For context: this came out in 2011 in Australia. Same-sex marriage would not be legalized until December 2017.
It was only legalized in 8 US states (the 8th only a few months before), and wouldnât be legalized nation-wide until 2015.
It was only legal in TEN COUNTRIES in 2011. We wouldnât hit 20 countries until 2017. (Australia was 23rd)
As of today (April 14, 2026), I believe only 38 countries have fully legalized same-sex marriage. Out of somewhere around 200 countries in the world. Thatâs only ~19% of countries.
A/n: I canât get this stupid man out of my head, so hopefully writing this down will give me peace. I haven't written in a while and have only one smut post to my name. Please be kind. ALSO, I'd love to discuss the movie and Adam more. Feel free to drop in my inbox just to chat!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PUHLEASE!!!
When it comes to sex with Adam, heâs not pushy.
The first time you guys did it, he had a length discussion about boundaries and expectations. This man loves communication.
He actually enjoys foreplay, which includes ones that have you pinned down beneath him.
To start, blowjobs are the best way to hear him sing.
His tip is especially sensitive, so sucking on it will get the most rewarding reaction aside from finishing.
Expect a lot of phrases such as âoh, shitâ and âbaby, pleaseâ. He loves to beg, even though he never has to.
He whimpers more than he moans. But that doesnât mean he holds back. If he can, heâll make himself loud.
Praise is his favorite thing to receive and give. He absolutely enjoys telling you how well youâre doing and how nice you look sucking his dick.
Sex is a whole other thing, though. For Adam, it's a way for him to express his love.
He takes his time entering you. He'll often rut against you for a few seconds just to tease you both.
When he's finally inside you, he'll gasp every time like it's the best thing he's felt since... well, the last time you fucked.
During sex, you have most of the power. He's happy to do most of the work if it means he can stare (admire) you.
If you decide to take over, he'll focus on how tight you feel around him. He'll take it as a sign to relax and let you dominate. Unless he's in the mood to work out his emotions.
Once again, he's praising you like a goddess sent from above.
EX: "You're so gorgeous like this." "How did I get so lucky to have you?" "You're so perfect for me." "You feel so good"
Sometimes, he'll get bold and hold your waist in place while he bucks up into you. His pace in this position is usually brutal, but not painful.
When he close, you'll know. His voice will increase by a pitch, and his grip will be impossible to escape.
He's absolutely heavenly when he comes. His head flies back, and his muscles tense.
When he's done, he'll pull you close for a minute. To feel you against him is all the security he needs.
After a while, he'll grab a towel (he specifically bought for you) and gently wipe you off.
Then, he'll escort you to the bathroom because a UTI is not something he'd want you to suffer through.
During that time, he'll grab snacks or water for you.
The rest of the time will be spent close to each other. Whether it's cuddling at night or watching a show together. He doesn't care. He just wants you near.
Extra:
If you ask, he'll excitedly talk you through anything. Whether it's a blowjob, handjob, or sex. He's all about communication.
If you edge him, he'll eventually take things into his own hands. He's a patient man, but he's not a pushover when it comes to you (Everyone else, maybe).
He LOVES eye contact. Anytime he can stare into your eyes, he will.
He's not a munch, but if you ask he won't hesitate to go down.
Being silly in bed is such a turn-on for him. It makes him feel comfortable, and he'll happily turn the whole thing into a giggle-fest.
He does NOT like hair-pulling. He has a sensitive scalp. However, running your hands through his hair is a definite yes.
If he sees you wearing one of those glorious gowns that royals wear, expect him to be hard in seconds.
â„ IN WHICH, Katsuki ends things with Y/N, believing his love is a dangerous liability. He tries to walk away in the rain, but a final, tender act of care reveals he's still deeply in love, even as he leaves.
Katsuki made the hard choice while he still had the chance. His gaze gave him away before the words even left his mouthâcutting ties was a bitter necessity to spare them both from worse pain.
In his line of work, love was a liability he couldn't afford to have for Y/N. He was never meant for romance, yet heâd let her become his greatest weakness.
He put an end to whatever they had. He couldn't call it a breakup when they had never truly begun. They were dangerously close, and he refused to let the distraction pull them under.
She called after him, but he just kept walking, preferring the cold rain over the comfort of the jacket and umbrella she was trying to return. He tuned her out, head low and hands shoved deep in his pockets, certain this was the only way.
"You damn coward!"Â He refused to turn back, unable to face the heartbreak in her eyes while her voice alone was already shattering him.
He accepted her insults in silence, hands clenched in his pockets, because looking at her meant seeing the pain he causedâand that was a blow he couldn't survive.
Suddenly, a small object bounced off his back, thrown just hard enough to make him stop. While the hit was soft, the message was clearâshe was hurt and she wasn't letting him walk away in silence.
It certainly worked, but the reaction she got wasn't the one she was looking for.
His face stayed blank as he turned to find the source of the impactâher high heel, abandoned on the wet concrete.
Between the freezing rain and the drainage of her tears, her face was stained a heavy, frustrated pink. She expected him to simply forget herâto leave her in the rain along with every memory they shared.
Instead, he reached down for the stray heel and walked back to her, silently dropping to one knee at her feet.
It only made the ache in her chest worse. He gently took her ankle, lifting her bare foot and using his palm to brush away the grit and rainwater before carefully sliding the heel back into place.
She wished heâd finished the jobâleft her behind completely instead of coming back to offer a kind gesture she didnât want to feel.
This final act of care was the last thing she wanted, a warmth that felt like a betrayal in the middle of their collapse.
As he stood, his gaze finally met hersâsoft with a vulnerability that begged to stay and hold her, even as he began to step back.
"Get home safe." He whispered, turning back to the rain as if he hadn't just shattered her. She couldn't move; she couldn't even find the breath to answer him.
Y/N stood paralyzed, the words dying in her throat as she watched him go.
She hated him for it. She hated how he could break her heart and then try to protect it, all in one. The contradiction of him stung more than the cold heavy rain.
Katsuki was too stubborn to realize that she would have stayed through anything. She didn't want the heroâshe just wanted him.
He walked away because it was easier to run than to handle the weight of what he felt for her. It was his usual tactic; running the moment he felt overwhelmed, as if he could outpace his feelings for her if he just moved fast enough.
Ultimately, he was terrified of admitting itâthat he was already stubbornly deep in love with her.
taglist â @gonegh0stwriter @greenofa @katsukidoli @anime2006 @69luvvs @sparkysmoker ⥠if you want to be added to my taglist, feel free to let me know!
contains  â  smut. afab!reader. panty sniffing. keigo masturbating. keigo with a scent kink. keigo being a little bit of a pervert. subtop!keigo if you squint.
âfuck,â keigo grunts, your used panties pressed up to his nose as his hand moves furiously over his throbbing cock. âmmhâah, fuckââ
with the wad of stolen fabric pressed to his face, he greedily sucks in your scent between ragged breaths, fisting his dick with his free hand. itâs not your laciest, prettiest pair heâd snagged from your hamper on his way down the hall this morning, seizing the first opportunity heâd had in days, but rather one of your most well-loved: the elastic band around the waist long worn past stretchiness, permanent faint stains around the crotch. theyâre worn a little past the point of comfortability, so theyâre not your favorite.
to keigo, though? theyâre a treasure.
he can smell you, heady and thick, your scent all over the fabric, and with his mouth open, he can almost taste you. just the thought of his makes his dick throb in his hand, and he groans out loud.
he wants you. oh, god, he wants you. itâs no secret, reallyâheâs long since stopped making an effort to hide it. but itâs not like heâs ever made a move, itâs not like heâs had the courage to do more than silently yearn while forcing a friendly smile as you talk about your latest date, or the guy who hit on you at the grocery store. itâs simple, really: keigo doesnât deserve to touch you, not with his dirty, forever-stained hands. so this is all he getsâhis hips rocking into the motions of his fist, imagining itâs the walls of your pussy fluttering around him, imagines the sound of your voice as you whine for him, ankles hooked over his back as he fucks into you, his lips against your neck.
the image of you under him is nearly enough to make him empty his balls then and there. mumbling incoherent platitudes under his breath, he pulls back his foreskin to expose the swollen pink tip of his cock and circles his finger over his dripping slit, gathering the translucent precum smeared across his cockhead and using it to slicken the motion of his tightly-squeezed hand as he strokes base to tip.
keigo wishes you were here more than anything. he wishes it were your fingers against his throbbing prick, tracing the thick veins that run up his shaftâmaybe even using that pretty mouth...this draws another low âf-fuckâ out of him, because the mental picture is just too delicious. he wouldnât even care if you didnât touch him at all, if you sat and watched while he put on a show for you, jerking himself off to the pitiful idea that youâd ever want to lay a hand on him. heâd be so good for you, he knows he wouldâ
but what he really wants is to touch you. worship you, really. to smooth his palms down your chest and see you arch into his touch, and then follow the path his skin touched with his tongue. he imagines trailing his lips along the dewy-soft skin of your inner thigh, and in his mind, he presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses into your cunt, spoiling your clit with delicate kitten licks between messy slurps that would have you seeing stars. he pictures your weight settling over his face, his fingers digging into your hips to anchor himself as you grind down against his searching lips, and he bucks up involuntarily into his own grip.
âdonât cum,â keigo pants breathlessly to himself in the quiet of his own bedroom, eyes squeezed shut and voice muffled by the fabric against his nose and mouth. âdonât cum. donât...ha, donât...â he can feel his heavy balls tightening, but he canât bear to make himself slow down, wait, do any of the things a good boy would do to make sure he doesnât blow his load before heâs given permission. your smell is too intoxicating, and when he cups his fingers and snaps his hips up into the cage his hand makes, imagining itâs your cunt, he canâtâhe just needs, he needsâ
with the steely willpower of a man who spent his life denying himself, he pulls his hand away and lets his head drop back onto the pillows, clutching your underwear tightly and dragging in unsteady gulps of air that are suddenly, horribly deprived of your essence. his leaking cock twitches against his belly and he lets out a noise that he decides to pretend wasnât a sob. heâs being ridiculous. if only you knewâhow would you look him in the eye ever again? would he lose you forever? lying naked on his bed, your balled-up underwear held tightly in one hand, still shuddering from the arcs of pleasure coalescing through his nervous system, keigoâs positive that the answer is yes.
gritting his teeth, keigo rolls over onto his belly, pressing the thin cotton back against his nose and sliding his hand between his body and the mattress to grip his dick again. this time, his strokes are a little more atrophied with the awkward angle, but the leverage he gains that allows him to hump the mattress more than makes up for it. he can almost imagine your legs on either side of his head, your fingers buried in his blond hair, your head thrown back as you moan his name. âyeah, baby...ah, shit,â he mumbles, too far gone to even decipher the words spilling unbidden from his mouth. âyou taste so...so fuckinâ good, yeah, you do, âm so...need you, need you...â
a dim part of him registers that thereâs a very good chance that if he gets any louder, you could hear him from your room down the hall in the apartment you share. partly out of a need to keep quiet, but mostly because heâs so desperate to taste you, he shoves your panties into his mouth, using the strip of silky-soft cotton to muffle his voice. they turn wet and bedraggled in no time, tacky with the drool leaking from his lips.
âungh...umph...â keigo can feel himself getting close again, and while he normally has the discipline to edge himself at least two or three times, your odor has whipped him up into a frenzy, driven him to the brink of madness. how could you ever blame him? heâs obsessed with you, every inch of you. what he wouldnât do to be inside you right now, instead of pathetically fucking his own bed. what he wouldnât give for you to open your thighs for him, just to let him see. just once. just once would be enough, and then heâd be good, heâd neverâ
his orgasm hits him like a freight train, rushing up through his limbs like being engulfed by a riptide. sparks fizz and crackle through his veins as he shakes, eyes rolled back in his head, your underwear his saving grace clamped between his teeth. hot, thick spurts of cum lace his fingers and drip against the tangled sheets beneath him, gooey and fat, slicking his calloused palm with the evidence of his shame.
it takes him what feels like hours to get his numb limbs into motion. to shove your panties underneath his mattress, carefully tucking the ends out of sight, and grab a tissue to wipe his hands and mop at his hopelessly stained sheets. with nothing much to be done, keigo sighs and finally resigns himself to tugging on a shirt and sweatpants and stripping his sheets to make his quiet escape to the laundry room at the end of the hall.
in his post-orgasmic haze, he forgets how loudly the hinges of his door creak when he nudges it open with his hip and steps out into the hallway, wincing at the long, drawn-out whine the motion produces. he prays that youâre asleep, or not in a mood to emerge, but as if god has it out for him, your door opens.
âlaundry?â you ask, seeing the bundle of tangled blankets in his armsâthe revealing wet patch luckily tucked against his chestâand keigo nods, trying not to stare at how good you look clad in a loose t-shirt and shorts with your hair loose and your legs bare, and fuck, that sends a bolt of heat to his cock that he really does not need right now.
âoh, good,â you say. âhold on.â keigo blinks as you disappear into your room and return with a mesh basket. âlisten, would you mind running a light wash for me? iâll love you forever.â
keigo spots a wedge of white cotton and his mouth goes dry. he has to force the words out, and they sound strangled and wobbly, because you have to be doing this on purpose.
ây-yeah, sure. no worries.â
well, it looks like you might be getting your lost panties back sooner than he expected to return it. just donât think too hard about where, exactly, the next pair disappeared to. rest assured that keigo will put them to good use.
How do you feel about some angst? S/o breaking up with Present Mic or Fatgum. They don't get to see their partner due to schedules (I mean, Mic works like 3 or 4 jobs alone), maybe they think their partner's seeing someone else? But either way, they're packing their bag when Mic/Fatgum walks in.
If this isn't something you're into, please feel free to pass. I'd rather be told no than make someone uncomfortable!
HAWKS ⶠPRESENT MIC ⶠFATGUM â leaving them
NOTE â„ Might be too OOC since this is based on my interpretation. Also, forgive my grammar, English is my third language & I totally didn't double-check any of my writing.
I can't do full angst with a sad ending :"3 I'm too much of a weakling for that lol... so I made it a bit more hopeful for Fatgum? I hope that's okay
C H A R A C T E R â„ Hawks / Present Mic / Fatgum
"You going somewhere without telling me, or is it what I think this is?"
His voice is controlled and heavy in its lightness as he spoke before you even said anything.
He's very observant, and that carries to his personal life. The moment he sees your tight expression, the open suitcase with scattered clothes, it clicks. And he hoped it was wrong.
You unloaded to him about your doubts, the unbearable distance, and the fear that you have... it hits him hard.
He interrupts you at every point, frustately trying to make it clear that you are wrong. "You think I've got time for someone else? I barely had time for myself."
His real emotion is reflected more in his wings--the way it bristled and tighten around himself, the way it potray his feelings of guilt openly.
Yes, he's not angry with you. He's just... sad. Guilty. Disappointed in himself. He thought he was better than this.
After all, he does neglect you, does he?
He tried not to crowd you, pulling his wings against himself. But he will step closer, hoping you'll take his hand as he pleads.
It pains him to think that he wishes he could say 'I'll always be there from now on,' because he knows it'll be an empty promise.
What can he promise, really? What he did will forever implant doubts in you.
And it hurts him. A lot.
"If you walk out, I... understand. I won't stop you." That's all he can say in the end, his voice cracked in restrained agony. "But don't do it thinking I don't care. That part's not true."
He wished you would stay.
But luck was rarely on his side.
He's never good at confrontation. He hates it.
"Haha... not funny." His body leaned over the archway, blocking the way. "You're heading somewhere, right? That's all, right?"
You noticed that his voice never got loud. Ever. In fact, it dropped low and softly.
He's very reactive and used to mask his true feelings with his jolly and loud facade. The moment you said you were leaving, though?
It snapped something inside him. Heartbreakingly so.
Hizashi is not quiet with his disapproval. He's loud, defensive, and his hurt is very apparent.
"Where is this coming from?!" he exclaimed angrily, "Y-You're just--you gonna just pack up and leave? Just like that?!" It's not calm at all. It's reactive on his part.
When you bring up his emotional avoidance, the insane scheduling he chooses for himself, and your doubts... he will go quiet.
Not because you're right. But it's because it's just occurred to him that the life he forces upon himself--all to make him feel better about himself--had caused you so much pain.
That's where it sinks in. You're really gonna leave.
He will stop pacing and lean onto the wall, his expression hollowed out, as if his soul has been knocked out of him. For once, he actually listened to you instead of deflecting.
How to respond to this? He doesn't know. Never knows.
"... You should've said something," he mutters, his voice breaks as he quickly wipes the shedded tears that nearly fell onto his skin. "I didn't know it was that bad."
And this time, he can only silence himself as you finish packing the bag. As you left the apartment you two used to share.
Because he doesn't know how to handle losing you.
First of all, how dare you???????? /joking
He's not that perceptive, but he did notice the tension in the air as you packed your bags. That's enough to raise an alarm for him.
"Hey... what's going on?" he tried to touch your shoulder, and flinched if you pushed it away.
He had no jokes, nor will he deflect. It was pure, genuine confusion.
When you say you're leaving, he gets quietly concerned. He puts down his takoyaki on the table and ushered towards you, giving you full attention.
"Why? What's going on? Did I do something wrong?" Poor him.
You tell him about how you barely see him anymore and how you fear that he might just find someone else more interesting. He listened to all of it; his eyes wavered with each accusation.
You accusing him of cheating surprisingly does not offend him. He knew where that was coming from, and he felt so bad for letting it get this bad for you.
"Hey, look at me for a sec." He hoped you would. He just wants to see your eyes again, for maybe the last time? "I didn't realize it got that bad for you... I..."
This time, he had to hold back his own tears. He couldn't help it. If you mention his glistened eyes, he will let out a choked laugh as he shrugs you off.
Despite his inner turmoil, he doesn't dismiss your feelings and fully takes responsibility for his wrongdoings.
"There's no one else. Never has been."
And he apologized. God, he really did.
As you're going to leave, he moved closer. But he won't block the entryway. He just wanted to say one last thing.
Broken Hourglass.
( Ryland Grace x Reader. ) Part Three.
I can already see the messages and comments this going to get so let me preface this--- IM SORRY.
Title: Broken Hourglass.
Pairing: Heavily Implied - Ryland Grace x Reader.
Rating: T. ( Some suggestive content, MEGA ANGST Prepare the tissues. )
Words: 9.3 K.
Summary: ( WARNING !!!!! This does include spoilers for the BOOK version of PHM. ) The past always finds a way to come back and haunt you, especially in the moments when you need it most.
PART THREE OF THE YOU SLEEP, I YEARN SERIES.
Part One · · â ·â¶Â· â · · Part Two. · â ·â¶Â· â · ·âRyland Grace Masterlistâ
The small bar tucked away in the corner of Strattâs Vat was a remarkably pathetic attempt at normalcy, down the the beer selection of Bud Light in blue or Budweiser in red. The colors interchangeably tangled into a mess of coiled wires in your mind as you stared at the sad-looking fish tank bubbling away in the corner. The dim lighting cast long shadows and the quiet hum of the tank filter was a poor substitute for the usual laughter that filled the room along with god-awful and off-key singing.
The silence around you was fragile, capsized by copious amounts of darkness that could crush you in an instant and you felt powerless to stop it and it was becoming all consuming. It was silent due to the drawn, eggshell thoughts that kept racing in your mind.
You were nursing a drink, staring into the blue-lit water, admiring and feeling sad for the listless fish swimming endless circles. The recycled air felt too thick in your lungs like you bore the risk of drowning, heavy with the ghost of millions upon millions of people who were going to die in the next twenty years.
It had been three days since youâd watched an entire continent die in a matter of moments. Sure, you took a swig of the beer and felt disgusted at how warm it had gotten, it could be argued that it was âjustâ a chunk of ice, but how many more were there going to be? How many in a few years when the methane blanket it produces fades and theyâre forced to blow off another? And then another, and anotherâŠ
You shut your eyes and could almost see the blinding light of the blast behind them despite being far away when it happened. Itâs like your mind decided to be morbid and paint you a picture for what your bones felt and were chilled with when the shockwave hit you, fifteen minutes delayed and carrying with it the time and aged history of a place that children in the future would only be able to read about in books.
Three days since you had stood on the observation deck, Ryland, a rigid, unpeaceful presence beside you, LeClerc beside him, unraveled into an unparalleled sense of existential dread as Stratt announced how much longer until you changed the physical shape of the world because Humanâs had a nasty habit of being parasitic in the worst ways possible. A man lost his own sense of self that day and trusted Ryland enough to hold him through it. It was never going to be enough.Â
Damned if you do, damned if you donât.
It had to happen for the survival of a race you were beginning to wonder was even worth saving at all.Â
The door creaked open just enough to captivate your senses. There was no sense in looking up from your drink, the rhythm of the footsteps, the slight hesitation before they fully entered the room. It was unmistakably Ryland. He shuffled a bit in the entry way as if heavily contemplating if he wanted to be in the dark, misty cloud you had been weathering. And then - out of your peripheral vision, the decision was made and his tall, heavy body moved to the bar, his shoulders slumped as he sat on the stool two down from you.
There was a chasm of empty space between you that felt as vast as the void of the ocean outside the viewport in the stuffy room. Ryland didn't order, but the bartender placed one of two options in front of him regardless. A crisp, cool Bud Light.
Ryland shifted and rested his elbows on the sticky surface of the bar, his head bowing forward as if he were praying. âTheyâre calling it the 'Antarctica Sacrifice' in our official documents." His voice was raspy like he hadnât used it in days as the man reached up and pressed his pointer finger against the condensation of his drink. He drew it up the bottleâs neck before pinching there with a few fingers and bringing it to his mouth.
âSounds better than âWe nuked a continent because weâre running out of timeâ.â You whispered and tipped your beer bottle. It was empty and it went rolling down the way of the bar top, the bartender plucking it without a word and setting another down for you a moment later.
A humorless smile touched Rylandâs mouth from behind the bottle but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, âYeah, well, PR always was a special kind of evil.â
Silence descended again but it wasnât like before. This was shared, the weight of it settled between you and made it more tangible and easy to swallow. There was something more Ryland wanted to talk about, you could see it in the way he was holding the bottle, the way his leg bounced almost impatiently. All things seen out of the corner of your eye as you finally balled enough courage to look over at him. His blue gaze was fixed on the fish tank, on the mindless circling of the captive creatures. But you could see it in the deep set furrow of his eyebrows.Â
The reality that the world was really going to end if the mission failed and so would Humanity and with that, any retroactive thought that the friendship heâd been building with you, the engineer for a suicide mission, becoming more being severed like a head. You had to laugh bitterly at the irony. Nothing puts a damper on blossoming feelings quite like the extinction of an entire planet.Â
âYou okay?â You finally asked after a few minutes drowning together. Just enough for Ryland to get his beer down, his fingers raising and requesting another in silence. The inquiry feels clumsy, inadequate and childish. You looked down at your drink.
Ryland didn't turn towards you as another bottle replaced his empty one, his stare intense and focused on the brown neck of the glass. âI keep thinking about the penguins.â
You almost choked on your drink at that, coughing a bit to get the musky and hoppy taste out of your vocal cords. Of all things, of all the monumental, world altering horrors to fixate on, he chose that one. It was so absurd, so out-of-pocket that you werenât sure if you needed to recommend him to the medbay for a psychological evaluation or if you needed to laugh but it was heartbreakingly a sincere thing for Ryland to think about as if the world itself wasnât actively on the verge of collapse.
âHuh?â
âThey had no idea what was happening.â He continued, his voice distant as he took an almost contemplative sip of his drink. âYou know, most of the population in Antarctica lives along the coast where we planted the nukes. I just keep thinking about them just⊠Wadding around. Doing their own thing. Being penguins and then⊠nothing.âÂ
Ryland finally turned his head, his eyes seemed hollow and tired, lost in a memory that you couldnât share despite the desire to live in the moment with him. âI used to teach my students about them. About the mating process of Emperor penguins. How the fathers balance the egg through the Winter for months, without eating. They needed to protect something tiny and fragile against the most hostile place on Earth.â His voice cracked on the last word as he forced himself to look down at his hands now clenching tight fists against the bar top.
âThey were just doing their job, what evolution had dictated and we justâŠâ He whispered, voice barely audible. âWe erased them.â
The raw, unadulterated grief in his voice was a physical blow, coupled with the shine of a few tears falling down the bridge of his nose and off the tip. It was about the fathers on the ice, protecting their eggs.
Their babies, their futures. It wasnât just about saving Humanity, but about a world so much simpler than the ones youâd been born in, an innocent world you two just actively helped destroy. Something about that, something about the empathy from a broken man next to you, not for his own future, but for the future of innocent animals and Humans made you shuffle a bit in your seat which had become remarkably uncomfortable.
There was nothing to say to it, but you managed as Rylandâs broad shoulders slumped forward and he was back to bowing his head, his hands now grasping the sides of his face as he let loose a few more tears, colliding with the oak of the bar below, a few stray streams landing on the lenses of his glasses.
âWe didn't have a choice, Dr. Grace---â
âI know!â He choked out, swallowing so hard that it was audible in the otherwise sterile and dry air of the bar. âI⊠knowâŠâ The blonde man breathed out as if he realized that countering you with frustration built into aggression was not the way to go. Especially since you were there. You witnessed it just like he had⊠You were always there, if Ryland really thought about it. A singularity in an otherwise chaotic mess. Blue eyes trailed from the swirls in the wood of the bar top over to you like somehow, someway, you were going to keep him from floating off into the oblivion.Â
 âI⊠W⊠We know the math, huh? The two of us. The logic of it all⊠But (Last Name)... That doesnât make it easier.â Your heart clenched at that as you glanced at the beer bottle in front of you, suddenly afraid to meet the eyes of perhaps the only person on this ship having a mental breakdown about penguins.
Your lips parted. Not just about them⊠Youâd have to be a fool to think thatâs the only thing. With buckling courage under a few drinks in your system, you jumped yourself out of the barstool that had been your home for the last few hours, feeling the strange sensation of blood rushing down your legs and pooling into your feet as you walked to Ryland - slow and unsure. Â
Like it was your first time meeting, Engineer to Molecular Biologist. Like this was your first time meeting, Human to Human though there had been speckled moments of something more in the lessons he laid out for the Hail Mary Team, the way he let his eyes linger in yours, or the way your fingertips brushed his when he passed you things. Just sand slipping through your fingers and splaying against the ever-prominent darkness like stars trapped in a glass. You were going to die on the mission and Ryland? He was going to die some day, either sooner if the crisis on Earth got any worse, or later, suffering just the penguins.Â
There was a cascade of your scent entrapping Rylandâs nose as you sat down. That all too familiar bustle of your body chemistry, alluring him in and calming in some weird biological way mixing with the faint trace of the standard issued soap on board and a spritz of something floral. He imagined, in any other circumstance, any other bar on the planet, heâd look at you with the shy reservation heâd carried for most of his life. Ryland wanted to imagine heâd⊠Smile at you and youâd smile back at him, strangers in a world that offered many things for your futures.Â
Youâd tell him your name, let him buy you a drink. Heâd tell you his name, perplexed why youâd find someone like him so interesting. A coward who ran away from the field he had a deep passion for because he couldnât keep his own emotions in check, a teacher who was afraid for himself sometimes more than his students. A man who⊠Just wanted to be seen as something more than his mind, but that was such a far-fetched idea now. Thatâs all he did for the project. Another brain to calculate and manipulate into place. Used and then set out to dry.
Those were just fantasies. This was a reality he needed to start living in.Â
âI just keep seeing it.â He admitted in a shaky tone, a confession torn from the deep recesses of his soul. âThe flash.â Your eyes widened in recognition. âAnd then just⊠Nothing. How do you⊠how do you come back from that?â
It took you a moment of silent reflection to realize⊠You didn't have an answer. There was no answer for that because it would just make it worse. Ryland was spared a glance from you, the immediate regret dragging across your stomach as you were suddenly overcome with being sick. The raw emotion, terror mainly, drifting between his pupils and irises, the way Rylandâs entire frame seemed to vibrate with trauma unseen by the human eye set aside what little hesitation you had. Sure, there was no answer for his questions, but you had something else.Â
You leaned forward in your seat next to him, across the small distance that felt entirely too big and let your hand shatter against him. Your palm was full of purpose that on one side felt incredibly instinctual, to comfort⊠a friend⊠And the other side completely intended to comfort someone who could have had the chance at something more if the circumstances were different. Call it what you wanted. A lover, partner, inamorata, soulmate.Â
Your grasp covered as much of his larger hand as you were able, his skin cold to the touch, his knuckles white from the force of his own grip as his hand was laying clenched against the surface of the bar once again. At the contact, Ryland flinched, a sharp intake of air hissing between his teeth. His gaze, which had been lost somewhere in the shared, horrifying memory, snapped into motion, down to your hand.Â
He drew a trembling breath in, the frantic energy of an imminent mental breakdown now on pause, the reel playing back a nightmare tapering out and burning to pieces. There was nothing said between the two of you, the only thing that could dictate your desire to speak was a simple, soft and steady pressure to your hand, the silent promise that he wasnât alone in this and never needed to be.Â
Slowly, achingly so, the tension in Rylandâs hand began to disappear in a cloud of self-loathing and deprecation. You could see his tongue peeking out to wet his lips as his fingers uncurled minutely, no longer that awful off-pale color from a heavy fist, and now nothing more than a trembling hand beneath yours. Ryland didn't pull away despite his nerve endings telling him that reciprocation was against the calculations of risks he set up when he realized there could have been more between you.
The shift was subtle but sent a jolt of electricity down Rylandâs spine to rest uncomfortably in his tailbone. Because⊠Instead of just accepting your comfort like a normal person would, he turned his cold hand over, palm facing the ceiling and began to move with a shared flicker of intent of solidarity and eagerness to comfort. Human behavior he couldnât bring himself to override.
The desperation in your clutch was replaced as his long fingers began curling in on yours, one by one. His index finger was first, tracing a soft, questioning line along the inside of your wrist before settling. Then, his middle finger followed, pressing gently against your pulse point.Â
You shuddered at that, watching the motion and letting Ryland enjoy the thudding beat of your heart through the point of contact. Ring and pinky fingers followed suit, just happy to be there, not grabbing, not holding but enveloping. And the catalyst that made you feel a ring of fire along your entire body was his thumb, shy, reserved, coming to rest on the back of your hand, set to stroke a slow, hypnotic circle against your warmer skin.Â
The gesture was sensual, intimate, like Ryland was finally set in the language of a man who was so used to being invisible, now making himself profoundly seen in the most discreet way possible. Sniffling a bit, his azure gaze was set in your hands, never daring to imagine more than that as your fingers squeezed at his gently. Smoothly, like you knew what he wanted without asking. The grasp on each other wasnât just a simple affection, it was a question. The silent, scared plea that went far beyond the need for comfort from a shared traumatic event. It was an invitation.Â
I see you. I want you. Please⊠Donât let this be the only time you see me like this.
A thick yet smooth silence rested between the two of you, wrapped in each other's grey clouds of semblant comfort, the only sound the mournful hum of the fish tank filter. The joining of your hands on a sticky bar surface felt like a fragile bubble protecting you from the vast, empty void outside the viewport, away from the prospect that your death was now a countdown and it was eagerly ignored.Â
For a moment, this was enough. The grounding sensation of Rylandâs thumb stroking your skin, the thawing of his cold skin into a blanket of warmth against yours. You were just two, tiny creatures adrift in the dark, clinging to each other while the ghosts of actions that were not yours to be made swirled around you in the form of methane in the atmosphere. The promise that it would give humanity more time.Â
Ryland let out a long, shuddering breath both at the contact, his fingers tightening around yours. Donât let me go. He said without words and opened his mouth to speak, voice so low it was almost swallowed by the sound of the filter. âAm I a good man, (Name)?â
The whisper of the question was enough to pull you out from the reverie you were drowning in. The sound scrapped against your nerves like nails on a chalk board, drawing to a somberness that was felt in the depths of your bones. The question was laced with the exhaustion of a thousand sleepless nights, tossing and turning in refuge for an answer. Clearing your throat, you shifted uncomfortable on the stool, the worn vinyl groaning under your weight. The movement felt too clumsy, loud in the oppressive quiet that took place from the earlier air of adoration.
âWhy are you asking me that?â Came your reply. The words felt brittle off your tongue, fragile in the charged air between you. You couldnât bring yourself to look at him, afraid of what you might see in his eyes, afraid he might see the same reflected in your own. It hung there for a few seconds, the weight of expectations settled on your shoulders, heavy and far too suffocating. The scent of your soap and perfume youâd used earlier, maybe even hopes of running into Ryland in the first place, felt nothing more than a cloying reminder of a world that no longer existed.Â
âI⊠IâŠ.â Rylandâs jaw clenched, you could see the draw of the taut muscles under the dimmer luminescence of the on-board bar, covered only faintly by his facial hair. The shadows of the room pooped against the dips and curves of his face and for a second, he looked more like a ghost of himself, the idea of someone who wanted to do the right thing. âI⊠Want to believe I am⊠In the same way that LeClerc believed he was.â
The name danced between you, a spectator of what could have been, hopeful but void of much else. Drawing a soft breath in, you finally turned to look at the blonde who captivated your attention more often than not, despite your best efforts. It hurt, immediately. The haunted searching of his eyes against yours, begging for you to give him what he wanted. And god⊠You wanted to so badly. Why⊠couldnât youâŠ?
âOur beliefs donât matter anymore,â You whispered to him, âOur hopes and desires⊠We canât afford to think just about ourselves anymoreâŠâ That seemed void of any emotion as you looked away towards the fish tank once again. You wanted to be one of them. Just watching the unraveling of a beautiful man instead of being a variable in it. The admission from you seemed to⊠Break something in Ryland. Not the sort of hard breakage, the kind that left him on the floor, on his back, but that softer, slower kind that made him feel like he was stagnant in a fall, the pit in his stomach never going away.Â
His hand, which had been such a point of warm connection, needing, wanting felt like a vise, keeping you in place. The fingers which had been hugging yours so carefully, tightened with a new onslaught of desperate realization, the bones of his knuckles turning white as he crunched your fingers. It wasnât an angry action, it wasnât meant to cause you pain. From the look in his eyes as they lingered in yours, it was clear what it was.
Ryland was terrified.Â
âThen whatâs the point of thisâŠ?â He asked, his voice raising just a notch and cracking under the strain of trying to keep his tired emotions in check. But, he was an emotional lightweight drunk, and heâd downed two beers in probably too short of time. Ryland lifted his free hand up and gestured vaguely, a sweep that took the entirety of the bar, the ship and the empty space of the ocean all in one. âOf us? Of holding on if weâre just⊠Machines without feelings? Automatons following a script?â
His gaze was wild now, your mouth parting as Ryland tugged your hand, almost causing enough momentum for you to tumble out of your chair had you not grasped the side of the bar with your free hand. He was searching for an escape hatch from his own mind, maybe in you, maybe in something heâd wanted for himself for so long.
The fish in the tank had the right idea, their mindless, soothing swimming juxtaposed to Ryland coming undone in a metaphorical and literal way. You could feel the hummingbird beat of his pulse through your joined hands, a drum against your skin that would have been nice to enjoy in any other circumstance. The scent of him was sharper now with his movement.
Tinged with the metallic smell of his fear, Ryland was a conduit now for emotions you were afraid to feel. He leaned in closer, your heart jumping into your throat at that, his body coiled with tension that was painful to watch. âI-If weâre not good people⊠If we-weâre not anything at all⊠Then what did we trade Antarctica for?âÂ
The words were a ragged gasp, coming from a place of intense self-anguish.Â
Your eyes widened, the question in the air a raw, bleeding thing that Ryland had no answer for anymore and neither did you as you watched him, frenzied, broken and grappling for some sense of self. âWhat did we trade our souls for?â
The hard tone echoed off the sterile walls of the bar. You swallowed hard, looking at Rylandâs twisted expression causing you to immediately look away towards something. Anything. Focus on something that wasnât the way he was holding your hand like a lifeline. Your bottom lip quivered as you found it in yourself to shake your head, feeling like you were in a vat of water, no gravity and stuck in slow-motion, throat too tight to form words.
Ryland watched it carefully, the way your hair drifted with the motion, your glassy eyes finally meeting his own as it dawned upon him the results of the consequential emotional unload. The glint in your gaze, the squeezing of his hand under your touch, the reckless abandonment of rules put in place by your overly-critical mind, to his self-sabotage was all it took.Â
Something in the blonde man snapped. The appearance of desperation in his pretty eyes was replaced by a sudden and fierce intensity, one that had to rival how he talked about his students from time to time. The hand holding onto yours put forth a motion full of authority of too many drinks, too many thoughts and too many ideas of the end of the world. Your weight was pulled, harder than you expected, surely more than you thought the lanky scientist was capable of, and with a small gasp, your wrist bone cracking a bit, the stool you were on scraped harshly against the floor.
âRyland---â His name fell from your lips like a siren, a warning and a plea all at once. In one fluid, clumsily coordinated movement, you were yanked ungracefully off balance and left stumbling towards him. The air seemed too thin yet so thick that words werenât processing out of your vocal cords. Rylandâs other hand shot out, hard and sure for the first time in a long time, catching you just below the shoulder before you went face first right over his lap onto the floor.
 A shuddering breath escaped you, not from fear, but in anticipation, a thrill shooting down your spine. Ryland let go of your hand to grasp at your upper arm, his long fingers wrapping around your bicep, spreading warmth through the thin fabric of your mission jacket, and for a second, you could see his eyes staring at the name patch embroidered on your breast. Your skin tingled, mind hazed, wanting for more as you re-adjusted to the strength you hadnât thought to imagine about as he sought to steady you.Â
Like it was second nature, you were standing between his parted knees, the bony nature of them digging almost into your hips at how he was eager to keep you still, trapped in the circle of his long arms. Ryland was⊠so close, you could feel the heat of him in waves, crashing against you over and over again, a welcome contrast to the cold metal of the ship around you. There was the wild and fractured light in his eyes, the color almost completely swallowed by the black of his pupils. The stare he had you in dropped to your lips, the air between you became stifling, suffocating you with the unspoken grief and terrifying horizon of desire.
You were powerless to stop him as Ryland leaned his head in, lowering to your level and holding there, his breath shattering perfectly across your face. It was warm, inviting and smelled faintly of the beer heâd been drinking. It was close enough to shuffle your eyelashes, to make the fire hairs on your cheek stand on end. It wasnât forced, but rampant, a desperate act to prove a point. That he could feel something real, that you were something real, to prove that he still existed as he had before and that he was not an endless cog in humanityâs nain attempt at survival.
Twenty, thirty years⊠However long he had left, you both had to bargain that you were only allowed a short amount of time until the mission launched and he had to deal with a new onset of grief for his longing. By himself, for the rest of his life. Thereâd never be another, Ryland was so sure of it.Â
This was it. Now or never.
You reached your hands up, grasping at the front of his shirt without reserve. Your fingers, trembling slightly, twisted into the soft, worn fabric of his standard-issue crew neck. It was thinner than you expected, soft from countless washes, and you could feel the solid, unyielding plane of his chest beneath it, the beating of his heart right under your knuckles.
You tugged the large blonde closer, a silent encouragement and the motion brought your bodies almost flushed together without you being ardently on top of him. The hard line of his thighs pressed against the sides of yours kept you grounded in the overwhelming reality that you found yourself in.Â
Flickering your gaze down, you traced the shape of his mouth at the prospect of what came next. His lips were parted slightly, glistening with saliva in the dim light, and you could see the faint white line of his teeth where Ryland was biting down on his lower lip, a gesture of barely restrained control. A faint shadow of stubble darkened his jaw, a contrast to the pale skin of his throat and you had the urge, hot and heady, to lean in and press your lips to what you imagined to be a fluttery, pretty heart beat there.Â
His room or yours? Yours most likely; it was bigger. One of the perks of volunteering to die for the Earth. The thought was a distant, logical consideration in the roaring chaos of your mind. All you could think of was the heat of Rylandâs body seeping into yours, the intensity in his eyes that promised you everything and nothing, and the aching idea that the vital connection you were going to share was already doomed.Â
There was such a small price to pay at the start for you, but now⊠Rylandâs mouth barely grazed over yours, taking your breath straight from your mouth, his blonde hair tickling at your forehead, a feathery touch that was more devastating than a real kiss, your head tilting back to give him the best angle you could as you called your hands into fists over his clothed chest. You came head to head with the worst of it, but it wasnât enough to stop yourself. Ryland Grace was the highest price you were ever going to pay, whether here on Earth or 11.9 light-years away, on the trip towards your death.Â
And then, as quickly as it began, it was over.
Ryland froze, his entire body going rigid in a disgusting way against yours, no longer conforming or confirming what you both wanted. The hand on your arm tightened, convulsing with a painful grip that was more about his own self-induced panic than to actively hurt you, but you could sense the bruises against your tender flesh that would surface tomorrow. Ryland ripped his head back as if heâd been shocked, his blue eyes flying open with widened horror, not directed at you but it was hard not to feel offended, your stomach dropping in loathing that mirrored the pace of which Ryland dropped all defenses only moments before.
âN-noâŠâ He whispered, the word hard on your ear drums as you coiled your hands tighter in his shirt, as if holding him closer would get him to subside back to your selfish desires.
âRy---â You were going to cry, he could see it written on your face. He opened his mouth to say something comforting, but his rationality won out as it so often did. Rejection at its finest, refined and hard-hitting and he was stupid enough to let it happen to you.Â
The risk assessment of you two having anything going on was far too great. Heâd end up heartbroken again, heâd have to watch you die. How could you be selfish enough to let him do that!? Ryland swallowed hard. He wanted to yell at you all of a sudden, tell you that you werenât being fair as if he hadnât been the one about to kiss you. As if he wasnât the one using grief as an open door.
You looked at him. And something about the gaze, deep inside of your body and the way you reacted to him⊠Ryland shut his eyes for a moment, the muscles of his neck convulsing. You saw him. For what he was, not who he was supposed to be and that⊠That couldnât be allowed.Â
âRyland---â
âNo, I canât.âÂ
He shopped himself away from you with such force that you took a step back, nearly tripping over the stool behind you and you were forced to let go of him. Your hands still lingered in the air, a connection between the two of you that grew cold and reeling like a yo-yo.
Ryland followed suit, scrambling off his stool, his movements so panicked and unnatural that he nearly tripped over his own feet in the eager haste to put some type of distance, physical and emotional, between the two of you. His face was drained of all color when he finally met your gaze again, tears at the corner of your eyes now and threatening to break the waterline.
âI-Iâm sorry.â Ryland gasped, holding his hands up as if to ward you off but you were unable to move. âIâm so sorry.â He knew that wasnât good enough. âI shouldnât have⊠We⊠I canât do thisâŠâÂ
âRyland, wait-!â
Without another word of regret, another action made under pressure, the scared blonde turned to flee. His foot caught the leg of the stool he had forgotten was right behind him and stomped forward a bit with a sharp grunt of surprise. His arms flailed for balance that was already lost, and for a heart-stopping second, you thought he was going to fall completely, but he managed to right his large frame at the last moment.Â
His hand slapped against the polished wood of the bar. The collision itself sent the stool skittering sideways with a metallic scream that seemed to shatter the silence like a pane of glass. He was breathing hard, looking at where his hand had landed, no longer enjoying the swirls of the oak as a fun pattern, but more like a precursor to how he was going to lurch over the edge of the ship in distaste as soon as he could. Beer never did settle well with hum, especially when chugged.
âRyland, wait.â You whispered, moving a bit to help him back up, your entire body lagged and tired now, no excitement, no anticipation.Â
He brought his eyes up to meet yours and you stopped moving. Frozen in time, you could see something that looked painfully like regret in his stare, but alongside with it was the longing, the crippling fear and the way he was waging with himself. It was the man who almost kissed you and the boy who was terrified of what it meant.
You watched his chest heave, and for a moment as you looked at each other for what you felt was going to be the last time, you thought maybe he might say something. Your name, an apology⊠AnythingâŠ
You opened your mouth to say something but werenât given the chance as Ryland straightened himself up, eyes tearing away from yours as if the very sight of you was lewd and offensive, and without another backwards glance at you, he was fleeing the room, letting his long legs take him as far away as possible. The door swung shut behind him, leaving you alone with the echoes of his presence and the ghost of his last, tortured look.Â
A sharp, piercing tone cut through the quiet moment, shrill and insistent like an alarm. It grew only louder, vibrating your skull and shaking your ear drums, that disgustingly twisted high-frequency whine that seemed to bypass all concepts of sound waves and burrowed directly into the hippocampus of your brain.Â
The dim lighting of the bar flickered violently, the colors of the fish tank bleeding into a nauseating swirl of muddle pond water. The sticky surface of the bar seemed to dissolve like a pill in stomach acid, replaced by something cool against your skin, soft and plush but also brutally unforgiving. The sweet scent of Rylandâs body so close to yours, the floral waves of perfume and the stale beer - all ripped away and replaced by the sterile, recycled air of the Hail Mary.
You were surfacing through warm water, everything soft, heavy and a little disorienting. You were still there. Standing in that memory⊠No⊠That wasnât right. That⊠segmented reality you had to bargain with. Ryland being far too close, the crisis in his voice as he asked you questions you couldnât answer, his hands on you like he didn't quite know where he was allowed to touch you. The air that passed between your lips, like it was inevitable.Â
He was going to kiss you.Â
And you were going to let him.
Your chest tightened uncomfortably and it felt like someone was holding a pillow to your face.
What did we trade our souls for?
Your eyes snapped open with a small gasp from your parted lips.Â
They took a few moments to recognize the surroundings. The messy notions of xenonite walls to the side, the familiar weight of your body on the bed, the soft glow of the primary console display that casted shadows playfully across the room, the familiar curved ceilings above. Your heart was a hammer to your ribcage, the lump in your throat so hard you thought that it was going to choke you at any moment.
Something wet tickled your lips. Pouting at that, you raised your hand to your face, tracing right under your eye along your cheekbone. Your skin was cool to the touch, but your insides were burning up as your hand came back into focus and there was dampness against your fingertips. You forced yourself to take a deep breath in as a few more salty nodules came from your eyes, down the curves of your face to seep into the bed below. Why⊠Were you crying?
A soft, rapid series of clicks breaks through the quiet and you're back to facing reality. Itâs not a loud noise - the echolocation markers - but they were close by. Almost careful in their precision to read the room without ever visualizing it the same way your eyes did. They slip into your awareness slowly, like a soft song, threading through the remnants of your dream, the one you tried to change over and over again but always found yourself standing in the bar, unable to go after him.
Unable to stop the events that lead you back here as if it was always the Universeâs intent. And maybe it was, you huffed out of your nose. There was never going to be a way of knowing.Â
Your breathing stutters small staccato puffs into the air like youâd forgotten how to breathe, still trying to catch up with a reality that seemed to bend your mindâs ability to accept. Sniffling gently, your eyes trailed from the white ceiling of the ship, downwards, vision blurring and warping, lashes still damp, to see the creature responsible for the rhythmic chirping.Â
Rocky was perched near the edge of the bed, as close as he could get in his xenonite enclosure, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine you could relish in the blazing heat you knew that wall was keeping away from you.
You wondered if it felt like Rylandâs hand. Hot, steady and secure. You swallowed gently, a few more tears trickling from your eyes and down the bridge of your nose as you forced your pupils into submission to focus.
The Eridian was angled toward you in a way that was unmistakably attentive, an emotional state that seemed to transcend alien species. All five limbs were anchored firmly, just enough to stabilize his heavy body, but thereâs a subtle tension in them. Almost like heâd been deliberately still for longer than usual.Â
Watching.Â
Waiting.Â
Observing.Â
â(Last Name) awake.â
He finally said, the computerized voice of the translator tickling your ears just right. And somewhere in there, you were included to almost here the layered tone of relief in Rockyâs chords. Thereâs a faint delay before you respond, body trying to remember how and what was appropriate to say. You let out a shaky breath, one you hadnât realized you were holding, your chest uneven as the air left you.Â
âY-yeahâŠâ You managed, voice rough and frayed around the edges. âI--- Iâm up.â The words feel thick on your tongue. You wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, feeling like you got none in the first place in a fit of restlessness.
Another rogue tear, this one heavy with the dream, slips free before you have time to react, trailing warm and slowing down the scape of your temple towards your ear as you look over at Rocky completely. You swipe at it this time, more self-conscious now that you knew you werenât alone, dragging your palm across your cheek in some vain attempt to erase the evidence. You know right away from the shift in his carapace that Rocky noticed.
â(Last Name) leaking.â He observed. âMuch like Grace. Leak out of many orifices. Inconvenient.â
A weak, breathy laugh escaped you despite everything running circles in your mind, fragile and a little broken but the heart was still here. âGreat. Love that for us. Weâre just big leaky space blobs.â You hate the way your voice cracks at the end, betraying the wall you were trying to put up as you dragged the back of your hand under your nose and sniffling.
Rocky stopped all trace movements other than the shift towards you, just a fraction closer, careful, but definitely noticeable. One limb lifts and sets down again with a precise placement, the faint metallic tap soft against the floor. âDistressed sleep-cycle observed.â
Ah.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a brief second and nodded in resignation. Thereâs no dodging this. No brushing it off. Not with Rocky. Not when heâs already observed it. There was no excuse for what your body decided to do while you werenât awake enough to hide it.
That pulls something new from you, something between a wiry laugh and a groan. âYeah⊠wellâŠâ You propped yourself up, the thin blanket ripping down your body to bunch around your waist. Dragging a hand down your face, you let it rest there and press your palm into your eyes, hard enough that you see stars. âThat sounds about rightâŠâ
As your hand fell away, it left your vision a little spotty as you blinked up at the ceiling again. The shine from the console flickered faintly, catching the lingering wetness of your cheeks. âI uh⊠Didn't mean toâŠâ You trailed off because what would you even finish that sentence with?
I didn't mean to feel?
I didn't mean to care?
I didn't mean to let it get this far?
None of those things were true as your throat tightened like someone had taken all the oxygen out of the room.
âIt was just a dream, Rock.â You said forecefully instead, but still reserved this time like saying it softer might make it hurt less. âJust my brain being⊠Annoying.â
Rocky is still for a moment, you imagined he was going through his memory to recollect the moment that Ryland and you had to explain to him what dreams were after Ryland had very much rolled off the bed and onto the floor during a very intense REM session.
âDream uncontrollable variables.â He chimed. âNo intent assigned.â
You let a small breath out through your nose in a huff. âYeah. Wish that made them a little less---â
âDream about Grace.â
Not a question.
You tilted your head slightly toward him, just enough to meet the direction of what you estimated to be his gaze without fully turning like you were clinging to the desperation of the memory that seemed to seep into the bed below. âYouâre⊠not going to let it go, are you? No matter how many times I ask?â
âNo.â
At least he was honest. Someone here had to be.Â
A tired, faint smile pulled to your mouth before it faded again into nothingness. You just didn't have the energy to keep it in place, and it wasnât like Rocky was relying on the human behavior of reading facial cues.Â
âIt was just aâŠâ You hesitated and brought your knees up to curl against your chest. The words were right there, but they made your chest hurt⊠âA⊠moment⊠Or well, almost⊠a moment.â
Rocky didn't move at that, he wasnât interrupting and you took that as your opportunity to continue despite wanting to shut the door on the topic once and for all.
âWe were so close, Rock.â You explained, voice a gentle noise in the hum of the ship. The memory itself might hear you after all, if you spoke about it too loudly, and it would call you back to re-live it over and over again. âAnd I thought⊠He was going to⊠Kiss me.â
Saying out loud did what your mind was unable to do. It made it real in a way that recollection was unable. And that just made the tears already bustling at your waterline break, trailing down and catapulting off your chin.
Your gaze drifted away from the Eridian, unfocused, catching on nothing as the moment replied its bitter self anyway. The shift of Rylandâs weight in front of you, the catch of his breath in the hollow of his throat, his mouth eager to form words but nothing came to mind. The absolutely foolish way that you couldnât pull away.Â
âBut he didn'tâŠâ
âNo understand.â
âI donât want to explain.â You admitted as silence stretched between you and your friend. He was observing again.Â
You could hear it in the rhythmic tap of one of the limbs against the floor, slow and meaningful and incredibly patterned. Not random, never random. It was the same cadence he used when working through some complications, something with too many variables and not enough clear answers, and admittedly, that was your fault for not clarifying but you just didn't have it in you without another breakdown coming right after.Â
Rockyâs carapace shifted, the plates on the top adjusting for a beetle angle toward you, catching what bounced off the room he was able to calculate. You could almost feel the way his attention narrowed, focused only on you, on the small details you couldnât comprehend, your body giving them away like unguarded secrets.Â
Rocky could observe the way your shoulders sat, not fully slumped against the knees in your chest, but not steady either. Held in that in-between tension like you were trying to keep yourself upright without committing to it and one poke to your side would send you tumbling. You were folding in on yourself.
Your hands were resting by your sides before coming to wrap around your knees. Tight. Harder than needed, he could almost hear the tension of your muscles contracting to keep yourself in a hard ball shape.
Your breathing came last. Not as uneven as before when you had first woken up, but not settled. Shallow, held at the top of each inhale for just a split-second too long before letting go, your chest didn't fully release and you were constricting yourself intentionally.Â
âGrace made error, question?â Rockyâs harmonized voice was softer this time as if entangling with the notion of empathy.Â
And for a second, just a second, you almost let yourself believe that Rocky was right. That it was really that simple. That it was Rylandâs mistake, but then the memory in your head shifts again to reminisce on the scientistâs hesitation, your lack of control to stop the situation for spiraling. The space between you that was never crossed but still tempted you despite boundaries.
Furrowing your eyebrows at that, you felt a pit in your stomach at the implications of that. And it was a shame it wasnât that simple. You could brush it under the rug with a simple âYeah! He just made an error and weâre back to the way things were!â It was never going to be that. You shuffled a bit and looked over at the Eridian.
There was certainty in his posture from the deductions he had to have made on his own with no other context clues than your flying back-and-forth emotions, a fragmented dream you woke up from crying about and the fraught way you were defending yourself against it now. Not just yourself. You were defending Ryland for putting you in this position unknowingly and that hurt more now than before.
You shook your head, languid this time, the movement more thoughtful than dismissive to Rockyâs deduction. Youâd humor it if you needed to feel better about yourself, but you were more than okay that reeling into your self-loathing for a little bit longer. The mattress shifted below your weight as you swung your legs over the side of the metallic cased bed. Your feet hovered just above the floor for a moment before settling, the cold surface shocking the rest of your body awake.Â
âI donâtâŠâ You started, the words catching somewhere tangled in your chest and throat.
You glanced at your hands waiting for some answer to be written into the faint lines of your palms but at the end of the day, they were still just hands. Empty. Longing.Â
So your eyes drifted instead.
Past them.
Past Rocky.Â
Past the deep void of space that hugged you more intimately than you ever cared to admit.
Toward the open threshold of the dormitory into the dim corridor beyond. The low light stretched ominously along the curved walls, longer than it actually was, leading deeper into the ship. To places you werenât but the places Ryland was.Â
The lab, maybe. Pacing, probably, about the Petrova Line problem, running a hand through his hair and muttering to himself under his breath like he always did when his brain refused to slow down. Youâd offer him some advice usually, heâd lull it over, talk to Rocky about it and decide that you were a genius.Â
The cockpit, strapped in the Captainâs chair waiting for Rocky to come in so he could roleplay another Star Trek episode. Purposefully getting too close to you when you came in to check the diagnostics. Trying to get you to play along but youâd excuse yourself before it could become more than just a friendly game.
Or your favorite - Sitting at the cupola window in the lab, ramen in an oversized cup as he stared out at the tau-light with his pretty blue eyes, still wondering how he ended up here as his brain started counting the stars and wondering how theyâd look from the surface of Adrian instead of caught in the suspended orbit. Sure, there were heartbreaks at the instant memories lost.
It took him longer to remember his name than you, it took him longer to remember where he came from, where you came from, and even in the tangle of the memories coming back, there was still no inclination that he recalled a single thing about you while you were forced to sit back and remember everything about him.
Meeting for the first time aboard Strattâs Vat, Ryland wearing that ridiculous San Fran shirt with the fat cat on the Golden Gate Bridge. It felt seared into your eyelids as you let them fall shut. A charming smile from an awkward man as he began explaining Astrophage biology like it was just another walk in the park. It was impressive, how his body moved juxtaposed to the knowledge in his head.Â
He was introduced as Ryland Grace by Stratt, Yao and her sharing some curious Mandarin about what you had to assume was his⊠Eccentricity as you looked at one another, your eyes trained to read his emotions, his eyes scared of what it meant to meet only your gaze despite there being twenty other people there. He smiled at you. Your heart fluttered a bit at the sincerity of it before he turned back with Stratt, leading you away from the corridor to continue the tour of the ship.
The very first time you and your colleagues, your crew mates⊠You drew a sharp breath in. Your family for the last stretch of your life sitting in one of the small, tucked-away conference rooms, trying to understand the flying words from Rylandâs mouth. Something about Astrophage and its combustion rate? You had raised your hand. Ryland clocked it immediately, looking at you from over the rim of his glasses.
âCan I see the vial youâre holding? I--- Want to see how it looks up close. The⊠Astrophage.â You raised an eyebrow.
There was something there, Ryland stood frozen on the spot at the way your words formed, the way you had raised your hand like one of his students, the question, the curiosity, and like a puppet on strings he was set to motion, moving too eagerly across the small room.
The tiny glass vial full of the black plague of space was transferred from his hand to yours, slowly, your eyes never drifting apart as your fingertips touched one another. âY-youâre the Engineer for the mission, right?â
âSure am.â You confirmed, looking at the vial and squinting your eyes. Ryland couldnât stop himself from lingering by you the rest of the lesson.
His reasoning? You were admiring the Astrophage the entire time and he was afraid youâd drop it and pfffff---- the entire ship, gone. The reality? There was something about the way you looked at it, fearful but a flicker of intense interest that called to the two battling sides of his mind. Scientific intellectualism and innate Human desire to understand the unknown, even if it costed lives.
The day Stratt chose him, the day that he was sent up with you. But there was always something worse eclipsing it, you were just too stubborn and mission-driven to ever bring it to the forefront. That was just the excuse you told yourself to feel better about it. That was one memory you werenât going to unlock, you couldn't bring yourself to face it.
RylandâŠÂ
Your lips parted at the desire to just say his name in a way that could help him remember half of the memories you had of him. Your fingers twitched against the bed, grasping handfuls of the thin sheet. He couldnât remember⊠Because he was forced here.
You shuttered a breath in. Ryland didn't know that he was missing anything. It was never about the distance. Not the silence. But stifling closeness that only you had memories of. You were forced to remember enough for both of you and that coupled with the forced proximity of the mission was enough to strangle a regular person to death.
What else were you supposed to do than shove him away like he had done to you? Resentment? No. Necessity? Yes.
All the while, there he was, Ryland Grace in a lot of ways, space wanderer in others. A stranger, almost. Somewhere close, and somehow⊠Always right out of reach.
You thought back to Rockyâs question. His⊠Way of prying knowledge out of you that was just beneath the surface.Â
Grace made error, question?
âI donât think he did, Rocky.â You finally broke the silence with words meant more for you than him, you decided. Your own personal confession to a burden you were required to carry.
rocky's crew dying from radiation exposure, something humans go to great lengths to prevent and are very scared of and ryland's crew dying in their "sleep" with nobody watching, something eridians go to great lengths to prevent and are very scared of. cool book that is easy to read through your tears.
Hey guys! Sorry I havenât updated Shelter me in almost a month. College and finals have absolutely been kicking my butt. Thankfully, theyâre almost done.
I have a job lined up that will allow me to write more as well!!
You Sleep, I Yearn. ( Ryland Grace x Reader Oneshot. )
Title: You Sleep, I Yearn.
Pairing: ( Implied ) One-sided - Ryland Grace x Reader.
Rating: K. ( sort of..... agnsty please im sorry. )
Words: 4.7 K.
Summary: You and Rocky have a much needed heart-to-heart and some things are said that can't be unsaid.
Ryland Grace Masterlist.
PART TWO: Strawberry Fields.
It was quiet on the ship. Not a terrible thing for your ears to be blessed with, the faint hum of the electronics whirling around you is familiar and now comforting after such a long while in space.
Ryland, the blonde haired, sometimes-in-the-cloud Molecular Biologist was asleep in the dormitory where you also were, sitting on the floor and propped against the xenonite enclosure that belonged to the five legged Eridian who had the same Petrova Line issue as Sol.Â
You could hear the soft taps of his claws against the floor, the resonant tones that exuded from his carapace. All welcome as your eyes feasted on Rylandâs breathing, almost in perfect sync with Rockyâs movements. You knew you should have been asleep as well, you could just hear the computerized voice scolding you.Â
More efficient if Grace, (Last Name) sleep at same time. Waste time if spread out.
Youâd heard it from Rocky many times before, given time was of such high value, more to Earth than to Erid. Their Petrova Line, while a problem, wasnât going to cause such drastic issues as soon as your planet would.Â
You envied him in that way. He had so much more time, he could spend it researching and diving into aspects of the Tau Ceti system that you and Ryland could only dream of and unlock more mysteries than just the unfortunate circumstances that rested in the Petrova Line itself.
But Earth was dying. People were dying. You were on a mission, and unfortunately, spending an extra 29,000 seconds sleeping when you could just combine it with Rylandâs 29,000 seconds didn't tighten into good enough logic.Â
Your lungs drew a small breath in, co-mingling uncomfortably as your ribcage expanded. Not satisfactory in any way, just to keep yourself grounded. Without Ryland there to talk through the stillness, your own pervasive thoughts would consume, the notions of Earthâs demise during the time it took to get to the Tau Ceti system and the ultimate fate she and her people would face if you werenât to succeed this mission.
There was something off about the emotional weight in the air. About the way that Rocky was moving, which sounded crazy, but hey. Spend enough time around an Eridian who relies on echolocation to even sense your presence and youâre bound to pick up a few things about reading the room. And hearing the room. His usually scampering noises were muted today. Softer, more subdued. Definitely less energetic than usual.
You exhaled softly, letting your head tilt back against the xenonite. âHey, Rock.â
Quiet.
Rocky didnât answer right away as you readjusted your body, leaning more against the wall so you could look over at him in the dim casted light of the dormitoryâs lowest luminance setting. With parted lips anticipating speech, you watched him. Limbs moved with the same careful precision over his work, the choice today being the chain to be used in your fishing excursion above Adrian in a few days, butâŠ
There was a pause between motions that normally wasnât there. Your eyelids squeezed shut before re-opening, making the assumption that⊠Your vision was faulty, and not Rockyâs movements. Maybe you did need to sleep. You thought and looked at his three-digit, five-claw tactic and still saw the same languid stanza between motions.
âHeyâŠâ You repeated, softer this time as it drew more into empathy. Maybe he was homesick, like you were. Given your estranged evolutions leading you down the same paths, it made sense to think that Eridians had a similar basis of thought-provoking emotions and attachments.
There was a low chord that answered you this time. It sounded almost⊠Heavy and was so resonant that the computer didn't bother to even pick it up and offer you a word in response. Something about it made you feel sad, a frown tugging at your face.
âYou okay?â
There was an intention to pause this time. You could see Rocky moving his carapace so he was facing towards you instead of away which was previously the case. Your eyes softened at that, though, the emotion was imperceptible to the genius engineer. He had to know though, based on the hushed tone of voice you were using what the general consensus was with your expression.Â
His fingers clicked together like they so often did when Rocky was searching for the correct words. He was quick witted most of the time, so for him to sit and contemplate was⊠Mildly concerning.
âState not optimal.â
You straightened a little once your brain processed the implied meaning. âWhatâs wrong?â
You blinked, mouth opening and closing a few times as you looked at the computer to make sure you werenât mistaken. That was a word that had never come up in any form since your time meeting Rocky. The tonal shifts and riffs used to express it seemed complex, notes layered upon chords and you tilted your head.Â
âI donât⊠understand that word, Rock. Can you explain it?â
Rocky shifted slightly closer to the wall as if the sounds he was making were going to wake up Ryland. âTime-cycle acknowledgement of mate selection.â
It took you a moment to unravel that one. Sometimes, talking to Rocky was like talking to a philosopher who talked in code. A very specific code and you werenât allowed to have the legend to decode. Humming softly, you tilted your head against the xenonite and let the coolness seep into your temple.
âIs that⊠important?âÂ
Your voice hesitated, an idea of the meaning floating around but like the true back and forth of two different life forms communicating, you needed more information before coming to the conclusion. Rocky was faster at it, a point of contention at times when you and Ryland took longer to put puzzle pieces together and Rocky was⊠Impatient. But⊠Rocky seemed like he wanted to talk about this, he was just going around it carefully.
He went quiet for a moment, his claw motions coming to a languid pace. âSignificant marker of continued shared existence.â
Smiling more to yourself, you nodded, âLike, a celebration?â
âNot celebration.â That was adamant. âRecognition of bond persistence over time.â
It finally clicked for you as you leaned over, typing with one finger into the computer.
ANNIVERSARY.Â
âWe call that an anniversary, thereâs different types but the basis is the same.â Your voice was intentionally gentle and whether Rocky cared about that or not, you didn't know but you were sharing what you would consider to be a tender moment so the harder vocal tone wouldnât have felt right.Â
âItâs a measure of time, annually for Humans, to mark a significance in their lives that altered their choices and futures. Sometimes it can be as simple as moving jobs, or more complex like the date of birth.â That had its own conversation youâd explain when you had time, but you pressed forward.Â
âIn the case, it would beâŠâ You hesitated, âA romantic intent.â
Rocky clicked before letting out a low chord, something thoughtful but also something a little⊠Sad. He reached up almost subconsciously and let his claw graze against the beautifully colored dual circular mark on one of his arms. Wedding band, your mind went straight to that conclusion, eyes admiring the chic and gorgeous color even in the dim light. You wished you could touch it without his atmosphere burning you.Â
 âConcept aligns. Is anniversary with Adrian.â Rocky concluded.
âThat must be hard. Being away for it. From them.â You were hushed, readjusting your shoulders so you could look at him properly. Heâd stopped working at this point, setting the chains down on the ground.Â
âYes.â
The computer chimed simply but you could hear the melancholy in the way the sounds were coming from his carapace. He tilted towards you as if seeking some sort of comfort and there was a twist in your stomach at the fact that you were only able to give comfort in the form of words.
âMate bond reinforced at these intervals. Physical presence is preferred.â
You let out a quiet breath, huff of sorts at that. So, your kinds were not so different after all. But, Erdians were still Hermaphrodites and you did wonder if the physical presence indicated the next start of an egg cycle. Not the time and place to ask, you filed it away to ask later when Rocky wasnât so⊠blue.
âI understand.âÂ
It got quiet again, the hum of the ship sinking back into the forefront mixed with the continuation of Rocky working xenonite into chains. You found your gaze back towards Ryland, his front side facing you, propped on his side as comfortably as he could in the otherwise uncomfortable plush of the Hail Mary bedding.Â
You could see the tuft of his blonde hair peeking out from under the blanket that he had rather cutely tucked over his face to block the light, but honestly? It was more to block Rockyâs gaze even though the echolocation assured no true form of privacy. Ryland had to know that, but still, watching him sleep was⊠Endearing.
Different from Rocky who looked at it as a necessity, a social norm to keep alive. Your heart did another shift in your chest at that thought. About the 23 other Eridians that made their way to Tau Ceti with him but died. The days and nights, all blurring in the concepts of space, he watched them sleep and then not wake up. It felt selfish to think you were alone when Ryland was with you.
Rocky⊠Truly was alone for so long until the Hail Mary showed up, and he was missing his anniversary to save his planet. There was something oddly poetic in that and you respected the Eridian that much more for it.Â
âQuestion.â
There was a shift in resonance as Rocky moved a bit to get back into your line of view as you had been staring at the scientist across the room. The tone used that mixed with the computer program was changed, back to curiosity but seemed to still carry that quiet weight.
âYeah?â
You whispered, forcing your eyes from intent focus to glance at the alien next to you who was clattering his digits together as if trying to tie together some complex calculation. You smiled at that. Maybe he was, he was able to focus on more things than once so maybe this conversation was just a secondary action.
â(Last Name) have mate, question?â
The question should not have surprised you but something about it landed softer than you expected. Deep and cutting without intending. You heard from Ryland a few days ago that, while in the âDonât Go Crazy Roomâ he had been asked the same thing.
And while you deeply yearned for the conclusion from Ryland regarding that, you didn't press and kept it tied-up professionally as he explained to you that Rocky did in fact have a mate. Seems like it was a heady topic on board a ship were there was very little gossip.
There was no point in pretending. You shook your head curtly and glanced down at your socked feet, letting one of your hands reach down to fiddle with the extra fabric. You must have grabbed a pair of Rylandâs without thinking, they were a little big.Â
âNo. Not really.â
âClarify.â
âI mean IâŠ. Spent time with people, cared about them a lot.âÂ
The idea of having to explain dating was not on your bingo card for the day so you found yourself tip-toeing around certain phrases that you knew he would understand with implications involved. âBut nothing permanent. Nothing like what you have with Adrian.â You turned towards him again with a smile of encouragement at his very long lasting relationship.Â
Rocky made a contemplative note as if he were trying to figure out what to say without sounding⊠Offensive. âNo stable pair bond formed.â
âRight.â
â(Last Name) desire one, question?â
That required you to really sit and think. Hesitate wasnât the word as you rolled the idea through your head over and over again. Obviously, you went on a suicide mission. You werenât going back to Earth and had to cut ties with the desire that Rocky mentioned, but he was still in the dark about it. You and Ryland agreed to tell him just⊠Never agreed to a time or place. It was never just a you decision anymore, it was a âYou and Rylandâ, and there was less of a lonely solace in that as you nodded.
âYeah⊠I think I did. It just never worked out.â
âUnsuccessful attempts?â
You huffed softly, closing your eyes and shrugging your shoulders. Rocky didn't know how he came across sometimes, you couldnât blame him for moments of brashness. In fact, they were often another source of comfort and kept the mission grounded when it needed to be.Â
âThatâs one way to put it.â
âYou are currently without mate.â Rocky said.
The bluntness should have rubbed you the wrong way, but as you trailed your eyes back towards Ryland and the steady nature of his breathing, one of his hands now curled against his chest, his upper half pointed towards you still, peaceful and so far gone in whatever dreams fluttered behind his eyelids, his lower half somehow contorted and pressed against the mattress.
There were a few strands of his blonde hair in his face that you felt your fingers twitch at the desire to brush them aside and let your touch graze against his sharp cheekbones and trace the curve of his dark eyelashes.
Worst of all, you⊠Wanted Ryland to actually let you do that. You dug your fingernails into your thumb and tried to get that out of your mind.Â
Rocky shifted slightly, thoughtful as he observed the stagnant air and stare your body was exhibiting towards Ryland. âYou experience distress due to this.â
âSometimes.â You admitted.
There was another long pause and for a moment, you thought that Rocky was done and that he had gotten all of the information he needed and came to his own conclusion on things without saying he was done.
It happened sometimes, and life would go back to normal. As normal as it could so far from home, with a five-legged alien who could see through walls. It felt like your skin was a bit prickly at the fact that⊠Rocky was still pointed towards you, and there seemed to be a minute shift to his carapace towards Ryland.
This silence was different, your shoulders drawing in on themselves. It felt heavier, shaped by everything heâd shared with you about Adrian.Â
âSuggestion,â Rocky said, cutting the air with a metaphorical knife. âGrace is viable candidate for mate bond.â
The words hit the air and didnât quite land like Rocky expected, you could tell. Not from his face - Eridians didn't really have expressions in the human way that you were used to, but over time and extreme proximity, you could read him like a book.
It was simple, really based on how his arms moved his carapace, how the shift of rock-like structures at the top shifted and how he twisted himself. It was like a subtle recalibration of sorts, equal to if the ship had briefly lost gravity and then found it again without major consequences.
Something about the way he looked at you told you clearly that he meant what he said and that there was no translation error from the computer system.Â
The faint hum of the Hail Mary suddenly felt too loud, too aware of itself. Even Rylandâs steady breathing behind you seemed to pause in your perception, like your mind had decided to listen to everything at once and now it was a loud mess of culmination at what the Eridian just threw scientifically into the air.
Youâd say recklessly, but nothing Rocky did was reckless. It was always based on observations⊠Your eyes widened. What did he observe that drew him to that conclusion?!
âYâŠâ You scoffed a bit, shaking your head, not too adamantly but enough to get the point across, âI think youâre misunderstanding something, Rocky.â
Rocky didnât backtrack. He rarely did. He was⊠Stubborn.Â
The way your throat tightened at the words felt painful and every breath that came into your lungs was pointed like a knife. âThatâs notâŠâ
You began slowly, carefully, but the words died in the air. It was so much easier to deflect than to answer truthfully, you knew, but even deflection came at a cost. âYouâre wrong. Thereâs nothing between Grace and I. Iâm a little⊠Offended you even brought it up.â
âExplain. Rocky made logical assessments from many variables noticed over time. (Last Name) have no assessment mentioned. Stupid debate.â
A quiet breath came out of your nose, almost incredulous, caught on the edge of a laugh but it didn't quite make it there and you sounded like a strangled animal but still remained fragile. You were yelling at yourself not to look at him, if you had even a secondâs control over your own thoughts.
But of course you did.
Your gaze found Ryland again, drawn to him like it always was, like he was the only thing in the room full of a thousand buttons that did a million different things.
The slow rise and fall of his shoulder beneath the blanket felt almost hypnotic, like a rhythm your body had learned without asking permission to remember. Your eyes lingered longer than they should have and decided to take in the delectations he had to give.Â
The way the dim light caught against his tanned skin, the way it played against his beard and captivated hairs to appear more golden than blonde, the subtle shift in his breathing pattern, the⊠Gravity of his entire presence. Known to you for so long, but you chose to shove it aside. And now? It felt ridiculous really, how easily your brain was about to unravel around the simplest him. How the noises that were in your head became gentler.Â
âI do care about him.â
The words come carefully and quietly, like admitting them to anyone but yourself might break something that had been non-spoken for so long. Out of your peripherals, you could see Rocky cease. Not silent, never was, but still in the only way that you imagined he could be. And nothing about his stance yelled at you that he was going to gloat about being right in the first place, or laugh at you for crumbling so easily.
That urged you to continue, the lack of judgement, your voice lower now as if the other human in the room would wake up if you spoke too rashly. And yet, there were still flickers of raw fragility around the edges of your chosen words that hurt you more to say than anything.
âRyland, I meanâŠI--- I care about him a lot. More than I probably should, considering the circumstances of the mission.â
You fingers began anxiously picking at the seam of your sleeve. âHe⊠Makes it easier, you know. Being here. Being⊠myself.â
A small exhale escaped your lips, shattering into the air. âI guess I⊠didn't realize how much I needed him..â The words dies in the air but you both know what was to be said.
I didn't realize how much I needed him until right nowâŠ
You stop talking for a minute and let your eyes trail towards some part of the room where Ryland wasnât. You couldnât say what you were going to say looking at him, guilt tearing you apart from the inside as it flashed against your lungs like an ugly whip. âI canât⊠Do anything about it.â
Rocky tilted slightly. âCannot care?â
You shook your head immediately. âThatâs not the problem, Rock. I do care.â Your voice caught in your throat, it was barely a whisper but the Eridian detected it without issue.
There was a brief second where you wondered if Rocky would understand the infliction in your voice at that and the undertones of which it implied. You cared for Ryland, that was the problem.Â
The confession hung there, suspended between you and the hard xenonite wall behind you. You picked at the sleeve a bit more aggressively, feeling the twinge of string come undone. The truth came out in a steadier thread, your voice collected and even despite the truest desire to scream in confliction.
âI think⊠If we try to define it like that⊠If I turn it into something like what you have with AdrianâŠâ There was a hush in the air as you drew yourself into a ball, your knees against your chest, leaning against the wall that captivated two atmospheres, âI donât know if I could survive it going wrong.â
Rocky clicked behind you - echolocation markers to check your status, along with Rylandâs though⊠Something told you this was more about yourself at the time. Your gaze flickered down to the metallic floor and you forced yourself to trace the patterns there, seeking some distraction.
âAnd it would go wrong, Rock. It always does. Especially in cases like Ryland and I. Cases of forced proximity and loneliness. Humans are pack animals, we desire the connection others give us. It wouldnât be fair to Ryland⊠ToâŠâ You swallowed hard and squeezed your eyes shut. âForce him into something that he wouldnât even think about on Earth. So I just donât⊠Call it that. I donât call it anything.â
Rocky processed your emotional dump in silence. There was no point in him interrupting it, you would have just gone on and words would have gotten tied together. He was trying to do what he did best. Shape the words you shared with him into logical and relatable pieces that he could metaphorically hold and understand that way. There was still no judgement, no harsh resonance from him as if he⊠Understood the emotional depth of which you were coming from.
And maybe he did.Â
âLove.â
You stiffened at that, glancing your glassy eyes towards the computer to confirm that it was what you heard. You swallowed back a small lump in your throat at the thought that Ryland had a discussion with him and had to go into the deep fundamentals of human nature to even begin to describe that.
You wanted to be in the room when it happened, just to have an excuse of why Ryland even brought it up in the first place. There was a pang in your chest. Probably talking about some old flame, someone he left behind on EarthâŠ
That was the cynicism talking. Love itself had so many realms, and you were immature to think it only held true to one type. But this⊠You squeezed your knees softly. You wanted to think about it. How Ryland would describe that, what examples he would use, if you would come up in any shape. You wanted that personal lesson and for a split second, your irrationality got the best of you and you felt⊠Jealous of Rocky because he got it instead of you.Â
âThat is notâŠâ You started reflexively, but it was pointless as the denial felt sour on your tongue. You couldnât bring yourself to even finish.Â
All because your eyes betrayed you again, drifting towards Ryland. Towards the absurd, grounding fact that he was even there at all, alive, real, tangible, asleep two meters away from you in a metal coffin drifting between stars. Earthâs two saviors. A brilliant Molecular Biologist, and a stupid, underqualified fool who couldnât even keep their emotions in check.
You exhaled shakily, comparing the motions to Rylandâs smooth breathing that kept themselves uniform and tight.
âMaybeâŠâ You admitted finally, barely audible.
The word felt too big in your mouth like you might gag on it; too dangerous to leave unguarded because it would choke you to death. You forced another round of saliva down your throat, trekking into a mandated steadiness, like your voice was a system you could stabilize with ease.
âBut Iâm not doing anything about it.â
Rockyâs claws resumed their slow tapping, softer than before. Not work this time. Just rhythm. âWhy not pursue if (Last Name) feels emotional distress due to adamant denial of complex human desire for mate, question?â
A humorless breath escaped your parted lips. âBecause weâre here to save Earth.âÂ
Your voice was a touch above a whisper, tears threatening to come from the corner of your eyes at the confession that would never see the light of day. âAnd because I like what we are right now⊠even if it hurts a little. I donât want to ruin it trying to turn it into something it might not survive.â
Silence enveloped the ship once again, but this time, it wasnât empty. It felt like a⊠Shared understanding between you and Rocky, slowly forming a shape in a language neither of you fully spoke but somehow understood. He shifted once, and then settled against xenonite a little bit closer to you. You followed suit and readjusted yourself to lean against it more purposefully.
âHuman behavior strange.â
You smiled slightly, tired and far away as you brought a hand up and wiping a stray tear off your cheek. âYeah, you could say that.â
âGrace sleep with proximity to (Last Name) often.â
Your face warmed instantly. âYeahâŠâ
âBehavior suggests trust bonding.â
âI know what it suggests.â
Rocky didnât reply right away. The faint, rhythmic clicking of his claws continued behind youâsoft against metal, precise, almost soothing in its consistency. It echoed just enough in the small space to remind you that you werenât alone, even as everything else seemed to fall quiet.
âHe doesnât know, and⊠Iâd like to keep it that way.â You explained to the Eridian.
âWould knowing alter mission parameters?â
âProbably.â That hurt. Your voice cracked, âYeah.â
â....UnderstandâŠ.â
âThanks, Rocky.â
And that was the part that scared you the most. Not the possibility of rejection, youâd get over that, or even the prospect of reciprocation, as exciting as that would be. Just⊠Change. Everything between you and Ryland was supposed to be steady and focused. And you were alive just long enough to matter and to save Earth. End of story.Â
Your eyes pulled back to Ryland without permission.
Still on his side, still half-wrapped in that patch-work blanket that never seemed like enough, a relic from home, his shoulder rising and falling in a slow, even rhythm. The dim overhead lighting softened everything about him, including your gaze as you silently said goodbye to the idea of âwhat could have beenâ.Â
Your arms tightened slightly around your legs, the fabric of your sleeves bunching under your fingers as you held yourself there. The air felt cooler the longer you sat still, brushing faintly against your face, your hands, the tip of your nose. You barely noticed it compared to the warmth that came from just⊠looking at him.
âI can live with a little hurt.â That was low enough that it almost blended into the hum of the ship, imperceptible to most everyone, except Rocky. âI canât live with losing him.â
The words settled into the space between you, heavier than anything Rocky had said, heavier than anything youâd been trying to avoid. For a moment, all you could hear was the ship, your breathing, his breathingâseparate, but close enough to blur if you didnât think about it too much.
And for a sweet moment, all you could hear was your breathing intwining with Rylandâs. Separate, but close enough to blur if you didn't think too much about it. And you chose not to.Â
Behind you, Rockyâs tapping slowed, then stopped altogether.
There were no more interruptions. No more logic, or questions. Just⊠Quiet. You swallowed, your throat tight, and let your eyes stay where they wantedâon the steady rise of Rylandâs chest, on the small, unconscious movements that proved he was still there, still within reach, still something real in a place that rarely felt like it.
âIâll just watch him sleep⊠Thatâs enough for me. And hey, Rock?â
âYes, question?â
You smiled softly, letting your head rest on your knees. âHappy anniversary.â
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