pairing: Ryland Grace x afab!reader
description: ryland’s 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 everyone’s hearts.
authors note: cough. i have…no words. this is so long. and so sad. BUT WOOO HAPPY ENDING (sortve..) Thank you all for the love you’ve 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..”I’m coming home”. Six months of checking every news update, every official statement, every tiny scrap of information released to the public like it wasn’t the only thing keeping me sane.
“Cool,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. “That’s fine. Totally fine. I love not knowing anything. Huge fan of it, actually.”
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 wouldn’t 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 wasn’t. And I had no way of knowing which.
I took a sip of the coffee and immediately winced.
“Still terrible,” I muttered. “You’d hate it.” 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 I’d worn into the floor over the past few months.
“You said you were coming home,” I said under my breath. “That wasn’t a metaphor, right? Because I’m taking that very literally.”
My chest tightened, but not like before.
“You don’t get to say that and then just, what, take your time?” I continued, a nervous edge creeping into my voice. “No, absolutely not. I’ve already done the whole waiting thing. I’m actually very experienced in that area, and I would like to formally resign.” 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 I’d sat, over and over again, watching every single video he’d left behind. I could still hear his voice if I tried hard enough.
My grip tightened around the mug.
“You better be,” I whispered.
“I’m still here.” The words settled into the room, soft but certain. Not broken. Not lost.
And this time..It wasn’t endless.
It happened at 2:17 a.m. Of course it did. Nothing life-changing ever happened at a reasonable hour. My phone rang once….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.
“Hello?” My voice came out rough, uneven.
“Is this—” the voice on the other end hesitated, then confirmed my name. “This is Dr. Alvarez with mission operations. We need you to come in. Immediately.” My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Why?” I asked, already throwing the blankets off, already standing.
Then.. “We’ve received something.”
Everything in me went still. “Something?” I repeated. Another pause. Careful. Controlled.
“An object has entered Earth’s atmosphere. It matches the projected trajectory.”
I didn’t 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.
It’s 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 entrance—badge, clipboard, the kind of calm that only made everything feel worse. “This way,” they said quickly.
I didn’t ask questions. I couldn’t.
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.
“Status?” someone called.
“Object has landed. Recovery team is en route.”
Landed. My breath caught.
“Where?” I asked, my voice too loud, too sharp. A few heads turned. Dr. Alvarez stepped closer, expression tight. “Pacific. Coordinates are still being confirmed.” Ocean. Okay.
That was— “Is he..” My voice faltered. “Is there a signal? Anything?”
“We don’t know yet,” Alvarez said carefully. But I wasn’t 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.
“Recovery team approaching object,” a voice narrated. My pulse was deafening. A shape emerged from the darkness. Metal. Damaged. Scorched. But intact. “Oh my god,” I breathed. “That’s it,” someone said. “That’s the return craft.” Return craft.
My hands flew to my mouth, tears already spilling over before I could stop them. “He made it,” I whispered, shaking. “He made it..”
“Stand by,” another voice cut in. “Thermal scan in progress.” I barely heard it. I couldn’t look away.
The camera zoomed closer. Closer. The surface of the craft was scarred, burned from reentry, but there, near the side, A hatch.
“Thermal scan complete,” someone said.
“No heat signatures detected.” Everything stopped. “What?” I said, too quickly. “No, run it again. That has to be wrong.” “Re-running.”
My chest tightened, breath coming faster. “That’s him,” I insisted, stepping forward. “That’s his ship. He’s in there. He has to be.”
“Second scan confirms,” the voice said, quieter this time. “No internal heat signatures.”
“No,” I said again, shaking my head. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. He wouldn’t..he said he was coming home, he wouldn’t just—” No one answered me.
On the screen, the recovery team reached the craft. One of them moved toward the hatch.“Preparing to open.” My entire body felt like it was about to collapse in on itself. “Please,” I whispered. I didn’t even know who I was talking to anymore. “Please.”
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. “Interior is—” the voice faltered.
I didn’t remember falling. But suddenly I was on the floor. Someone was saying my name. Someone else was trying to help me up.
“No,” I whispered, my voice hollow. “No, that’s not- no, you’re wrong, you have to be wrong!” But the screen didn’t change. The ship was there. Open. And empty. A broken sound tore out of me before I could stop it. “He said he was coming home,” I choked. “He said..” My chest felt like it was caving in, like all the air had been ripped out at once. “I believed him,” I whispered.
Silence swallowed the room again. Heavy. Crushing.
Until.. “Wait.” The word cut through everything. Sharp. Urgent.
I froze. “What?” someone asked.
“There’s another signal,” a technician said, eyes locked on their screen. “Faint, but, it’s not coming from the craft.” My head snapped up. “What do you mean?” Alvarez demanded.
The technician swallowed. “It’s further out. Same general trajectory but—” they hesitated, then said it, “—it looks like a second object.” My heart slammed painfully back to life “Second…?” I breathed.
On the main screen, the feed shifted, coordinates updating, the camera panning back out over the dark ocean.
“Trying to get a visual now,” the technician said. The room held its breath. So did I. The room didn’t breathe. No one moved. Every screen was locked onto the same patch of dark, endless ocean as the coordinates recalibrated.
“Visual incoming,” 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. “That’s not the same object,” someone said quickly. “It’s smaller, way smaller.” “Zoom in,” Alvarez snapped. The image sharpened.
Metal. Scorched from reentry, but intact. A compact, narrow capsule rocking against the waves, half-submerged but holding.
“Thermal scan,” I said, barely recognizing my own voice. They were already running it. Those few seconds stretched into something unbearable.
I couldn’t blink. Couldn’t breathe.
“Thermal signature detected.” Everything in me stopped. “Repeat that,” Alvarez said. “Confirmed,” the technician said, louder now. “One heat signature. Inside the capsule.”
A sob broke out of me before I could stop it, sharp, disbelieving, my hands flying back over my mouth. “He’s in there,” I choked. “He’s..he’s in there.”
“Recovery team, redirect immediately,” Alvarez ordered. “New coordinates transmitting now.” On the screen, the helicopters shifted, cutting across the dark water toward the smaller capsule.
Closer. I couldn’t 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 he’d 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.
“Approaching now,” 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. “Preparing to open,” came the call.
“Careful,” someone added. “We don’t know what condition” “I know,” the diver snapped. “Just stand by.” The hatch was smaller than the first one. Tighter. It took longer. Every second scraped against my nerves. “Hatch is sealed tight,” the diver said. “Looks like manual override from the inside.”
My breath caught. From the inside.
“He got himself here,” I whispered. “He made it.”Metal 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. “Contact,” the diver said. My heart stopped. “He’s..he’s here. He’s alive.”
Everything broke at once. A sob ripped out of me, my knees giving out again, but this time, I didn’t feel the ground the same way. Didn’t feel the collapse.
“He’s conscious,” the diver added quickly. “Barely, but, he’s responsive.” A broken laugh escaped me through the tears. “Of course he is,” I gasped. On the screen, they carefully pulled him from the capsule. For a second, it didn’t feel real. Too thin. Too pale. Wrapped in something I didn’t recognize, his body limp as they lifted him.
“Ryland Grace is confirmed,” someone said behind me. The name hit me like a shockwave. Not a memory. Not a recording.
“He’s alive.” 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 wasn’t a dream. And then..his eyes opened. Only for a second. But I saw it. “Did you see that?” I cried, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “He- his eyes-“
They were all watching. Just like me.
Like the entire world had narrowed down to this one impossible, fragile miracle. “They’re bringing him in,” Alvarez said, softer now. “Medical is standing by.” I barely heard it. Because I couldn’t stop staring. “You made it,” I whispered, tears falling freely now. “You actually made it.” My voice broke completely on the last word. “I’m here,” I added, like he could somehow hear me across the distance. “I’m still here.”
On the screen, they secured him, lifting him carefully toward the helicopter. Alive. And this time, he wasn’t 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.
“ETA?” I shouted over the noise as someone helped me into the seat. “Forty minutes,” the pilot called back. Forty minutes. My hands clenched in my lap. That was nothing. That was everything.
I couldn’t 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.
“What’s his condition?” I asked, louder than I meant to. A medic across from me glanced up from a tablet. “Severe dehydration. Muscle atrophy. Likely prolonged stress exposure,” they said. “But he was conscious on retrieval. That’s a very good sign.”
“Did he say anything?” I asked. The medic hesitated. “Not that we have recorded yet. He was in and out.” I nodded, even though it didn’t help. I stared at the floor for a second.
“Did he ask for anyone?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. The medic looked at me, something softer in their expression now. “We don’t know,” they said gently. “But… he’s coming back to a world that knows he’s here.”
That wasn’t 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. He’s 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. “No,” I whispered under my breath. “No, this is real. He’s here. He’s here.”
Like I was anchoring myself to it.
When we landed, I was out before the helicopter fully settled. “Ma’am-” 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.
“Ryland Grace,” I said to the first person I saw, breathless. “Where is he?” They blinked, startled.“Level three..medical—”
The hallway blurred as I ran. My footsteps echoed too loudly, my breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts I couldn’t control.
Every step brought me closer. Closer than I’d been in years. Closer than I ever thought I’d 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.
“Where is he?” I demanded.
A nurse stepped forward, trying to intercept me.“You can’t just—!” “Please,” I said, the word breaking apart in my chest. “Please. I need to see him.” Something in my voice must’ve gotten through, because the resistance softened. Just a little. “He’s in stabilization,” she said carefully. “They’re still working on him.”
“I don’t care,” I whispered. “I’ve waited long enough.” A pause.
“…Room 7.” I didn’t say thank you. I couldn’t. 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 couldn’t 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, “I’m here.” 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 didn’t 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.
“Ryland,” 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 he’d been in and out, but still I moved closer, my hands trembling at my sides.“I’m here,” I whispered. The words barely made it out. My vision blurred again, tears spilling over before I could stop them.
“You said you were coming home,” I choked. “You-..you actually did it, you idiot.” A broken laugh slipped through the sob that followed. “I can’t believe you actually did it.” My knees gave out beside the bed, my hand gripping the edge of it just to stay upright.
“I waited,” I said, the words tumbling out now, years of them all at once. “I waited for you. I didn’t- I didn’t move on, I didn’t leave, I just..I stayed, I stayed right where you left me and I-” My voice collapsed completely.
Silence. Only the steady beep of the monitor.
“I thought you left me,” I whispered, shaking. “For so long, I thought you chose to go and I hated you for it and I..God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t know they took you, I didn’t know.” A sob tore through me, harsher this time.
“I’m so sorry.” My hand lifted, hesitating for just a second before I let it rest gently against his. Warm. Not memory. Not imagined.
“I’m here now,” I whispered. “You don’t have to-”
The monitor shifted. A subtle change. Faster.
I froze. “..wait,” someone said behind me, suddenly alert. But I couldn’t look away. His fingers twitched. Just barely. My breath caught in my throat. “Ryland?” I said, my voice trembling. Another twitch.
Slowly, His brow furrowed.
A faint, strained breath pulled from his chest.
“Easy,” 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. “Oh my god,” I breathed. “Ryland,” I said again, louder this time, the word breaking apart with everything I was feeling. “Ryland, I’m here.” 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 you’re real written all over his face. A sob broke out of me, uncontrollable, overwhelming. “I’m here,” I cried, gripping his hand tighter. “I’m right here, I didn’t go anywhere, I’m still here.”
His fingers curled weakly around mine. It wasn’t strong. Barely anything at all. But it was enough. Enough to shatter whatever control I had left. “I thought I lost you,” I choked. “I thought..I thought you were gone forever and you- you just..” 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. “Hey,” 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. “Hey?” I repeated, half crying, half laughing. “That’s- that’s what you start with?”
His mouth twitched. The smallest hint of a smile.“Yeah,” he rasped. “Figured… keep it simple.”Another sob escaped me, softer this time. Relief. Pure, overwhelming relief.
“You’re unbelievable,” I whispered, shaking my head. “You disappear for years, come back from space, and your first word is hey?” He blinked slowly, exhaustion pulling at him, but his gaze didn’t leave mine. “You’re here,” he murmured. Like he still couldn’t believe it.
My chest tightened, but this time, it didn’t hurt the same way. “I told you,” I said softly, squeezing his hand. “I didn’t go anywhere.” Something in his expression shifted. Eased. The tension he’d been holding onto, maybe for years, finally loosening just a little. “Good,” he whispered.
Silence settled over the room again. But it wasn’t heavy anymore. It wasn’t empty. I leaned closer, carefully, resting my forehead gently against his hand. Not rushing. Not panicking. Just… there.“You made it home,” I said quietly.
His fingers tightened slightly around mine. “Yeah,” he breathed. A pause. Then, softer—
The house hadn’t 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 hadn’t crossed galaxies. Like I hadn’t spent years learning how to live without him.
His hand tightened slightly on the doorframe. “Wow,” he said quietly. “Yeah,” I answered. “It’s… pretty much the same.” He nodded, almost absently—but he didn’t 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 it—the way his shoulders dropped just a little, like something he’d been holding onto for years finally loosened.
His hand brushed the back of the couch as he passed.
Not quite touching—just… 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. “You still have this?” he asked. “You refused to throw it away,” I said. “I stand by that,” he murmured. “It has character.”
“It’s broken.” “Same thing.” That small smile stayed—but softer now. Quieter. He set the mug down carefully, like it mattered more than it should.
Then— He glanced at me again. And this time… he didn’t 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 wasn’t 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 lifted—just a little—like he was going to reach for me. But he didn’t. Instead, he let it fall back to his side, exhaling a quiet, almost nervous breath.“Sorry,” he said, a faint, awkward smile slipping through. “I just—” He shook his head. “I keep thinking if I touch anything, it’s going to disappear.”
My chest tightened. “It won’t,” 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 hovered—restless, unsure what they were allowed to do. Like he didn’t trust himself not to reach. “I missed you,” he said quietly.
Just… honest. The kind that lands deeper.
“I know,” I whispered. His breath hitched slightly.
And this time— He did reach. Slowly. Carefully. Like I might pull away. His fingers brushed my sleeve first. Light. Barely there.
When I didn’t move, his hand slid a little further—resting gently against my arm, like he just needed to feel that I was real.
He let out a breath that almost sounded like relief. “Okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. “Okay… you’re still here.” “I told you,” I said, my voice softer now.
His grip tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to hold onto something. Like he’d been waiting years to do exactly this. “I know,” he said. “I just—” He swallowed, shaking his head faintly. “I didn’t realize how much I’d… miss this.” 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 didn’t hesitate. His other hand came up—resting at my side, gentle but certain, like he couldn’t quite stop himself anymore. Not pulling me in. “You’re really here,” he said again.
I nodded, a small smile breaking through.
“So are you.” Something in his expression softened completely at that. Like that was the part he still didn’t believe. “I wasn’t sure I’d get back to this,” he admitted. His hands shifted slightly, like he needed to keep contact—needed to make sure I wouldn’t disappear if he let go.
“I didn’t think I’d get back to you.” My chest tightened, but it didn’t hurt the same way anymore. “You did,” I said.
Then, quieter— “You’re home.” 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 he’d almost lost forever.
“Yeah,” he breathed. A beat. “I am.”
We stayed like that for a moment.
Not rushing. Just… existing in the same space again.
And for the first time— It didn’t feel fragile anymore.
The house had gone quiet in a way that felt almost unreal. Not the empty kind of quiet she’d lived with for years—this was different. Shared. Warm at the edges. Ryland stood in the bedroom doorway for a long moment, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be there.
“I used to think about this place,” he said quietly. I leaned against the doorframe across from him. “Yeah?” He nodded once. Then again, like he was confirming it to himself.
“Not in a big dramatic way,” he added, a faint, tired smile tugging at his mouth. “Just… little things. The way the light hits that corner in the morning. The way you always steal the blanket even though you deny it.” My breath caught on a small laugh. “I do not steal it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You absolutely do.”
A pause. Then they both smiled, softer now, like the weight of everything didn’t feel quite as crushing when it was shared. Neither of them said anything for a moment after that.
The world outside the room still existed—people, reports, recovery schedules, explanations waiting to be given—but 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.
“I don’t think I’m going to sleep,” he admitted.
“Me neither,” I said immediately. That earned a quiet breath of a laugh from him.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Didn’t think so.” 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 wasn’t sure what to do with himself in a bed that didn’t 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 everything—after space and silence and decades of waiting—it was still just a ceiling.
Ryland turned his head slightly.
And something in his face softened in a way that didn’t have words attached to it. “You’re real,” he said quietly. I huffed a breath. “You keep saying that.” “I know,” he admitted. “It’s just… I don’t think my brain caught up yet.”
“I thought I’d lost this.”
“You didn’t,” I said. His hand shifted slightly on the mattress—not 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.
“I kept imagining this moment wrong,” he said after a while. “Yeah?” I asked. “Yeah,” he said. “I thought it would feel like everything goes back to how it was before.” He exhaled slowly. “It doesn’t.”
My heart sank for half a second—until he added: “It feels… different.”
I turned my head toward him. He was still looking at the ceiling. But his hand had inched a little closer to hers.
“Not worse,” he clarified quickly, like he needed her to understand that part. “Just… real in a way the memory never was.” Silence stretched between them again.
Outside, somewhere far away, the world kept moving. Inside this room, it didn’t matter.
I felt his fingers finally settle against mine fully. No hesitation now.
“I’m scared I’m going to wake up and you’re gone again,” he admitted quietly. My chest tightened.
“Then don’t sleep,” I said, trying for lightness but landing somewhere softer.
A faint smile. “Already ahead of you,” he murmured.
A pause. Then, after a moment—
His grip on my hand tightened slightly. “I’m glad you waited for me, sweet girl.”
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 couldn’t answer.
“Me too baby..” 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 because—for the first time in a very long time—it finally felt like it was okay not to be.
And beside me, Ryland didn’t sleep either.
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