waited for you. I didnât- I didnât move on, I didnât leave, I just..I stayed, I stayed right where you left me and I-â My voice collapsed completely.
Silence. Only the steady beep of the monitor.
âI thought you left me,â I whispered, shaking. âFor so long, I thought you chose to go and I hated you for it and I..God, Iâm so sorry, I didnât know, I didnât know they took you, I didnât know.â A sob tore through me, harsher this time.
âIâm so sorry.â My hand lifted, hesitating for just a second before I let it rest gently against his. Warm. Not memory. Not imagined.
âIâm here now,â I whispered. âYou donât have to-â
The monitor shifted. A subtle change. Faster.
I froze. â..wait,â someone said behind me, suddenly alert. But I couldnât look away. His fingers twitched. Just barely. My breath caught in my throat. âRyland?â I said, my voice trembling. Another twitch.
Slowly, His brow furrowed.
A faint, strained breath pulled from his chest.
âEasy,â a doctor said somewhere behind me, but their voice sounded distant. Muffled. Because his eyes.. his eyes were opening. Slow. Unfocused. Struggling against the light. But opening. âOh my god,â I breathed. âRyland,â I said again, louder this time, the word breaking apart with everything I was feeling. âRyland, Iâm here.â His gaze shifted.
Unsteady. Searching. Then it landed on me. And stopped. For a second, neither of us moved. Like the world had paused just to make sure this was real. His lips parted slightly. No sound came out. But I saw it.
The recognition. The disbelief. The youâre real written all over his face. A sob broke out of me, uncontrollable, overwhelming. âIâm here,â I cried, gripping his hand tighter. âIâm right here, I didnât go anywhere, Iâm still here.â
His fingers curled weakly around mine. It wasnât strong. Barely anything at all. But it was enough. Enough to shatter whatever control I had left. âI thought I lost you,â I choked. âI thought..I thought you were gone forever and you- you just..â My words dissolved into sobs, my head dropping as everything finally caught up to me at once.
All of it crashing down now that he was actually here.
His thumb moved. Slow. Careful. Brushing against my hand. Grounding. âHey,â he tried. The word was barely there. Hoarse. Broken from disuse. But it was him. That was enough. I let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh through my tears, lifting my head just enough to look at him again. âHey?â I repeated, half crying, half laughing. âThatâs- thatâs what you start with?â
His mouth twitched. The smallest hint of a smile.âYeah,â he rasped. âFigured⊠keep it simple.âAnother sob escaped me, softer this time. Relief. Pure, overwhelming relief.
âYouâre unbelievable,â I whispered, shaking my head. âYou disappear for years, come back from space, and your first word is hey?â He blinked slowly, exhaustion pulling at him, but his gaze didnât leave mine. âYouâre here,â he murmured. Like he still couldnât believe it.
My chest tightened, but this time, it didnât hurt the same way. âI told you,â I said softly, squeezing his hand. âI didnât go anywhere.â Something in his expression shifted. Eased. The tension heâd been holding onto, maybe for years, finally loosening just a little. âGood,â he whispered.
Silence settled over the room again. But it wasnât heavy anymore. It wasnât empty. I leaned closer, carefully, resting my forehead gently against his hand. Not rushing. Not panicking. Just⊠there.âYou made it home,â I said quietly.
His fingers tightened slightly around mine. âYeah,â he breathed. A pause. Then, softerâ
The house hadnât changed. Not really.
Maybe that was why he stopped in the doorway. I watched him from a few steps behind, keys still loose in my hand, as he just⊠stood there. Taking it in.
The same couch. The same pictures on the wall. The same soft light filtering through the windows like nothing in the universe had shifted.
Like he hadnât crossed galaxies. Like I hadnât spent years learning how to live without him.
His hand tightened slightly on the doorframe. âWow,â he said quietly. âYeah,â I answered. âItâs⊠pretty much the same.â He nodded, almost absentlyâbut he didnât move right away.
Like stepping further in might break it.
Then, slowly, he did. The door clicked shut behind us. He exhaled, and I saw itâthe way his shoulders dropped just a little, like something heâd been holding onto for years finally loosened.
His hand brushed the back of the couch as he passed.
Not quite touchingâjust⊠there.
Like he needed to feel everything without fully committing to it yet.
He stopped at the chipped mug, picking it up with a faint, disbelieving smile. âYou still have this?â he asked. âYou refused to throw it away,â I said. âI stand by that,â he murmured. âIt has character.â
âItâs broken.â âSame thing.â That small smile stayedâbut softer now. Quieter. He set the mug down carefully, like it mattered more than it should.
Thenâ He glanced at me again. And this time⊠he didnât look away. There was something different in it now. Not just relief. Not just disbelief. Something closer. Warmer.
Like he was realizing I was actually there. I shifted slightly under his gaze, suddenly very aware of the space between us. It wasnât far. But it felt⊠fragile. Like neither of us quite knew how to cross it yet.
He took a step closer, Then stopped. His hand liftedâjust a littleâlike he was going to reach for me. But he didnât. Instead, he let it fall back to his side, exhaling a quiet, almost nervous breath.âSorry,â he said, a faint, awkward smile slipping through. âI justââ He shook his head. âI keep thinking if I touch anything, itâs going to disappear.â
My chest tightened. âIt wonât,â I said softly.
He looked at me like he wanted to believe that. Then, a little more carefully this time, he stepped closer again. Close enough now that I could see the way his hands hoveredârestless, unsure what they were allowed to do. Like he didnât trust himself not to reach. âI missed you,â he said quietly.
Just⊠honest. The kind that lands deeper.
âI know,â I whispered. His breath hitched slightly.
And this timeâ He did reach. Slowly. Carefully. Like I might pull away. His fingers brushed my sleeve first. Light. Barely there.
When I didnât move, his hand slid a little furtherâresting gently against my arm, like he just needed to feel that I was real.
He let out a breath that almost sounded like relief. âOkay,â he murmured, more to himself than to me. âOkay⊠youâre still here.â âI told you,â I said, my voice softer now.
His grip tightened just slightlyânot enough to hurt, just enough to hold onto something. Like heâd been waiting years to do exactly this. âI know,â he said. âI justââ He swallowed, shaking his head faintly. âI didnât realize how much Iâd⊠miss this.â His thumb moved without thinking, brushing lightly against my arm.
I stepped closer then, closing that last bit of space between us. This time, he didnât hesitate. His other hand came upâresting at my side, gentle but certain, like he couldnât quite stop himself anymore. Not pulling me in. âYouâre really here,â he said again.
I nodded, a small smile breaking through.
âSo are you.â Something in his expression softened completely at that. Like that was the part he still didnât believe. âI wasnât sure Iâd get back to this,â he admitted. His hands shifted slightly, like he needed to keep contactâneeded to make sure I wouldnât disappear if he let go.
âI didnât think Iâd get back to you.â My chest tightened, but it didnât hurt the same way anymore. âYou did,â I said.
Then, quieterâ âYouâre home.â That did it. I saw it in the way his eyes closed for just a second.
The way his shoulders finally dropped. The way his hands tightened just a little more, like he was holding onto something heâd almost lost forever.
âYeah,â he breathed. A beat. âI am.â
We stayed like that for a moment.
Not rushing. Just⊠existing in the same space again.
And for the first timeâ It didnât feel fragile anymore.
The house had gone quiet in a way that felt almost unreal. Not the empty kind of quiet sheâd lived with for yearsâthis was different. Shared. Warm at the edges. Ryland stood in the bedroom doorway for a long moment, like he wasnât sure he was allowed to be there.
âI used to think about this place,â he said quietly. I leaned against the doorframe across from him. âYeah?â He nodded once. Then again, like he was confirming it to himself.
âNot in a big dramatic way,â he added, a faint, tired smile tugging at his mouth. âJust⊠little things. The way the light hits that corner in the morning. The way you always steal the blanket even though you deny it.â My breath caught on a small laugh. âI do not steal it.â
He raised an eyebrow. âYou absolutely do.â
A pause. Then they both smiled, softer now, like the weight of everything didnât feel quite as crushing when it was shared. Neither of them said anything for a moment after that.
The world outside the room still existedâpeople, reports, recovery schedules, explanations waiting to be givenâbut none of it mattered in here. Not yet.
Ryland stepped inside first. Slow. Careful. Like he was entering something sacred. And I followed. The bed was unmade, unchanged, stubbornly ordinary.
âI donât think Iâm going to sleep,â he admitted.
âMe neither,â I said immediately. That earned a quiet breath of a laugh from him.
âYeah,â he murmured. âDidnât think so.â They sat down at the same time, like gravity finally decided to stop arguing with them.
The mattress dipped between them. For a second, neither moved. Just⊠present.
Then Ryland shifted first, hesitating only a moment before lying back. One arm resting awkwardly at his side, like he still wasnât sure what to do with himself in a bed that didnât belong to a ship or a hospital.
I layed down too. Carefully.
Like if I moved too fast, I might wake up somewhere else. The ceiling looked the same.
That was the strangest part.
After everythingâafter space and silence and decades of waitingâit was still just a ceiling.
Ryland turned his head slightly.
And something in his face softened in a way that didnât have words attached to it. âYouâre real,â he said quietly. I huffed a breath. âYou keep saying that.â âI know,â he admitted. âItâs just⊠I donât think my brain caught up yet.â
âI thought Iâd lost this.â
âYou didnât,â I said. His hand shifted slightly on the mattressânot quite reaching, just close enough that their fingers brushed by accident.
Or maybe not. Neither of them moved away.
That seemed to be a pattern now.
âI kept imagining this moment wrong,â he said after a while. âYeah?â I asked. âYeah,â he said. âI thought it would feel like everything goes back to how it was before.â He exhaled slowly. âIt doesnât.â
My heart sank for half a secondâuntil he added: âIt feels⊠different.â
I turned my head toward him. He was still looking at the ceiling. But his hand had inched a little closer to hers.
âNot worse,â he clarified quickly, like he needed her to understand that part. âJust⊠real in a way the memory never was.â Silence stretched between them again.
Outside, somewhere far away, the world kept moving. Inside this room, it didnât matter.
I felt his fingers finally settle against mine fully. No hesitation now.
âIâm scared Iâm going to wake up and youâre gone again,â he admitted quietly. My chest tightened.
âThen donât sleep,â I said, trying for lightness but landing somewhere softer.
A faint smile. âAlready ahead of you,â he murmured.
A pause. Then, after a momentâ
His grip on my hand tightened slightly. âIâm glad you waited for me, sweet girl.â
My breath caught. Hearing the nickname he had given me in real life for the first time in years struck me.
For a second, I couldnât answer.
âMe too baby..â I whispered.
No grand ending. No sudden fix. No perfectly solved distance between years. Just two people, lying awake in the same bed after too much time apart, holding onto each other like proof that none of it had been imaginary.
Eventually, my eyes drifted closed anyway.
Not because the waiting was over.
But becauseâfor the first time in a very long timeâit finally felt like it was okay not to be.
And beside me, Ryland didnât sleep either.
