In which the government (Eva Stratt) shows up at your door and gives you no choice but to join the Petrova Taskforce. The reason? Ryland Grace recommended you, your old friend (or whatever you were) from college. And for some reason, you said yes.
or
the tether tying you to earth was always very thin, but now it seemed ready to snap.
word count: 10.7k (lol)
content warning: some (a lot of) inaccurate science (I hate to say it but I would not be on the Petrova Taskforce), some plot alterations for my convenience, cussing, slight (very slight) references to sex, mention of parental death, mention of needles and going under, miscommunication trope (yasss) and someone tell ryland grace to just say something!! ( as always, lmk if I missed anything)
a/n: wow this has been sitting with me for a while! this is like my passion project, I have been so excited to get this out and I hope you all enjoy it too! this is my first time writing for Ryland (and writing in a while so give me some grace...see what I did there?). excited to be back and hopefully writing some more!
ANYWAYS, I would happily write a part two of if the people want it! (or just rant in my inbox about headcanons)
If there was one thing you knew it was that Ryland Grace and you perfectly orbited each other, even when he was far off in San Francisco teaching the next generation of young scientists. It had been that way since you met him in college and it just never stopped. Part of you thought it was written in the stars that Ryland Grace and you were meant to do great things together.
Even after everything that happened with his research paper, even after your lab group dropped you post college from lack of funding, it was still the two of you. Science Partners, pen pals, best budsâŚ.among other ambiguous unstated things. You stayed in contact over the years, frequent calls, letters, the stupid punny e-cards he would email you on your birthday every year. There was a time, in college, when the two of you were together almost every day. And your excuse was always that we just work well together.
You knew Ryland Grace, you would say it was your next best subject. However, in this specific, very rare instance, you had no idea what the fuck Ryland Grace was even talking about.
Have you ever considered helping save the planet?
You must have reread the email a thousand times. Enough where your brain eventually shut off from confusion and your head met the keyboard in place of a pillow. Only when a loud thudding rattled through your dingy apartment did you finally realize that you had even fallen asleep. You blinked at the screen, lifting your head from your keyboard, the sun shining through the windows onto your desk. Reaching up, you peeled a small sticky note off your face, rubbing your eyes.
BANG, BANG, BANG. The sound rattled through your thin walls again and only on the second time did you realize it was coming from your front door. You paused for a second and glanced at your small digital clock, it was only six in the morning. Shooting up from your chair you made your way to the door, grabbing an umbrella on the way over, just in case.
You peered through the peep hole, only relaxing for a second when you saw a womanâŚthen her two, what you could assume were body guards, behind her. Right about now you would have called Ryland but he had been off the grid, that email being the first sign of life you had gotten in days.
Shit. Shit. Shit. What do you even do? You glanced back out, seeing them talking amongst themselves before knocking again, the woman calling your name through the door. Quickly turning to the mirror on the wall near the door, you let out a groan at what you saw. There was mascara smeared under your eyes from sleep and your hair stuck up in fifteen directions, all completed by the oversized t-shirt you had on reading âThis gal believes in aliensâ.Â
Fuck it!
You threw the umbrella to the side, brushed some hair out of your face and opened the door, casually leaning against the frame like everything was under control.
âHi,â you spoke up, voice rough from not sleep, quickly clearing your throat in response, arms crossed over yourself to hide the stupid shirt. âHiâŚuh is there anything I can do for you?â
The women did not look amused, only offering you a nod, slightly peaking into the small studio apartment behind you.Â
âYes, actually, you received an email,â she spoke, sharp, straight to the point. It wasnât a question really, more like a confirmed fact she was repeating. Her eyebrow quirked ever so slightly at your silence. âAm I wrong?â
You shook your head quickly.
âYes or no? It is really that simpleâ.
âYes, yes, sorryâŚâ you hesitated for a second, coming to the quick realization you had no idea who these people were. And yet, you were so scared to see what would happen if you lied. âYeah I got an emailâ.
âNot my decision. Dr. Grace thought however that it would be most efficient,â she continued. âHe has spoken very highly of you and from my own research, I can understand whyâ.
Dr. Grace? Ryland?Â
She gestured past you which you could only respond by moving to the side. Her presence commanded space and you respected it, or feared it, there was a lot to unpack. She stepped past you, turning to give a nod to the two men with her who remained outside.
âI am sorry,â you began, closing the door, turning to face her. âMaybe you got the wrong person-â
âThat is not possible,â she replied. âHe was very insistent that we must contact you in order to move forwardâ.
For what? Contact you for what?
You watched as the woman moved around the room like it was her space, picking up books and skimming through old pages of notes you had written. Then she turned to face a white board you had mounted messily in your kitchen, scribbled with notes and doodles that surrounded three big words: THE PETROVA LINE.
âSeems we are on the same page,â she mused, the first time you had heard any significant change in her tone.Â
The space and the stars and the idea of infinity above had kept you up late into the night as a child. Your parents should have expected your world was one far away from the grounds of Earth, that you would live your life with your head in the stars. Your father used to have to drag you inside from your backyard, you set up with a blanket and a small telescope that they had bought you for your birthday that year. Each night would end the same, your parents calling you to come inside and you asking for five more minutes, which turned into ten, which turned into hours. But your little sixth grade self could not fathom how school was more important than the world above, the possibilities of the stars.
And when you went to college to study that world it was the easiest decision of your life. Then the stars turned on you and you could not understand why.
The Petrova Line kept you up at night.
âYou studied the Tau Ceti System, yes?â
The name of the planet system sent a shockwave through you in a way you didnât even know was possible. Tau Ceti was your whole life, or it had been in a distant past, it was a system you believed to have more potential than people truly gave it credit for. Yes, you knew Tau Ceti, however you had let that ship sail a long time ago.Â
âYeah,â you spoke up, quieter than before. âYeah I did some work on Tau Cetiâ.
And you could not help the wave of disappointment that hit you at those words. You had been recruited to a lab group after college that was specifically dedicating funding to researching the Tau Ceti System, and when it fell through, so did all your plans. You had dropped every other offer for the one that, it was everything you had wanted. It was a risk, and it fell through. No one really prepares you for post college as an Astrobiologist, no one ever tells you that you will end up working as a waitress at the Extraterrestrial Eatery near your house. At least you got to wear a cool space suit there. Tau Ceti and your other research had been benched, pushed to the side for evenings when you had nothing else to do.
âPerfect. Now that is cleared up, grab anything that might be important and we can be on our wayâ.
The women turned to move past you back for the door and you felt like your feet were suddenly glued to the ground. You opened your mouth to speak, before closing it, then opening it again. Yet no sound seemed to come out.
âWhat is this?â she asked, turning back, gesturing to your face. âI do not need the fish impression right now, this is a serious matter, we do not have the timeâ.
You immediately shut your mouth, then took a breath.
âWho are you?â you finally cried out. âWhat is this? No one is telling me anything!â
You felt insane, like you were living in some simulation where everyone knew what was going on but you. Where were the cameras? When were they gonna jump out and say it was all some weird, honestly unnerving, prank?
âI am Eva Stratt, head of the Petrova Taskforceâ she began. âAnd you have been selected by Ryland Grace to help solve the Petrova Lineâ.
âI have work tomorrow,â you breathed out, a loss for words. The Petrova Taskforce, some of the world's most brilliant minds coming to youâŚa waitress at an alien restaurant. The email came back to you, the ominous words from Ryland, saving the world. This was news that a long time ago would have been everything you had ever wanted to hearâŚnow you felt like some imposter, out of place.
Why you? Why now? Why after years of beating around the bush did Ryland Grace need your help to solve one of humanity's greatest emergencies. Why was Ryland Grace solving one of humanity's greatest emergencies?
âThat will not be a problem,â Stratt countered. âWe have already contacted your place of work and put you on an indefinite time of leaveâ.
âYou canât just do that!â you fought back, even if you knew that was the least of your worries. It was all so much, all at once. Ryland and Tau Ceti and the Petrova Line and saving the fucking planet.Â
You remained still glued to the floor, grasping at straws, scared of saying yesâŚmaybe even more scared of saying no. You glanced around the room, the books, the hours of work, the pictures of Ryland and you scattered around the room from college. It had been years since you saw him and maybe that scared you too, seeing him again, reopening feelings you had sworn to bury too deep to ever reach again.Â
Your curiosity for the world remained, your love for space had never quite gone away, that would be impossible. It was just more of a hobby now, you looked less like someone with a PhD in Astrobiology and more like a crazed conspiracy theorist. You werenât the same scientist from college, bright eyed and ready to fly into space if she had to.
Dr. Stratt spoke your name from the silence, your eyes snapping back to meet hers, âthe sun is dying.â
The word settled heavy, lingering in the air between the two of you.Â
âDr. Grace is my last hope,â she continued, honest, blunt. âAnd you are hisâ.
And that was all it took as you nodded, a loss for words, moving in a sort of trance to gather your things.
-----------
If there was something you would be fine never doing again it was that fuck-ass fighter jet. But now, standing in front of the door to the conference room, you think you might rather go back and ride the jet a few more times to stall. You hadnât seen Ryland Grace in yearsâŚand now you were there, feet away from him and the idea overwhelmed you more than you thought it would.
The ride over had been a bumpy, hazy mess. Anyone you tried to ask about what was happening would ignore you as if you were a ghostâŚwhich only left you with more questions. By the time you landed on a boat your brain was too tired to even try to make sense of it all.
You had met Ryland in college. You both ended up in the same class, âThe History of Extraterrestrial Lifeâ...better known on campus as That One Alien Class. It filled both of your general education requirements, or at least thatâs what you told him was your reasoning. It had taken him weeks to get you to admit that you believed in Aliens and even longer to admit that the class really wasnât a joke to you.Â
The two of you were paired up for most of the semester, spending time whispering in class and making jokes about how deranged the content was. Even if it did open your eyes up to the whole Tau Ceti system.Â
You remember the last day of class so vividly. It was your final presentation and Ryland had taken it upon himself to get you these dumb matching shirts reading, âThis gal believes in aliensâ paired with âthis guy probably is an alienâ. It was stupid. And it was so perfect.
The thought made you smile, only for a second, before the nerves of it all settled back in.Â
There was too much there, floating, left unsaid. And it scared the shit out of you.Â
Before you could even fully prepare, the doors opened, your body moving in autopilot as Eva Stratt led you into the room. There you were, suddenly standing in front of what felt like a million eyes, all looking to you like you had answers. You had to remind yourself not to do the whole fish thing again as you just awkwardly gave a small wave, trying hard to keep your mouth shut. What am I doing?  You were a waitress at an alien themed restaurant, not a scientistâŚat least not anymore.Â
Stratt introduced you to the room, briefly detailing your credentials to be here. You had kept your gaze straight, scared to look in either direction, straight was safe, straight was easier. You had imagined what it would be like seeing him again, more times than you would ever like to admit, and this was nowhere close to what you thought it would ever be. In a room surrounded by some of the world's most important people.Â
âThis is Dr. (last name),â you hadnât been referred to as that in a whileâŚand you could not lie, it felt kinda good. âShe has researched the Tau Ceti system most of her career and will help us identify why exactly the Tau Ceti star is the only one not losing energyâ
Great. They really loved leaving out the important details. You knew the star, probably more than the back of your hand but there was still immense mystery to it.
âAnything you want to share, Doctor?â Stratt finished, turning the room over to you and you made the one mistake, moving your head. There, at the left end of the table was him, Dr. Grace. Not an email, not a letter or postcard, not a lingering memoryâŚno it was really him, looking at you. Every emotion you had ever felt about him hit you at once in a way that made you want to grab on to the nearest wall so as to not crumble to the ground. Ryland, your Ryland, the same one you remember, albeit a little older, a little more tired. Your heart stuttered for a moment, actually stuttered, like it too had forgotten how to function. And all you could do was muster a small wave. Nothing could have prepared you.Â
You had spent years pretending that he wasnât the sun of your own personal solar system. It turned out that was much easier when he was not standing feet away from you, his glasses practically falling off his face.
You swallowed, mouth running dry. And funny as it was, after all the years, after all the anticipation and wondering, your body eventually went back to the familiar state it always did when it saw him. You softened. Your heart beat steadied and your breathing returned to something much more normal.
Stratt cleared her throat, your eyes snapping back to hers.
âUmâŚTau Ceti is⌠pretty dang cool,â you finally choked out, the people around the room sharing looks between each other. â...Thank youâ.
Sporadic, unsure claps filled the room as you took a step back, ready to smash your head through the nearest wall. You did not lie, Tau Ceti was pretty freaking cool. But you were sure that was not what the Patrova Taskforce really needed to hear from you at that moment.Â
âThank you,â Stratt said, a slight shake of her head, before she gestured towards the empty chair in the one section of the room you had planned on avoiding for at least a little longer. You tried to ignore her before one of the men in suits began to guide you there himself.
Each step you took felt heavy, like your body was trying to stop you. But there was the other part, your heart racing in anticipation, in want. This was what you had wanted, your work hadnât been the same without him. You two brought out a fire in each other, seeing the best in the mess of crazy ideas the two of you brought to the table. The two of you.
As you walked down the table, a few of the other scientists took turns shaking your hand, welcoming you on board. Maybe your speech was not a total mess afterall. You hadnât even realized you had made it to the end of the table, his hand reaching yours before your brain could catch up.Â
âTau Ceti is pretty dang cool,â the familiar voice spoke. Your eyes immediately met his and you felt like the world had stopped for just a second. Every version of him you remembered and every version you didnât hit you all at once. Then you felt him squeeze your hand, his head slightly tilting. âEarth to alien girl?â
It was an odd feeling, seeing someone after so long. The memory of him was hazy until that very moment. You had tried so hard to remember the shade of his eyes and the way they kinda squinted up when he laughed. You had tried to commit those things to memory, tried to live through the pictures, but nothing compared seeing them in-person, in front of you.
You tried to form words, frozen in place, only coming back to reality as Stratt began to talk once more. You quickly sat down, pulling your hand from his and forcing your attention forward.
There were a few seconds where neither of you spoke, ignoring the weight of his eyes on you. You were supposed to be professionalsâŚsince when were you ever professionals? You were on a boat, with the world's best scientists, saving the planetâŚnext to your best friend. And somehow, that felt like the most overwhelming part. You were sure your brain would eventually catch up one day, the shock fading with every minute that passed.
Then he slightly shifted in his chair, âPretty dang cool?â he asked, just loud enough for you to hear, just like the two of you used to do in those alien class lectures. A smile grew on your face, one you tried to bite back.
âI panicked,â you whispered back, eyes still focused forward on Stratt, nodding along to words you werenât even hearing. You didnât have to look at him to know he was smiling too.
The silence again, the silence of years of pushing off visits and ignoring the hard questions. It made you twitch slightly, racking your mind for anything to ease it.
âSo, are you the one responsible for the U.S. government pretty much knocking down my door this morning?â you whispered from the quiet, a slight quirk of your brow, gaze still set forward.Â
âGuilty,â he said, seeing him lift his hands in mock surrender in the peripheral of your vision. You could almost roll your eyes at how predictable the response was, slightly nudging his foot with yours under the table. He let out a quiet, breathy laugh, one you wanted to be the reason for forever.
âI didnât think you would come,â he spoke again, his words softer this time, real.
Those were the words that broke your focus, your head turning to meet his gaze, really meeting his gaze, for the first time.
âKinda didnât have a choice,â you replied, half-joking, the other half completely honest, thinking back to the morning and the woman who was now commanding the room. Then you smiled, looking back at him, âBut I would have come regardlessâ.
Even if you still werenât exactly sure what all this was, what you had somehow signed up for. Even if it made you question who you were, why you were hereâŚwhat you were to him.
You looked down to your lap. You were among the greats because Ryland Grace said you should be. You were not quite sure yet if that was reassuring or terrifying.
âItâs gonna be like old times, huh?â he added, as if it would make it all easier. âYou know, you and me, figuring things out, putting the pieces togetherâ.
Fuck. That did not make it any easier.
The meeting breezed by in a blur, words flying all around you as you tried to catch up to speed with what exactly was happening. You could pick out Petrova Line, Astrophage, Tau Ceti, among several other things you werenât quite sure on.Â
And then it was quiet. Just you and him, alone, in a room that now felt much too big. You both started talking at the same time-
âSo-â
âHey-â
You stopped, laughed, apolgizedâŚtried again.
Then you did the exact same thing once more.
âOut of sync,â you joked, a quiet laugh, as the adrenaline wore off and gave way to a feeling you could not describe. You knew him but then again, it had been years. It was finding the balance between an old friend and a stranger.Â
âItâs been a little bit, huh?â he added, hands digging into the pocket of his jeans. You finally got a glimpse of his shirt, a science pun you were sure he was so excited to show his class of middle schoolers.Â
âYeah, just a little bit,â you added, feeling exposed now without the other people in the room, the slightest bit bitter that it had taken all this to see him again. But then again, who really was to blame for that? You looked down at the ground for a second, shuffling your feet against the floor, racking your brain for anything.
 âSoâŚsaving the sun?â
You barely got the words out before he stepped forward, closing the space between the two of you, pulling you into a hug. So tight, like you might disappear. You stood there for a second, air caught in your throat before you caved into the feeling. Your arms looped around him, head rested against his chest, as if this was something the two of you just did.
âI missed you,â he said, honest, real.
You stayed there, just together, quiet in the chaos of the day.
âI missed you too,â you finally let yourself say, quiet as if the whole world was listening and you wanted it to be just for him. âWhy me?â
He quickly pulled away, as if he was shocked into motion, a wild look on his face, you almost started laughing.
âWhat?â he gasped out, dramatic as ever.
âWhat do you mean âwhatâ?â you countered, slightly shoving him in the chest. âWhy am I here, dumbass?â
âHey, so first, we are not cursing anymore,â he scolded, his voice morphing into something you only imagine came from years of teaching. âSecond, you are the only person I know who would be crazy enough to show up hereâ.
He shrugged as if it all was nothing, that dumb smile on his face, as he began to move towards the door. âAnd you would kill me if I got to research Tau Ceti and you didnât get the inviteâ.
You wanted to interject, fight it, but you knew, deep down somewhere, that Ryland never stopped knowing you and you never quite stopped loving him.Â
âYou just gonna stand there?â he asked, already at the door, holding it open. âOr are we gonna do some science?â
It really was like no time had passed between college and nowâŚwell if you ignored the millions of dollars worth of equipment now at your complete disposal. Itâs funny, the way the body reverts back to old habits. The way Ryland and you moved in the lab was your own sort of rhythm, brains connected in a way that seemed almost superhuman. You needed to grab a tool, he dropped it on your desk before you could even move. He had a question, you were answering it as the question left his mouthâŚthen he would smile at you and roll his eyes and go back to his work. It should have felt different after all this timeâŚand it just didnât. It was dangerous. And it was so wonderful.
The Vat, or Stratts Vat as everyone began to call it, was a hodgepodge of every science you had ever dreamed of. You could talk to a biologist from across the world and then suddenly meet an engineer who happened to be from your hometown. For a while you pretended that this wasnât what you wanted, you ached to go back to what was safe and comfortable. But as you stood there, another day on the boat, you realized that maybe this is what you had been waiting for. You were researching again, being curious, all the things your younger self could have only dreamed of.Â
Your days were mostly spent with Ryland, the two of you poking at astrophage while you dug through old research papers you had on Tau Ceti. Your presentation was coming up, only revealed to you a few mornings ago by Dr. Stratt. She had come into the lab early, you had just woken up, believing it to be a perfect time to tell you that you would be addressing the taskforce with any details you had on the planet system. You sat there, swiveling back and forth in your chair, your sidekick on the other side of the room jumping up and down about a new development in Astrophage breeding.
âI wish I had your energy right now,â you groaned out, shuffling through your notes.
âTau Ceti not treating you well?â he asked, peaking his head around a shelving unit that slightly blocked your view. âDid you try taking it out to dinner first?â
All you could do was flip him the finger, scribbling notes at the same time. âYou think I havenât tried that yet?â
He let out a laugh, coming around to stand behind where you were sat working. You had been really trying, but there were some things that just needed to be seen to be understoodâŚand one of those was Tau Ceti. You had theories, tons of them, hopefully enough to be of help.
âShe is still my greatest mystery,â you admitted, turning your chair to face him.
âWell Rome was not built in one day,â he looked at you, a serious look on his face regardless of the word choice. âAnd Tau Ceti is not gonna be understood that quick either".
You let your head dramatically fall to rest on the desk, quietly groaning into the sleeves of your jacket. Then you felt Rylands hands on your head gently shaking it.
âHey,â he began, a laugh already escaping him, you mentally preparing yourself for whatever he would be saying next. âRemember they used to call you the brain!â
âUh, you used to call me the brain,â you retorted, lifting your head up and shoving his hands away. âand it was and still is stupidâ.
He grabbed your head once more, shaking it around, âCâmon use the brain, I know it is in there somewhereâ.
You turned to glare at him, his lopsided smile making it hard for you to be upset at anything. The energy settled down, the man leaning back against the desk across from you.
âDo you think this is all gonna work out?â you spoke up, looking back to your notes. âTau Ceti and the Astrophage and all of it?â
âI donât know,â he admitted, blunt and honest. âBut beats sitting around and waiting for it to solve itselfâŚar at least that it what I choose to tell myselfâ.
You just nodded, letting him fade back into his work as you faded back into yours. If Tau Ceti wasnât enough, the constant push and pull between Ryland and you was. You told yourself to keep it easy, to ignore it, all those dumb feelings squashed down from college that threatened to bubble over any second. You buried yourself in your work, that was easiest. But there would be nights where you would fall asleep at your desk and wake up to a blanket thrown over you. Or mornings when the mess you left in the lab were cleaned upâŚand there would be Ryland, a small wave and a smile, doing a âcheersâ with his coffee mug. You could not let yourself read into it, because then it would be all the much harder to eventually pull away.Â
The presentation day had come in a blur, you now standing once again in the front of that room, papers gripped so tightly in your hands. You were never good at the presenting part of it all. In the bustle of the room you were able to find him, him waving his hands above his head to get your attention. You smile, he shot over two giant thumbs up, and all you could muster was one half as enthusiastic one back. You turned to look through your notes when he caught your eye again, pointing at his head and mouthing âthe brainâ, which you could only roll your eyes in response, a quiet laugh fighting its way out of you.
âAlright everyone,â the powerful voice of Eva Stratt entered the room, coming to stand beside you in front of the projector screen. âAs you know, Dr. (LAST NAME), has been working hard gathering information on Tau Ceti, which will be our final destination for this tripâ.
Everyone around the room turned their full attention to you as the women gestured to you and took a seat. Deep breath.Â
Your heart was jumping in all sorts of directions, as you fidgeted with the clicker, trying to get the presentation to flip to the next slide.
âHi,â you began.
âTau Ceti, it is pretty dang cool!â Ryland called out from the back, heads turning to him, him once again shooting the thumbs up.
âUh, yesâŚas Dr. Grace put it, "Tau Ceti is really âdang coolâ,â some of the scientists laughed at that, the stress easing the littlest bit off your shoulder. You began clicking through slides, diagrams of the systems and the potential planets in its orbit. âThank you for your enthusiasmâ.
You took one last deep breath before diving right in, trusting yourself and the years of work you had put into this already.
âWhat makes Tau Ceti so interesting, while not an exact match, is that it has the potential to be the closest relative to our own solar system,â you began. âWhich means, there is a great likelihood of it supporting life or even already having life within it.â
âNow we know that the Tau Ceti sun is the only star to have not been impacted by the Astrophage, however what is harder to understand is exactly why,â you continued, switching to the next slide, getting into a rhythm. It was easy when it was your whole life's passion. âWhich is why our mission is going there, to better understand itâŚhowever I have some theories that could be useful to prepare our travelers for what exactly might be going onâ.
There was first, the idea that the spectral output on Tau Ceti did not match that of what Astrophage was looking to feed on. However the spectral output is very similar to the Sun so it would have to be significantly off to be a problem, which was unlikely. Along with this, there could be some sort of natural defense, like dust specific to that atmosphere. However, the most exciting idea was that of evolutionary pressureâŚanother lifeform that could be eating away at the Astrophage to keep it in balance. While so extremely far fetched, it was the one that made you the most excited to get the data back from the scientists on the Hail Mary. It could change everything that scientists know about that system.
âBut the honest answer is, we donât know until we get up there and bring back some samples,â you closed out. âNow we do have to be aware that this planet is around twelve lightyears away from usâ.Â
You were in a rhythm now, comfortable enough to really look up and around at the people in the room, several of them taking notes and nodding along. âWhich means we are kinda looking at it in the past. The light we are seeing right now left Tau Ceti twelve years ago. Which is incredible, but there is the risk that this system is already gone or changed and we wouldnât know until we get thereâ.
âHowever,â you flipped to your final slide. âThe data we are able to gather from here points to strong evidence that this system is very alive and this trip will not only open doors for Astrophage but open up a world to an entirely new solar system that could be inhabited by human lifeâ.
You clicked again, the slideshow coming to a close, âAnd, uh, yeah that is it from meâŚthanks guysâ.
The sound of applause filled the room and you finally felt like you could actually breathe again rather than having to remind yourself to. Your face hurt from smiling, looking around the room, taking it in. You imagined your younger self, sat with her big telescope and book of constellations in a chair in the back. She is smiling, the biggest smile you have ever seen. She knew all those late nights would eventually pay off. Even after your original Tau Ceti lab fell through, even when you couldnât find a job and ended up at an alien restaurant, even when your door got busted down by Eva StrattâŚall those days led to this moment, right now. You wished you could go back and tell the girl in college that it would be okay, that she was enough, that one day she would do big things. But eventually she would learn and that made it all the more worth it.
And there was him too. You found his eyes in an instant, it seemed to be the first thing your body did. It was an old habit, one you could not break, nor really wanted to. He was beaming, an ear to ear smile, waving at you like you had just accomplished something so incredible and not just given a presentation. You made your way towards him, your bodies drawn together like magnets. However with each step you took, you felt like you were being pushed further and further away as people began to come up and shake your hand or ask you questions. Further and further until he faded away in the back of the crowd, now a lone hand stuck up above the crowd trying to get your attention. A thumbs up and you knew everything was gonna be okay.
----------
You were sitting at the bar, hot off the mic with Ilyukhina, who had forced you up against your will. The slight buzz in your head was enough to make you cave, you were sure that was the whole reason Ilyukhnia had insisted on getting you a few drinks at the start of the night. All of it leading to a horrific and yet kinda beautiful version of âSpace Oddityâ by David Bowie âŚit felt fitting.
She had bought you a final drink as a thank you, one you were nursing now, looking around the room. Grace had stayed late in the lab, normally you were there too, but the others in the lab had started to joke that you hated fun and you were determined to prove them wrong. You were fun! Very Fun.
You hadnât been down to the bar before, didnât quite understand how people could celebrate knowing what was approaching. You werenât even on the ship and you could barely get your brain to settle at night enough to fall asleep. The room was full of people, singing, laughing, leaning into each other and finding comfort. It made you smile, maybe made this whole thing feel more real. It made the pit in your stomach worse.Â
Your eyes caught on DuBois, a drunk Shapiro leaning against his arm, the two of them laughing together, in their own world. Your gaze lingered, unable to pull away. The way they could laugh togethering knowing that DuBois would be gone, not set to return. They had people here, people they were leaving and for the first time that really hit you. You tugged your gaze away, looking back down to the bottle of beer in your hands, half emptyâŚit would stay that way. You couldnât help it though, like it was a piece of art, you found yourself looking back at the two of them. She looked at him with a quiet kind of intimacy, like the two of them could know what the other was thinking without speaking a single word. They moved in a perfect rhythm, a messy, beautiful rhythm. They werenât just leaving behind Earth, they were leaving behind their peopleâŚa chance at a normal life.
You were gonna be sick. Quickly you set your beer on the table and left the bar pushing through the groups of people singing until you were finally out onto the deck of the ship, cold wind smacking you in the face. You gasped for air, but no matter how much you took in, it still didnât feel like enough.
The ocean was dark ahead, it was like an abyss and as you looked up, you were met with the bright stars, their shine almost too bright with no other lights around to dim them. You felt so small, and in the grand scheme of things you were, and it both terrified you and brought you some peace.Â
Your grip was tight on the railing, it almost hurt. You needed to be stable, grounded, anything-
âHey,â a familiar voice approached from behind, your body tensing before slowly relaxing. You didnât have to turn back, just slightly nodded your head, an invitation.Â
âHey,â he repeated himself, this time softer, as he came around to your side, gripping onto the railing next to yours. âEarth to alien girl?â
âI thought you were working late?â you spoke up, anything to take your mind off earlier, get rid of the image of people who would never see each other again.Â
âThe lab gets kinda lame without a certain scientist analyzing everything I do,â he joked, but you could not get yourself to laugh. âI love your analyzingâŚthatâs uh, thatâs what I meantâ.
It was almost a compliment, a small smile crept on your face that quickly faded out as another gust of wind hit you, the waves crashing below you. The two of you sat there in silence for longer than you ever had before.
âYou okay?â he broke from the silence, turning his head to look at you.
You nodded, âJust coldâ.
He nodded back, unconvinced you could tell, as he began to reach for his jacket regardless. You did not fight him on it, you were cold, maybe it would help. The chunky fox cardigan draped over your shoulders as he absentmindedly buttoned the top to keep it from falling off of you. You mumbled a quiet âthank youâ, bundling into the thick yarn.Â
âSo are you gonna tell me what is really wrong?â he spoke again, him still standing in front of you, adjusting the sweater so it covered you. You met his eyes, his head slightly tilting.
âHave you seen Dubois and Shapiro?â you finally allowed yourself to speak your thoughts into the air.Â
He nodded, returning to stand next to you, leaning once again against the metal rails, "Yeah, they are definitely hooking upâ.
âNo,â You shook your head, âThereâs something more, you can see it in the way they look at each otherâ.
The silence met the two of you again, the waves below you getting louder and louder, them in their own conversation. You wondered if the waves too had problems like this, if they thought about the world and what they were meant to be. You felt nauseous, you chose to blame sea sickness. It hurt even more because maybe you wished he would look at you like that. You supposed that was your last tether to Earth, last tether from making you lose your mindâŚit seemed to be him.
âI just cannot imagine knowing the person that you loved was gonna be gone in a few days, just out in space, floatingâŚand you just never see them again. And you canât even do anything about itâ your voice slightly quivered, it was all too much. The several drinks in your system did little to ease your worry, you actually think it made it worse. âAfter I lostâŚafter my parents, I mean, it took so long to be okay with not getting a goodbye. But they, I mean Shapiro gets to say goodbye. How do you even say that kind of goodbye knowing they are out there and will die, alone?â
You hadnât realized how blurred your vision had gotten until you looked up, finding Rylandâs gaze, his eyes scanning your face. He had been there, in college, when your parents had passed, had sat up with you for weeks on end keeping you distracted, helping you stay on top of work when your world felt like it was ending.Â
He carefully reached to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side, a silent kind of comfort, the kind you liked. You rested your head against his chest, melting into his touch, allowing him to be strong for you for a little. It made your head hurt, all of this and himâŚthere was always him.
You werenât sure how long it was before he spoke up again, you had counted at least twenty crashes of the waves against the boat. It seemed to be the only thing you could think about without falling apart.
âWhere do you see yourself after all this?â he asked, pulling you the little bit tighter against him. You were not in the headspace to dig into that, nor the question he was asking. Because where did you go? You were doing the thing you had worked your whole life for and then what? Back to the restaurant? Back to serving punny dishes named after planets and pretending you were fulfilled?Â
âProbably go home,â you began, your voice thin, a little shaky. âCanât keep the Extraterrestrial Eatery without their best server for too longâ.
It was supposed to be funny but it came out dejected. A quiet laugh escaped him at your words.
âThatâs not-â
âThatâs exactly what it is,â you cut him off, sharper than you meant it to be, gaze set down at your shoes, at the hem of his sweater, at anything that wouldnât make you think so much. âThatâs my life, Rylandâ.
Before this your life had been small, so minisculeâŚyour dreams seemed so far away. Now you were here, it was all right in front of you. You didnât even think you would ever get this close to studying Tau Ceti, all the resources right there for you to use.Â
âThisâŚall of this is everything I ever worked for,â you continued. âBeing here, doing things that actually matter, and then itâs just gonna be overâ.
The lab, Tau CetiâŚhim. You had grown so used to it, too comfortable and the feeling of it being torn away felt weird. But that was life, you would adjust, or you would try.
âIt doesnât have to be over,â he offered, trying to comfort the ache in your words. And it hit you, with a force that could have sent you overboard. Your head snapped up, looking at him, you opened your mouth to say something but stopped yourself.Â
âI gotta go,â you spoke, in a daze of sorts, his words replaying over and over in your head.
âHey, no. Come onâ he too stood up, no longer leaning against the railing. âTalk to me, I am here! We could go sing karaoke or something, be stupid, forget about itâ.
âYou hate karaoke,â you countered, already edging towards the stairs back down into the boat.
âMaybe I could like it?â
âI am gonna go to bed,â you turned back to him, lying through your teeth. You searched his face once more, took a mental picture of him standing right there, breeze blowing through his hair, glasses slightly tilted. He looked perfect.
âIt does not have to be over,â you repeated, more to yourself than to him, before ducking down into the stairs and back down the hall. You were sure he called your name but your body could not turn around. It could have been the alcohol in your system. Maybe you were losing your mind. Maybe it was a little bit of both, but your feet carried you right to Dr. Strattâs office.
You didnât even knock, pushing open the door, her head snapping up from the silence. Her eyes slightly narrowed, you standing there in the doorway, trying to catch your brain up to your movements.Â
âTake me instead,â you blurted out, desperate.Â
The woman did not react right away, just studied you, like she was weighing something you couldnât see.Â
âI have nothing keeping me hereâ.
At least, almost nothing. Â
âI have worked my whole life for this,â you continued, words spilling out of you before you could even really think them through. âTau Ceti is my everything and now I am here. And I can do it, I want to do itâ.
You swallowed, a shaky breath, so loud in such a quiet room.
âI need toâ.
You stood there, feeling so small in the doorway, waiting for something, anything that would confirm that you werenât making a mistake. Doctor Stratt just nodded her head, short and direct, like she always was.
âGo get some sleep Doctor,â and you just nodded back, your brain going completely silent for the first time that night.
--------
When the explosion happened a few days later, it was all the justification Eva Stratt needed. The day had been a mess, the loss of those doctors devastating, the power of Astrophage even more extraordinary . There was no time to even process though, as just as quickly as it had happened, Dr. Stratt had pulled you into a conference room. The plans moved fast, there was no time to delay with launch day approaching. You agreed as quickly as it was proposed, Ilyukhnia sending you small thumbs up from across the table.
The explanation was a blur. The coma, the four year trip, the three hours until you would have to be ready. Three hours before your life changed forever. That was all it took for everything to become real. But you nodded along. You had a duty now, not only to yourself but to Dubois and Shapiro and all of humanity. For Ryland Grace and his students, for the young girls out there dreaming of studying the stars. It would all be worth it, for them. It had to be.
You made your way back towards the lab, moving in a sort of hazy trance. You were allowed a few personal items to bring with you on the ship, most of the ones you wanted to bring were stored on the shelves of your desk. A picture of you and Ryland at a weird alien museum your class had gone to. A photo of you with your parents on move-in day at college. Your favorite book. A journal of your personal notes. And that stupid alien shirt.
You smiled, piling the items into a box you kept in the lab, when the door came rattling open.Â
Ryland Grace came stumbling into the lab practically lit on fire, out of breath, a million emotions on his face. You knew it before he even spoke the words.
âWhat are you doing?â he asked in a panic, searching your face, his eyes shooting in every direction, him taking steps closer to you.
âI donât-â
âNo, you arenât doing this,â his stopped you. âWhat are you doing? They canât just take you?â
âI volunteered,â you countered back, simple, straight to the pointâŚit would make it easier. You turned back to the box, finishing placing the items, scared what looking back at him would do. He was quiet behind you and that hurt the most. Maybe it hurt because of the quiet, maybe it hurt because he didn't have more to say.
âThis is it for me,â you said, still facing the box, busying yourself with organizing and reorganizing the objects, anything to keep from facing the truth. âI have studied Tau Ceti my whole life and now I am going to see it, I am going to help save this planetâ.
âYou donât know that,â he bit back. âI mean we can hope but you have no idea if this is even gonna work-â
âBeats the alternative,â you countered.
âAnd what's the alternative?â
That made you turn, you finally facing him. He looked so tired, a mix of confusion, anger, sadness⌠somehow all at once.Â
âThis,â you admitted. âGoing home to that apartment, living through pictures of a better time while I work that shitty job. Thatâs not living, that is not how I am going to live!â
âSo what, now you are just going off to die?â he was upset, you hadnât seen him like this in a while, not since his theory about water had not been received well in college.
âI am saving humanityâ.
âOh wow, yes, real courageous of you,â he retorted, shaking his head in disbelief.
âFuck you Ryland,â you said, quiet, cold. âYouâre the one who brought me hereâ.
His eyes snapped to yours, the two of you just looking at each other, breathing.
âAnd it was supposed to be a temporary thing,â he bit back. âEmpahsis on the whole temporary part of this all. I mean, just a couple of days ago you were saying how you couldnât imagine people having to say goodbye like this.âÂ
You didn't have the heart to tell him that you hadn't planned on saying goodbye to him at all. It was wrong, you knew that, selfish, but you couldnât get yourself to do it. He was your last tether to Earth and it was growing thinner and thinner.
âI have nothing here for me,â you spoke from the silence.
âYou have-â and then he stopped himself and your head once again snapped up to meet his eyes.
âSay it,â you spoke, quietly, pleading for him to say the one thing that could make you stay. âPlease Ry, just say itâ.
Everything hung there, floating in the air and he couldnât, his head just slightly shaking in disappointment. The tether snapped right there.Â
âOkay,â it was so breathy, barely even a word. You had no more fight left in you, no words left to say, nothing he could do that would change your mind. He was too stuck in his ways, too stubborn. You grabbed the box, looking at him once more, before you shoved your way past him and out the door of the office. It was quiet, too quiet down that hallway and when you looked back he was looking at you and you just gave him a smile, a small oneâŚI will learn to forgive you.
You felt no regret.
Not when Eva Stratt thanked you for your sacrifice. Not when the doctors came in and prepared the injection that would put you under. Not even when the needle pierced your skin. You only did, just for a second, when you heard your name. When his voice called through the room, faint but desperate. It was muffled, your vision growing thinner and thinner, fading at the edges. The voice just grew quieter and quieter. A hand gripped tightly onto yours, shaking you more and more until you felt nothing at all.
----------
The first thing you realize is that you cannot open your eyes, like they are glued shut. You squeeze them a couple times, blinking over and over until they finally force themselves open.
So bright!
You should have just kept them close. You blink a few more times.
Then you realize that you canât move, and not because your arms are stiffâŚno, there is a giant, what you could best describe as, plastic bag wrapped around you.
âEye movement detected,â you practically jump out of your skin at the sound disrupting the silence. The voice is clean, almost inhuman, as it once again repeats its previous statement.Â
You try to move your arms, nothing. Your legs, nothing. Your fingersâŚjust a little bit. The feeling of helplessness crashes all over you at once as you come to the slow realization that this was not just a bad case of sleep paralysis.Â
Before you could even begin to make sense of it, a giant robotic hand swept across your vision, reaching down to unzip the human sandwich bag you were being trapped in. Now was your change, you shifted your weight as much as you could side to side until you rolled and made contact with the hard floor. A groan escaped you, the only sound you could really get out.
What the actual fuck?
There are tubes, connected in places you didnât even know were possible. But nothing was as alarming as the realization that you had no idea where you wereâŚno idea who you were. You looked around in a panic, trying to worm around off the ground, the robot hand stopping you in your place, lifting you off the ground and placing you back onto the table. You left out a mix of muffled objections, the most you could musterâŚyour vocal chords were somehow still waking up. The computer acted before you could even protest, removing all the tubes, sensations you had never felt before and hoped to never feel again. At least, you assumed you had never felt them before.Â
You saw it as your chance, the robot hand busy putting the tubing away, you jumping off the table and immediately crumbling to the ground.Â
âFuck!â the sound surprised youâŚyou were making progress. Using the little strength and feeling in your limbs that you had, you scooted and crawled across the floor. Where was the door? Your head snapped back and forth, up and- There it was, on the ceiling, of course it was. The ladder connected to it seemed daunting but what choice did you have.
The robot spoke again, speaking a name, or you assumed it was, âdetected, aliveâ.
It must have been your name, huh, you didnât completely hate it. You continued to move across the floor, slow, scared that the robot arm might just yank you right back into the air.Â
âMovement detected in the dormitory," the robotic voice spoke once again, causing you to speed up. It was trying to blow your cover, ruin your plan. Who knew, there might be a whole army of robots up there ready to get you. With each scoot across the floor, the feeling in your limbs began to find itself again. By the time you reached the ladder you were able to somewhat pull yourself up, each step getting harder and harder. You were tired, even if it seemed you had just woken up from some coma-like situation. You reached the top, banging the door over and over until it eventually popped up.
Reaching the top, standing on solid ground again was a feeling you had a new respect for. Then you turned your headâŚand you came to the jarring realization that you werenât on solid ground at all. A giant window looking out into the great plane of starsâŚyou were in space. You took slow, cautious steps towards the window, scared that you might somehow get sucked out.Â
It was beautiful, you were at a loss of words for a reason other than your inability to talk.Â
âHoly shoot,â a voice spoke from behind you, you stumbled slightly turning around, throwing your hand up in defense. âYou are awakeâ.
âAm I?â you asked, genuinelyâŚyou wouldnât have been shocked if you had died and were now in some weird waiting room.Â
The look on the man's face was one of relief and that was enough to slowly allow your hands to fall back to your side. He seemed slightly more put together than you were, except for the glasses titled slightly on his faceâŚthough he made no move to readjust them. Maybe he was an alien and that was how they wore their glasses? Were you an alien too?
âWhere am I? What is this? WhatâŚâ you trailed off, once again catching a glimpse of the stars. The feeling was hard to explain, like you were floating in your own head, nothing there but faint blurry glimpses of something that you knew came before this. But no matter how hard you fought, you could not get yourself to decipher the memories. âI canât remember whatâŚâ
He nodded as you spoke, and you knew he understood. You couldnât understand, but your body softened slightly, your heart beat became steady and your breathing returned to something much more normal.Â
âI, uh, I woke up a couple days agoâŚin that room,â he tried to explain, looking as if he too was piecing it together in real time. âWhere do I even startâŚâ
You stood there, helpless, waiting for something.
âWe are in space,â you rolled your eyes at his words, pointing out at the window next to the two of you. âOh right, well, just clarifyingâ.
âAnything else genius?â you didnât mean to come across as on edge but you were confused and hungry and annoyed that your brain could not do what it was meant to do.
âWe arenât in our own solar system,â he spoke again, finally with some seriousness to his tone, you perking up and meeting his gaze. âWe are, according to the map in the control room, in the Tau Ceti system about twelve lightyears away from Earthâ.
He trailed off on the last word, giving you a second to absorbâŚbut you were not a sponge and your brain was rejecting all of it. It made no sense, it was insaneâŚbut so was the giant robotic arm that picked you up earlier.Â
âWe were sent here for a reason,â he finished. âI just am not sure what exactly that is yetâ.
He then paused, a long pause, like he was choosing his next words carefully, âwe were sent in a group of fourâ.
âOh,â you looked up at him, a feeling of relief washing over you, maybe they knew more, maybe they had been awake for longer. âWell, letâs just go pick their brains?â
âThey didnât make it,â he added, the words sitting heavy in the air.
You just nodded, unsure of what to say, scared of how it would all feel once your memories began to trickle back like his were.Â
Would they have been your friends? Would the grief hit you later? The words sat weird in your stomach, even weirder knowing that there was a time where you knew everyone on this ship, there was a time where you knew why you were there. People who were your friends and now it was just you and strangers, chosen by some sort of fate to survive.Â
âWhat happened to them?â
âWhat am I? Your magic eight ball,â he joked, a weak attempt at trying to lighten the moodâŚyou hated that it made you smile the way it did. âDonât fight it, I know it was funny.â
âOh wait, the memories are coming backâŚâ you pretended to think, before letting a blank look spread on your face. âYouâre an assholeâ.
He threw his arms in mock defense and you werenât sure why but it all felt so natural.
âI found some vodka earlier,â he offered up, a shitty solution, a temporary one for sure, but a solution nonetheless.
âWe brought vodka?â you paused. âAt least we know we had funâ.
He laughed and you laughed too, anything to keep you from thinking about what this all was, what this meant and how exactly you get back to Earth from twelve light years away.
The man, who you learned was named Ryland Grace, took you around the rooms he had already spent time exploring. The labsâŚso you were scientists? Then the controls, and the space suits and the shelves of equipment that you could not even begin to understand. He eventually showed you a small closet, one containing boxes labeled with four names, pulling the one with yours on it down.Â
In yours were some picturesâŚone of the two of you, so you were friends? Maybe? You should go with friends for now. Then a picture of two older individuals stood next to you, in front of the sign of a collegeâŚthey must have been your parents. Did they know you were up in space? Did they send you up here? The thought made your head hurt so you stopped, tucking it away, it was for another day. There were too many questions floating as is. Then the shirt, a giant shirt that confused that shit out of you even more. You took it out of the box, holding it up to show him and the two of you just burst out laughing.Â
âSo I have bad taste in clothing?â you asked, trying to regain your breathing, him wiping away the tears from his eyes.Â
âYou should see some of the other clothes people brought,â and those words were just the start. Too much vodka flowing through your system, the two of you found comfort in trying on stupid hats and shirts packed throughout the ship. At some point you found yourself collapsed on the floor with him, laying there, the bag of alcohol laying between the two of you.
You talked for hours that nightâŚwell you assumed it was night, trying to hypothesize about who the two of you might have been. Were you smart? Where had the two of you met? Were you friends? Somewhere in your mind you felt like there was something else there. But you did not want to dig there, when you tried your head would just pound right back. So you laid there, accepting the silence of space, accepting that none of it made sense.
âI am glad I am not alone,â he spoke up from the silence, so quiet you might have missed it.
âI am not sure why, but I feel like we were meant to do this together,â you replied, turning your head to the side to look at him.
He was already looking at you with a soft smile on his face. Tomorrow you would wake up and it would be overwhelming all over again. But for now, you were wearing an alien shirt and laying beside a man with a beautiful smile and titled glasses. Floating absently among the stars and you felt like you have never felt so at home.
rude awakening (rocky & gn!reader, slight ryland grace x gn!reader)
summary: your first time meeting rocky doesnât go well but ryland is oh so happy to have someone to hug
wc: 2.5k
cw: none!
a/n: thank you all so much for the love on all of my fics, your comments make me so happy! hereâs a little something goofy for funsies, part 2 to doctorâs visit is up next!
It was dark. So dark.
As the lingering fuzziness of sleep slowly crept out of your head, that was the first thing you noticed.
The rustle of plastic against your lashes was all you felt when you tried to pry your eyelids apart. They felt so heavy, like you had indeed been sleeping for a very long time and for some unknown reason, abruptly fell out of unconsciousness.
In fact, your whole body felt that heaviness. Completely dead weight and useless. The most movement you could manage was a twitch of your fingers. Was this what sleep paralysis felt like? Youâd never experienced it before but you figured it probably felt an awful lot like this.
When you swallowed, your throat ached- dry and sore- thanks to whatever was shoved down it.Â
You managed a whimper, barely audible around the thing in your mouth, and tried to pull your arms up to remove it. They didnât respond like they were supposed to but you did manage to lift your hand this time. Progress.
Behind the seal of your eyelids, an alternating flashing light of blue and red seared your retinas and a low thrum whirred around you.
You were laying down in a bed of sorts, that much you did know, you could feel the softness of a mattress against your back, but you seemed to be covered in a plastic sheet from your head to your toes.
What was happening?
The loud sound of a zipper followed and you were blasted by the frigid air of a room and bright, bright lights. Squeezing your eyes shut, you wiggled your body some more. You were starting to regain some feeling.
âBody movement detected. What is two plus two?â
A womanâs voice? Except it sounded wrong, too perfect. A computer?
You hummed behind the thing in your mouth.
âIncorrect. What is two plus two?â
You ignored the voice. A whir sounded, followed by a tug on the thing in your throat. The slow drag of the silicone against your esophagus had you gagging, choking around the intrusion. When it fell free, you were racked with violent coughs. For the first time in what felt like ages, you willed your lungs to work on their own without the help of a machine. Chest heavy, choking and still regaining the feeling in your body, you really tried not to spiral. What had happened? Where were you? Who were you?
Your eyes slowly, painfully, began adjusting to the fluorescent lights enough to lift your heavy eyelids.
Shapes were a blur, and all you saw for several seconds was white. After a couple of blinks, a dark blob took form above your head, followed by a web of lines. Tile? A ceiling? It mustâve been.Â
âEye movement detected. What is two plus two?â
Blinking your eyes again, you tried to clear them of the layer of film that coated the surface while a soft tune met your ears. It sort of sounded like a hum, a song maybe but there were no words and no distinct rhythm to it. Some clicking followed. Ever so gradually, your vision cleared.
You could see that what youâd thought was the oddly patterned tile of a ceiling was actually some kind of barrier above you. Clear like glass but held together with some sort of darker adhesive that created a geometric hodgepodge of triangles. Beyond the clear barrier, a normal looking white wall could be seen, along with the source of the annoyingly bright lights. You werenât focused on the lights or walls for long.Â
On the other side of the glass right above where your chest lay, was a pile of⌠rocks?
Rough in texture, a mixture of browns with teal green spots and some leathery bands. It was unlike any pile of rocks youâd ever seen. But when the rock moved, tilting this way and that, tapping part of itself against the clear barrier in three distinct taps with something that looked an awful lot like a finger, you realized that the pile of rocks was alive.
You tried to scream; tried to back away. Unfortunately, your raw and scratchy throat was barely able to make a squeak and your body remained prone.
The creature stood from where it had apparently been sitting down, revealing 5 rocky appendages attached to a larger rocky body. A stream of musical sounds erupted from it- somewhat whale like and mixed with trills like a bird. It was dancing around, spinning in circles above you and waving its arms in the air. It didnât have a face, not one that you could see anyway, so you werenât sure what emotion it was conveying.
Youâd been abducted by aliens?! Oh, God⌠had you been probed? Experimented on? You couldnât remember. Hopefully you were unconscious for all of it if you were. In fact, you couldnât remember much of anything- just your name and basic facts about yourself.
Your tormentor seemed to be talking to you; gesturing to you, to itself, to the room. Your chest heaved in fear. What was it going to do to you? Were more of its kind going to rush in and start conducting ruthless experiments? You could barely move, unable to defend yourself or run away. You would be completely at their mercy.
You pleaded for your body to move, barely able to find the strength in your arms to press against the mattress and push your body up. Doing so, you were able to get a good look at yourself. Tubes were everywhere. In you, on you- electrodes covered your major muscle groups and you were wearing some kind of skin colored, translucent plastic body suit.
What?!
The alien moved some more, walking back a step so you could see it better. It held up a hand (?) and held up one finger (?), repeating a two-noted sound. You shook your head and frantically moved your heavy head around to look for an escape route.
âI donâ knâw whâ yâre sayinâ,â you coughed, your throat painfully dry and scratchy. Your words were barely words. âWhâr âm I? Gâ âway frâm me.â You tried to look over the side of the bed to see how far of a fall it would be if you tried to roll off. You sort of felt drunk⌠or high⌠maybe both.
The rock seemed to get a little frantic, again holding up a finger and repeating the notes with more urgency this time. Was it telling you to wait? Well, you werenât about to wait for some alien scientists to come in and cut you open.
Your head was pounding as you moved to sit up properly, vision swimming as blood rushed from your head for the first time in what felt like years. It didnât help when your forehead knocked against the clear barrier that separated you from the rock with a loud thunk.
The alien made a sound of alarm and pawed at the glass next to your head like it was worried. You groaned and pressed a wavering hand to the clear surface to avoid hitting your head again as you tried to get your legs to respond. They stayed limp and useless.
âCâmon,â you cried, pounding at your thighs with a fist. You felt like you were running out of time. If the alien was trying to get you to stay, that meant it probably notified the others that you were up and trying to flee. It did make you feel a little better that, for whatever reason, the creature stayed on its side of the barrier and didnât venture into yours.
No time to ponder! Blinking rapidly to get rid of the stars that danced in your vision you moved to grasp your calves and physically lift them over the side of the bed but pounding footsteps rang through the room and you knew it was too late.
Tears sprang to your eyes as you looked in the direction of the sound, waiting for a hoard of aliens to charge at you to tie you back onto the bed. Instead, a single figure ran into the room from the depths of whatever facility you were in. And it was a man.
A normal looking, human man.
You instantly felt like you recognized him but couldnât remember how or where. He was tall, wearing a tight t-shirt and what looked like the bottom half of a jumpsuit with the arms tied around his hips. Glasses sat over the bridge of his nose and his hair was damp and wild, like heâd just gotten out of a shower and ran a towel through it. If you werenât terrified for your life, you wouldâve ogled at him.
âYouâre awake!â He smiled, a cheesy excited grin that had you momentarily forgetting why you were even scared of him in the first place. He approached your bedside in quick strides and gripped the edge. âI thought you were brain dead in there and the system was malfunctioning thinking you were still alive. I wouldâve tried to wake you up earlier but I didnât want to risk any complications of pulling you out of your coma prematurely so I just held out hope that you were ok in there and-â A disbelieving laugh. â-you were!â
He seemed so happy to see you, this man you maybe knew but didnât remember. And⌠a coma? Youâd been in a coma? Were you sick or something? Recovering from some horrible injury?
The guy mustâve noticed your racing mind because he nodded like he could read your thoughts. âItâs a lot in the beginning, but I promise your memories will come back with time. Iâll explain everything but I promise youâre safe here⌠er- I wonât hurt you at least. If thatâs what youâre worried about. We can discuss our situation later but for now you need to take it slow and eat something.â
Now that heâd mentioned it, you did feel hungry. And tired. And gross. He seemed trustworthy enough so maybe it would do you well to listen to his advice. You calmed just the tiniest bit and he seemed to notice that too because he suddenly rushed forward to fold you into a hug.
If your legs werenât useless piles of mush, you wouldâve kicked him. But when you felt him sigh, shaky and relieved, you stopped yourself from shoving him away. The way he held you, gripped at the back of your plastic bodysuit and tucked his face against your dewey shoulder, had you wondering how horribly he needed this hug. From how tightly he was doing so, it was probably a lot.
You let him sit there for a while, let him breathe and feel the warmth of your skin under the plastic while you blinked away his hair that poked at your eye. You felt all sorts of awkward but let the stranger do his thing. Wondering how long this hug would last if you didnât put an end to it yourself, motion caught the corner of your eye.
The alien- youâd completely forgotten about it. Maybe it was a weird trick of your imagination after youâd been asleep for so long and the alien wasnât real. It was probably some ceiling fan youâd mistaken for a- nope. It was still there. The rock alien, standing close by and, you supposed, watching this long, intimate hug with interest.
Fear kicking back in, you made a sound that sort of resembled a yelp and gripped at the manâs t-shirt. âThereâs nâ alien-â you fell into a coughing fit, feeling as the man finally released you to press a comforting hand to your spine. He asked for water- asked a cluster of robot arms that you hadnât even noticed in your panic, and a pouch was pressed into your palms.
He didnât seem near as worried as he should be, looking perfectly at ease in the presence of the creature. While he helped you open the pouch and sip water through the straw, he scowled at the alien.
âI told him not to put his tunnels above your bed like a creep but he didnât want to hear it- he said I wasnât watching you well enough so he was going to take over. Heâs been pretty concerned about you.â
You couldnât decide what part of his sentence you wanted to mull over.
The man waved his hand at the alien who chirped something and balled one of its claws into a fist. âSorry, I left the laptop in the control room. Donât know what youâre saying.â
The alien spun in a circle and sat down again with a thump, looking agitated at the spectacled manâs words, a stream of chords spilling from him. Some that sounded much harsher than others. Your head was truly spinning now.
âI tried to explain what medical comas are but I donât think he really understands so heâs been pretty diligent at keeping an eye on you when weâre not busy. Rockyâs been watching you sleep to make sure youâre safe. Itâs an Eridian thing, Iâll explain it later. Heâs been very excited to meet you, by the way- has been ever since he realized there was another human here besides me. Heâs interested to see how other humans compare.â
Eridian? Watching you⌠while you were unconscious? This man talked about this alien, Rocky apparently, like they were best friends. They bickered like best friends. Or an old married couple. You felt like you were going to puke.
âEnough about that, let me go get you some actual clothes. Can you move your legs?â
Right. You were sort of naked. âI-â
âHere, let me help.â The blonde tucked an arm under your knees and helped turn your body so your legs dangled off the edge. Your grip stayed steadfast on his shoulder. When he moved away from you, you didnât let him go. He paused to look at you in surprise.
âDonât leave me withâŚâ You didnât say his name, but you glanced at the thing in the glass tube.
âOh-â The man blew out a laugh, âRocky? He wouldnât hurt a fly. He might run your toes over but other than that, heâs harmless. Donât try to have a private conversation around him though, because he can and will eavesdrop. Give me two seconds, be right back!âÂ
You had no choice but to let go of his shirt, watching helplessly as he hurried out, but not before turning over his shoulder to yell out, âMy nameâs Ryland by the way! If you donât already remember!â
You didnât.
As the sound of his footsteps faded, you warily turned to look at âRockyâ whoâd scooted closer to you again, perching right next to your head. He let out a sound, a coo, and rested a little claw against the barrier.Â
Tap tap tap. Then a thumbs down.
You had to give it to the guy, he was kind of cute now that you looked at him with a little less fear. Still cautious but⌠a little less guarded. And the thumbs down was kind of funny.
Rocky perked up and swayed back and forth with a chirp of definite happiness when you hesitantly gave him three taps back.
a/n: what if i said i watched lars and the real girl and lars has charmed me
summary: after stratt hires you on as a documentation specialist for project hail mary, you find yourself being more and more drawn to one dr. ryland grace. (part ii here and part iii here!)
pairing: ryland grace x reader
word count: 4.5k
tags: (set on stratt's vat, pre-tau ceti) meet-cute, strangers-to-lovers, forced proximity, workplace relationship, idiots in love, fluff, will they/won't they, documentation specialist!reader
cross-posted to ao3
What would you do if the apocalypse started?
Itâs a stupid hypothetical that you make up when youâre trying to get to know somebody. Something you say at two in the morning at a sleepover, or at work in the break room with absolutely nothing to do. It isnât seriousânever thatâuntil the Petrova line. Until the pending death of the Sun. Until Eva Stratt comes knocking on the door of your high-rise apartment, asking youâreally, telling youâto abandon your day job and leave for overseas.
She has you document everything. You take notes on all the major classified meetings. You transcribe conversations between officials, especially the particularly tense ones. When youâre not writing, she has you in front of a printer-scanner, making copies for the bi-weekly organizational debriefings. You went to school for technical writing, and now, it appears that youâve been placed into the absolute life-or-death version of a dream job. It could be worse. You could be at home, knowing that the next thirty years will spiral into world crises and war over rations. At least youâre doing something.
Her latest project for youâand, allegedly, the most importantâis technical writing regarding astrophage. For the past few weeks, youâve done nothing but compile information from Strattâs several global microbiologists. It isnât until the big breakthroughâthe âgreat American scientistâ who figured out how to breed the little thingsâthat the ball starts rolling. Youâve been hearing all about him, no matter how unwillingly. Thereâs plenty of reserved comments from Stratt about how reclusive he seems to make himself. From the scientists, who praise his findings. From the agents, tooâa schoolteacher, heâs a schoolteacher, and he dresses like one, too.Â
The first time you meet him truly is ultimately⌠gratifying. Dr. Grace lives up to expectations. Youâre at the other end of the table when Stratt leads him in: a mousy, blonde-haired thirty-year-old man. Glasses askew, and dark-blue eyes blown wide. It takes a lot of will for you not to tilt your head at the sight of himâthe way his eyes dart around the room, his unsuccessful attempt to back himself out of it. Itâs⌠amusingâlike watching a baby bird get coaxed out of the nest. What comes next is rather productive. You type fast on your laptop: astrophage, single-celled, Venus, high-CO2, breeding, replication by mitosis. You arenât able to focus much on him, per say. Itâs more his words, his cadence when he talks about the discoveryâand the following queries that come with debriefing him on Project Hail Mary. Heâs cute. And there isnât enough time in the world for you to think that.
â
The next time you see him is in the mess hall a couple days after. Clearly, Stratt has him settled inâprobably placed him in a nice bunk with another one of the old scientists. He sits mulling over a bowl of cereal, looking almost identical to the way that he did in the meeting room. The greatest change, clearly, is his choice in clothing. Heâs got a knit cardigan on, over some punny science t-shirt that you can only vaguely read. Dr. Ryland Grace sits alone. And, heâs in your spot.
Your imagination runs its course. Maybe, he likes solitude. Maybe, heâs still facing the fact that this ship is filled with some kind of Sisyphean effort to try and save the planet. Youâre very sure, looking at him stirring his spoon pointlessly in the bowl, that this situation is too big for him. He wants to go home. Youâve got your own tray of breakfastâoats and bottled juice. Clearly, youâre not used to the barrack-like quality of the ship quite yet, or else youâd be able to sit down with just about anyone else. The only downside of your job is that you donât have very much time to talkâburied in screens and stacks of files. You sit alone, too, most of the time, in this very spot that Grace has decided to occupy for himself.
You approach him slowly, waiting for him to notice your presence on the other end of the table. Itâs regrettable that he doesnât, so caught up on the swirling quality of his cereal. You have to knock your knuckle on the edge of the tabletop. âDr. Grace,â you hum. He retracts his hand from his spoon like itâs red-hot and stands up to greet you.
âHi,â he says, pulling his own tray back to make room for yours. âPlease, please sit down.â You wonder if heâs going to try and reach out to shake your handâbut heâs back down as soon as you swing your leg over the bench. You follow suit, giving him a polite, tight-lipped smile. Grace hums, eyes squinting as he taps his fingers across the tabletop. âI recognize you,â he says, âYou had the, uh, fast hands.â The observation comes out of his mouth disjointed and awkwardâbut, straight to the point.
âStratt hired me on as a documentation specialist. Fancy title for making sure that everything gets dated and down on paper,â you tell him. You almost want to light up at the thought of him picking you out in that stuff-full roomâbut youâve got to keep your cool. âIâve been assigned to record all research regarding the astrophage.â Which means youâre going to spend a lot more time together.
âImportant work. Historians will love you if everything turns out how itâs supposed to,â Grace nods. In truth, youâd never considered your job in that light. In your head, Stratt had simply wanted documentation as a contingency. If all Hell broke loose, thereâd still be the logs that you maintained of all the work of the scientists, the engineers, the researchers⌠You hadnât been able, in the rush of it all, to consider what it meant long-term.
âRight,â you chuckle, âAnd molecular biologyâll make a pretty shrine for you, too.â Itâs a silly thoughtâFather of the Astrophage, on a platinum plaque. The flattery makes him shift in his seat, index finger coming up to push up his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. You have to soak it in a little bit, his nervousness up-close. Itâs charming.
The two of you sit in silence for a moment, making ample use of your food by using it to keep quiet. Grace has his cereal, and you your oats. Itâs easy. You feel like a little kid again, trying to make a friend in the cafeteria; youâre sure thatâs what it looks like, too. You take a moment to crack open the lid of your juice, and Grace takes the opening. âIs this where you wouldâve wanted it to end up?â he asks, âWhen⌠everything, you knowââ
âWent to shit? No, not at all,â you huff. It comes up again. What would you do if the apocalypse started? Except, this time, itâs very clear that neither of you have much of a choice. Yes, itâs definitive now. Grace doesnât know how he got here, still, despite the briefings. Heâs in the middle of the ocean, and so are you; he wants advice. âI think most people hope for a conservationist sort of end. Like, in the middle of the redwoods, in a tiny cabin with a stone chimney, or something.â
He lets out a dry chuckle and stifles it quickly with the back of his hand. âIs that what you wanted?â
âNo. I mean, I think Iâm where Iâm supposed to be now. Itâs this or slow, slow death.â For an unquantifiable amount of people, you could add. You find it better not to.
âAnd, your familyâ?â
ââknows Iâm here, if you can believe it. Strattâs act of kindness. They think Iâm doing administrative work for the U.N., which isnât a complete lie,â you murmur under your breath. He can only nod solemnly. Carefully, you recall: âShe told me that you didnât⌠have anyone to contact.â
He doesnât seem phased at all by the inquiry. âNo, no. My parents passed away before I finished doing my doctorate. They were older. I moved to the Bay for my tenure track after that. It was the easiest decision I couldâve made, consideringââ He doesnât have to spell it out for you: he bombed his own career with a single dissertationâit was teaching or nothing at all. And, all things considered, Grace really loved to teach. âI lived alone in the end. No dog, one ex.â
Ex. You think itâs probably too soonâand, too much pressureâto tell him that you donât have anyone else waiting for you at home, either. In some twisted way, you might want him to be curious about it. To wonder if thereâs someone waiting for you at the shore, or if youâre hooking up with one of the pilots on-deck. Itâs all a bit of harmless fun. Vaguely, you explain, âI had an apartment, too. Nice place. Took forever to hunt for it, lock down the lease, decorateâand then, nothing. Had to surrender the keys after Stratt made it clear she wanted me on-board.â
â
Itâs all been a little bit less lonely since Graceâs boarded the ship. You practically have to be glued together on account of Strattâs orders. âHe should rarely leave your sight,â she tells you over dinner one night, in a cleared navigational deck, âItâs imperative that you have his calculations recorded down to the decimal and uploaded to the database.â Really, it isnât the hardest task. After that first breakfast, he seems generally comfortable in your company. He floats towards you, seemingly, more than you do him. The greatest tell is his punctuality. Grace makes it early enough to morning meetings so that he can position himself right beside you.
When thereâs much more dull conversation being held about different nations providing staff or material, you notice that he has the tendency to get more⌠distractable. Beneath the table, you can feel his knee brush against yours as he bounces his legâsole of his sneaker scuffing against the floor. Of course, he doesnât have nearly as much reason to listen when the conversations turn more diplomatic and less scientific. And, while youâre supposed to pay attention heartily and take your extensive notes, Grace is on the less helpful end of the spectrum.
He likes to pass notes. They vary in topic and seriousness. Thereâs one particular morning when he chooses to be heavy-handed with them. It starts as soon as the representatives begin to argue. With nimble fingers, Grace slips the note right next to the trackpad of your laptop. Britain is a tool. Britain being the politician from Britain, an older man with too-tight trousers who dissented to almost everything Stratt had to offer. You take the card and slip it between the front cover and the first page of your notebook.
More chatter, and you can already see him scribbling out the next one behind his walled-up hand. You peek over, and he slides it determinedly towards you. Hope they do something other than eggs today at caf. Yes, theyâd served it five days in a row. You decided to keep your complaints about it in for the first three days, and broke on the fourth. Grace had heard the bulk of your argumentâthe grittiness of powdered eggs, and how youâd kill for a stack of pancakes. This note, you slide back over to him. Itâs not nearly as taboo as the first, which means he can have it back.
The last one Grace has for you comes a whopping ten minutes later, after he gets pulled into a conversation about laser tech for the breeding tanks. Once that devolves into yet another disagreement, he turns his attention back over to you. This new note, he makes sure to fold in half before lodging it beneath the keyboard of your computer. It takes you another five minutes of conversation lulling for you to open it. You pry the two edges open to read it: What do you do with sick chemists? Helium. What do you do if they die? Barium.
This one makes you snort to yourself too loud for your liking. You brush the index card into your lap with your nose scrunched in realization of how much of a slacker you must look like. This routine of yours is beginning to set itself in most morning meetings, and youâre beginning to wonder if you should start giving him the silent treatment. Grace appears rather proud to have made you laugh, chest puffed out; he tries to hide his smirk by looking down at his lap. If Stratt has an opinion about it, she doesnât say anything.Â
â
Youâre staring, and you really canât help it. Grace has his cardigan shedded and strewn across the nearest lab chair. Heâs doing an awful lot of calculations, something on astrophage power output that youâll have to ask him to spell out for you later. The graphic, of course, is no better than the rest of the shirts heâs worn all week. But, the real kicker is the way that the fabric of his short-sleeves are hugging around his biceps. You couldn't have guessed that Grace would be so⌠fit.Â
You canât take your eyes off him now, as he takes a black Expo marker to the surface of the whiteboard. The shirtâs tight. Youâre checking him out. It isnât until he peeks over his shoulder at you that you become all the more conscious of it. Itâs a fleeting moment; unwillingly, you peel your eyes off of his and onto your laptop on the desk in front of you. Youâre supposed to be compiling a folder to send out to the Payload Systems team. Not⌠this.
âSorry,â you shoot out mindlessly. You make an exerted effort to examine the inventory list on your screen and cross-check it with another spreadsheet on the tab over. Busywork. Itâs better to look like youâre doing literally anything else.
Grace doesnât take his eyes off the board as he continues scribbling across it. He lifts the marker off the board a moment: âWhat for?â
You suck in a deep breath. An apology implies that youâve got something to be sorry about. You want to leave nowâbut thereâs really no good excuse to. Stratt is off-site, which means that youâre only doing busywork âtill sheâs back with new news. So, you elaborate with an empty ââŚNothing.â
âO-kay,â he enunciates. You canât do anything but return back to your screen with an attempt at dutifulness. Grace stays at the board, head tilted to write some undecipherable combination of greek-letters at the upper-right corner, and you can go back to your previously abandoned work. Itâs almost machine-like, the way in which he scrawls the information from left to right, without any hesitation. You write several lines down on the notepad to your left: Hermle centrifuge machine needs replacement. Polypropylene for containment units â CNPC bulk load. And, messily, at the corner of your page, In love with Grace?
Itâs difficult to tell. Youâre together ninety-percent of the time. Youâre clearly attracted to him and his square frames and his dad clothes. He makes you laugh, lets you use his old iPod to listen to Oasis. And maybe itâs the close proximity speaking, but you feel deeply about Grace in a way that you arenât sure how to describe. Like now, as he caps the white board marker and slides it into his back pocket, before coming over to check on you with quick steps.
âOn a scale of one to ten, how illegible is that?â he asks you. You try not to cave as he rests both of his hands on the edge of your desk, toned arms straining right beside you. You squint as you stare at the board, trying to make sense of the numbers.
âI think I can get everything down except for that bottom-half. Itâs not your handwriting, just the formulas,â you admit. Youâd never been one for complex mathematics, and you need to make sure you can get the equations recorded exactly as they are.
He hums, âThat isnât bad at all. For now, just note the biomassâcircled and labeled it wet weight, in tons. If you need to, you can send the number out to DuBois, see if I got the match right, and IâŚâ Grace trails off, picking up the mug that he has set on the desk next to you. He makes an additional effort to peer into your own empty mug, before picking it up with his other free hand. âWill be right back.â He carries them out of the room without another word. Another plus: he fetches you drinks without any asking.
Itâs more quiet when heâs out of the room, presumably at the espresso machine just down the hall. In Graceâs absence, you can actually think more clearly about the situation. You know that Shapiro and DuBois have their own version of a relationshipâalbeit, more or less casual. At the end of the world, nobody really bats an eye about it. All things considered, itâs actually better for morale. You have to wonder if thatâs in the cards for the two of you.
It isnât long before he comes back with the two mugs. First, he places his a safe couple of inches away from your computer. Then, he makes a slow gesture for you to take your mug out of his hands. âCareful. Itâs hot,â he tells you softly, running his hand beneath the bottom of the cup to swipe off the possibility of a wet ring. As he gingerly passes the handle into your hands, your fingers brush against one another comfortably. You note, eyes glancing up from the steaming cup, that thereâs a faint blush littering his cheeks. But, heâs too intent on the handoff to take his eyes off the coffee to look up at you. Yes, you think, In love with Grace.
â
Once you figure out that fundamental fact, you start to think it over too much. Thereâs nothing necessarily wrong with your finding. Itâs natural, and probably inevitable, for you to have fallen for him. Whatâs more anxiety-inducing is what youâre supposed to do about it. Under any other circumstances, youâd be okay keeping your mouth shut and letting the opportunity pass you up. But, considering the timeline of the Earth at present, it seems like thereâs no time to waste. At the end of the world, it isnât the sort of thing you should keep to yourself. You should tell him. And still, youâve been sitting on the idea of it for weeks.
You really hope that Grace hasnât figured it out, as observant as he isâbut itâs really very clear to everyone else on Project Hail Mary. You can tell by the way they watch you both, like it's morning television. Grace rambles on about astrophysics, and you listen. He goes off on tangents about old and wrong college professors, and you laugh. You talk about your life before the project, and he listens with his chin resting on his hand. He asks you questions about what you used to do, where you used to goâlike youâre another thing to learn. And everyone fawns.
Itâs a good night when you hole yourself in your bunk room. All the engineers and specialists and to-be cosmonauts are all gathered together for drinks and a movie. The simple act of slipping away, letting people assume that youâve got a migraine or an extra load of paperwork, is easy. Itâs in the comfort of your tiny twin bed that you get to listen to the ocean and wailing ship creaks, window propped open to let in the fresh air. Itâs strange to think that this room has been yours for so many months; the gunmetal ceiling of it is familiar now.
You get to enjoy this for upwards of an hour, until footsteps come clunking down the hall. Youâre sure you know who they belong to. Thereâs a couple of soft, metal knocks on your door. âHey, buddy. You sleeping?â Itâs Graceâs muddled voice on the other side of the door. âDinnerâs up and everybodyâs wondering where youâre at.â
You raise your head off of your pillow, âDoor's unlocked. Just come in.â Itâs a quick scramble for you to sit up and toss your legs over the side of the bed. As soon as Grace makes it through the doorway, you give him a sheepish smile and a wave.
âJeez, itâs freezing in here.â Graceâs cardigan is hanging on his right hand. Another tight tee tonight, vintage tour shirt for The Beach Boys. You have to look away as he tosses it on the desk chair adjacent to your bed and as he comes up to sit right beside you. âYou know,â he starts, lowering onto the hard mattress, âIf youâve been feeling overworked, I already told you Iâd tell Stratt I could handle my own documentation for a week. Itâs lab standard, anywayââ
Heâs not making it any easier for you. âNo, itâs fine,â you insist. It isnât very easy to tell him that youâre not overworked, that you just have stupid feelings for him. Your refusal only makes him work harder.
Dismissively, he continues, âYou can just sit there and watch me work. Read a book or something. A little bit of downtime isnât going to be the end of the world. And, yes, I know how it sounds given the current circumstanesâbut I think you definitely deserve it with the amount of running around that you do.â Heâs getting rather impassioned about you resting, so much so that when you mumble out his nameâa soft-spoken âGraceââhe doesnât even pick up on it. He only marches on, âWhen you think about it, itâd help my research, too. Because if youâre stressed, Iâm stressed. And thatâs just no good.â
âRyland,â you blurt. He halts, lips parting and closing. You never call him that, and now he seems very, very dazed. You explain, âIâm not overworked. I just needed a bit of time to think. Alone.â
âRight,â he cedes. âIâm sorry.â You can see his shoulders slump in the slightest, all guilt-ridden about having disturbed you. Grace leans weight onto his sneakers, clearly in an attempt to get off your bed and dismiss himself. Too easily, you reach for his arm to hold him in place.
âNo, I want you,â you retract it just as quickly with a blurted, âHere. I want you here.â Grace looks more puzzled than before, but sits himself more comfortably on the end of your bed. Open to listen. You clasp your hands together, âOkay. Iâm going to give you a hypothetical⌠Say, you have a decent life, nothing crazy. Good job at a library. Itâs modest, and youâre happy with it. Go You have a good place, good friends. No⌠partner.â Maybe, the two of you are more similar than you realize. âAnd thatâs okay,â you add, paying no mind to the way Graceâs eyes soften behind the lens of his glasses.
You carry on: âYouâve been okay with that for a decent amount of time. Then⌠apocalypse starts. You find somebody by chance, who youâd probably never cross paths with otherwise, and you realize that you like being with them. And, suddenly, because the apocalypse has started, you probably wonât have another opportunity to like another person like you do this one. And you really like the one.â You can feel your palms clam up at the confrontation of it all, the vulnerability.
He blinks slowly once. Then, twice. Grace raises a slow index finger up towards himself, eyes peering just over the frame of his glasses, âThatâs me.â He states it out like an educated guess, cut-and-dry.
âNo, itâs Yao,â you shoot back. âYes, itâs you, obviously. Who else would it be?â
âOkay,â he says, hand reaching up to take his glasses off. Grace stands up with a deep breath, hand ruffling through his spiky-blonde hair as he walks further away from your bunk. Again, he mutters out a soft, âYeah, okay,â not far off from how he looks trying to expand out a calculation. Grace taps his foot on the floor, paces left, then right, rubs his palm over the scruff on his face. A torturous lack of response. Then, finally, he turns around. âSo, the whole time you werenât just really into microbiology?â
You have to gawk at him. âAre you being serious?â He looks completely serious, glasses hanging off of his chin, blue eyes inspecting the irked look on your face with doe-like curiosity.
âWell, can you blame me? Youâre gorgeous, and youâre also impossible to read.â Gorgeous? He thinks youâre gorgeous. Thatâs nice. You can feel the warmth bloom in your chest at the implicationâbut you canât help but scoff out of pure offense. He puts his hands up in a haphazard shrug. âI mean, now that I know, it makes a lot more sense why you look at me like⌠that. I wasnât totally sure.â Now, it seems that heâs making a bit of a game out of it. You donât care to ask him to elaborate on what âthatâ looks like.
Stubbornly, you tut, âIâm taking it back. Iâm taking it back, and it was completely hypothetical!â You stand up from your spot on the bunk, walking narrowly past Grace to your desk. Briskly, you pick up his cardiganâdisposed of on your desk chairâbefore bunching it up and shoving it towards him.Â
âNo, no, noâyou canât take it back. Catâs out the bag,â Grace insists teasingly, hands clinging to the cardigan. Before you can completely let go of the woollen fabric, he makes sure, next, to grasp his hands over yours. Theyâre significantly larger and warm, too warm; with your hands plastered to his chest, there isnât really anywhere for you to go. You think he must feel the nervousness practically radiating out of you, because he seems to slow down: âOkay, Iâm being difficult. I can grovel if you want me to.â Graceâs voice lowers down into a rasp.
Thereâs a cockiness about it that you havenât exactly seen from him before. You canât tell if itâs making you flustered or annoyedâboth, likelyâand in some bout of courage, you get on your tiptoes to press your lips against his. The cold, metal frame of his glasses nudges against your face as the two of you kiss. Grace takes one hand up to cradle your jaw, and you can hear a quiet, satisfied hum come out of him. It does live up to hypothetical expectation, the way his body melds against yours clumsily around the barrier of the cardigan. Itâs very him, and itâs very you.Â
Grace can barely be convinced, with your hands pushing back against his chest, to let you take a breath of air. Once the two of you split, Grace has a sideways smirk. âI really like you, too. Not sure if I made that clear,â he murmurs. âSo, would you come grab dinner with me?â
đđ. & đđđ. đđđđđ
part I part II
đđđđđŽđŤđ˘đ§đ ryland grace & fem!reader
đŹđ˛đ§đ¨đŠđŹđ˘đŹ you're the medic on the hail mary and come across a photo that must've slipped from your personal supplies which changes the entire dynamic between you and who you thought was your co-worker.
đ°đ¨đŤđ đđ¨đŽđ§đ 1.6k
đđŤđđđđ¨đŤâđŹ đ§đ¨đđ i CANNOT believe it has taken people this long to jump on the ryan gosling train. as always, i this nawt proof-read whatsoever #lewl. nerdy silly white boy with biceps, i want you.
you thought you had it all figured out.
well...most of it anyway.
you thought that you know who you are, why you're here, etcetera or whatever, but a single photograph you discovered that had slipped into a nook of the ship has single-handedly destroyed all of the progress you've made in terms of remembering yourself.
your breath shakes just as badly as your hands, and you feel a nervous pounding in your chest accompanied by a pattern of drums in your ears.
this photo can't be real.
you repeat your name in your head. you are an astronaut, and one hell of a doctor. you are on this ship to assist in completing a mission with your co-worker, ryland grace, the only other crew member to survive the journey's coma.
co-worker.
so why the hell are you staring at a photo of the two of you kissing.
there's a little more context to it though, which actually makes everything a hundred times worse.
there's an arch decorated with an array of lush white flowers that frames you both on a sunny spring day, grace is dipping you into the kiss, a beaming expression on each of your faces as he does so. he looks happy, so you look happy, and you're also dressed in a traditional white gown while grace is wearing a tailored suit, but not black, becauseâ
"black is boring," ryland uttered, elbow propped up onto your dining table while his chin rested on his fist. you looked up at him from your laptop where you were browsing websites to get him a suit.
"then don't wear black," you giggled. he reached for your left hand to toy with your fingers, eventually brushing a thumb over your engagement ring. "i thought you said you wanted 'traditional'," he teased.
you scoffed, "i did not say that!"
"you did say that."
"ryland."
"honey," he mocked with a smile. you grinned and smacked his hand away, tending back to your laptop.
"obviously if you don't want to do something, you don't have to do it. and i agree with you, black is boring."
ryland sighed dreamily, tilting his face into his palm after settling his elbow up onto the table again. "i love us. we're so compatible," he hummed.
you smiled shook your head a little in amusement, eyes still on your screen. "you're ridiculous."
"yeah, well, you're marrying me. probably makes you the ridiculous one."
ryland then wordlessly took the laptop from you to scroll through the options, then clicked on one of the sites. he scrolled a little more in silence, squinting slightly even though his glasses were right there that he could've put on. ryland clicked on the touchpad once more before turning the screen to you, dead serious.
"i want this one."
you blinked at the screen. he had pulled up one of the site's photos of one of their models showing off a tacky purple suit and an ugly gold tie, all pulled together by a matching purple fedora. your eyes flicked to your groom-to-be.
"now you're really being ridiculous."
"what's wrong with it?"
"you'll look like a pimp."
"nothing wrong with that," he shrugged.
you snatched your laptop back and deleted the tab with another smile and shake of your head. this time, he smiled back.
"i love you," he uttered.
you looked up again, lingering in those three words. he slid his hand towards you, palm facing the ceiling.
"i love you too," you murmured back.
you slid your hand into his, and ryland laced your fingers together, giving you a squeeze.
you thought you would carry on from there, but of course ryland had to open his mouth again; "even if i dress like a pimp?"
"oh my god."
the memory ended in a flash, and you dropped the photograph. looks like grace settled on a brown corduroy suit with a burgundy tie for a pop of colour. your own voice echoes in your head again; 'the brown will look nice in spring.', as does ryland's; 'i do look incredible in brown, don't i?'
you feel like your wedding ring is burning into your skin.
both you and grace knew you were married via your rings of course, you just couldn't remember who to yet, and it never occurred to either of you that it might've been to each other because why would it?
you take a deep breath, closing your eyes, before picking up the photo again to go find the supposed love of your life.
you navigated your way through the ship with a sense of urgency, photograph clutched in hand. when you heard a crash and a clumsy âuh-ohâ coming from the lab, you stopped by the doorway. suddenly the urgency disappeared. maybe this could wait until tomorr-
âwho goes there?â
graceâs chair creaks when he leans back to get a peek of you hiding behind the doorframe.
when you look at him now, it all comes together.
ever since the two of you woke up from the coma, thereâs been a gravitational pull that brings you two together. in terms of the mission, you operate in perfect unison and create such a steady flow that it makes everything feel oddly domestic. grace flicks a couple of switches there, you repair a part of the control panel here.
every time you both finish a task, itâs tradition to wrap it up with a high-five. however, one time when the two of you got too lost in the work, your fingers ended up intertwined and fell to your sides in a ten second hand-holding session where neither of you flinched.
as soon as the both of you realised, you each recoiled and spent a few beats staring at each other, marvelling at how natural the encounter felt like it was a subconscious effort. all grace could do was clear his throat and walk off, saying something about lunch.
âwell, well, look who decided to come back,â grace quips as he wipes down a piece of equipment with a cloth. his glasses are practically hanging off of his face as they so usually do.
âyâhad me thinkinâ you were going for a space walk.â
âgrace.â
âwithout a helmet.â
âgrace.â
âyeah?â
he finally looks up to see you holding out the photograph.
rylandâs hands freeze before he gently sets down the XRF analyser which looks to be like it was dropped in ramen water.
he rises from his chair, eyes refusing to peel away from the picture as he steps closer. he carefully plucks it from your fingers and slides his glasses onto his face properly to look down at it. white flowers, white dress, and a brown suit, because black is boring.
his head lifts back up to meet your nervous gaze.
âweâre married.â
it sounds like heâs saying it to himself rather than you.
you nod, trying to see through the blank stare heâs giving. dr. ryland grace, possibly one of the smartest men from earth has had his brain turned to mush by a photograph.
âyouâre myâŚweâre-â
âmarried, yes, i know,â you snap.
âoh my god."
he inhales.
"oh my god..."
he blinks.
he pauses.
"oh my god-"
"grace!" you plead.
"you're my wife, and we're-â
âyes, grace, weâre married. can you please say literally anything else?â
he takes a deep breath, then suddenly hands you the photo again to start pacing around in a circle with his hands on his hips.
âgraceâŚ?â
âyeah.â
âare you okay?â
he stops, facing away from you and rubs a hand across his face.
âumâŚâ he pivots to you on the spot, âi think so.â
you remain standing with your feet together, slightly curled in on yourself as you hold the photograph in front of you with two hands.
âdo youâŚremember anything?â
ryland settles both hands on top of each other on the back of his head, inhaling deeply. âiâm starting to,â he says with the exhale, âdo you?â
you nod. âbits and pieces.â
you drag your feet over to one of the lab tables and sit on the surface, staring down at the photo.
what now?
âi proposed to you at the beach,â ryland says.
you look up, and in his eyes, you see waves and a bright grey sky. you smile.
âyou did,â you hum, setting the photo down on the table next to you. âwhen you got on one knee, you were too close to the water and it washed up on you so your pants got soaked.â
you giggle at the sudden memory. ryland smiles, âi donât think i remember that partâŚâ
âyes you do, youâre just embarrassed,â you grin. âand you stayed on one knee to ask the question because you were too proud to admit you made a mistake even though i was laughing at you.â
youâre in a fit of giggles now, and ryland just chuckles as he approaches you. his eyes land on the two bands around your finger; your engagement ring, and the basic wedding ring that so clearly matches his now that he looks closer.
suddenly, he reaches for your hand, thumb grazing over the humble gemstone on the engagement ring. your favourite gemstone, he suddenly remembers.
he lets the tender moment pass, then carefully drops your hand to place his hands on his hips.
âlooks cheap. you probably deserve better.â
you give him a look before your eyes drop to the ring on your finger. you twist it a little, observing the gem from different angles.
ânoâŚitâs actually pretty perfect,â you decide.
ryland watches you over the rims of his glasses, his heart beating quicker when he catches the complete genuineness in your tone. his eyes flick back down to the photo next to you on the table.
âwe're really married, huh?"
you lift your head, gazing at him with a fond curiosity. what else could you learn to remember about this silly man?
âi guess so,â you hum.
ryland gives a nod and glances down at his own ring.
âokayâŚâ he murmurs.
then, louder; âthen letâs be scientists and figure this out.â
Summary: Ryland doesnât know itâs his birthday, but you do. And youâre not going to let this opportunity go to waste.
Tags: no use of y/n, gender neutral reader, fluff, birthday shenanigans, love confessions (sorta), first kiss, ryland is a crybaby, some mentions of it being a suicide mission, but mostly just lots of fluff
A/N: my first ryland fic!!! iâve seen the movie 5 times now AND read the book so itâs safe to say iâm hooked lol. this is just smth soft to get my writing juices flowing, but iâve got lots of inspo :) if there is anything youâd like me to write for him, any suggestions or requests, please feel free to ask! my inbox is open and iâd love to see what ideas yall have <3
The day starts like any other. Ryland wakes up in his just-slightly-too-uncomfortable bed aboard the Hail Mary, and Rockyâs there. Watching him sleep. Like always. The weirdness of the arrangement has long since worn off, and the sight of the alien brings a smile to his face.Â
âHello, Grace. Sleep well, question?â The computerized voice rings out through the room, Rockyâs melodic tones a beautiful accompaniment.
âHey, pal,â he grunts, the effects of sleep still lingering in his voice. Pushing himself to a sitting position, he lets out a yawn and stretches his arms up above his head. The satisfying pops of his back make him sigh. âNot too bad. Better than usual. Maybe this is a sign that things are turning around for us.â
Ryland turns to where your bed is, only a foot or so from his, to see if his joke made you laugh. Itâs embarrassing how often this happens. How many times heâs said something stupid for the sole purpose of seeing you smile. Itâs turned into an epidemic these last few monthsâhe canât stop doing things just to make you happy. Heâs pretty sure thereâs nothing he wouldnât do, honestly.
Your bed is empty, and thatâs the first sign that somethingâs off.
The little crew of the Hail Mary had fallen into a routine these past few weeks. You and Ryland sleep at the same time, beds pushed close together, while Rocky watches. Itâs just smart to do it that way. Saves time, keeps everyone together and protected, allows for optimal productivity time. Plus, heâs pretty sure you both sleep better knowing the other is close by.
You usually wake up before him, but you always stay until heâs up. You read or talk to Rocky or scribble in a notepad. No matter what it is, you stay. And then Ryland wakes, and everyone gets ready to start their day.
Itâs not like you canât start the day without him. Heâs not controlling or needy like that. Youâre a grown person who can do whatever you want. And thatâs totally fine! He respects that!
Itâs just⌠the principle of the thing. The throwing off of his entire routine by this small deviation.
And maybe he likes waking up to you, but thatâs besides the point!
His brows furrow, and his arms drop to his sides like dead weight. âWhereâs [____]?â
Rockyâs claws click and clack together, similar to a human wringing their hands. He shifts from one foot to another, thunking against the Xenonite. âMm. [____]... busy. Very busy. Grace Rocky stay here and wait for [____].â
That makes him pause. Heâs been around this guy long enough to pick up on his behavior, and right now he seems pretty flustered. Itâs not normal. None of this is normal. Itâs kind of starting to freak him out.
âWhat are you talking about?â He reaches for his glasses resting on the makeshift nightstand and slips them on. âBusy with what? Whatâs going on, Rock?â
âNothing going on! Normal day here. Everything normal,â He tilts his carapace up and down slowly, like emphasizing something youâre explaining to a small child. Ryland presses his lips into a thin line. âGrace tired, question? Sleep more, question?â
He shoves the blankets off his body and throws his legs over the side of the bed. Something suspicious is afoot, and heâs going to get to the bottom of it. âNo sleep more, statement. Iâm gonna figure out why youâre being weird.â
The moment he stands and heads towards the door, Rocky clamors after him through his tunnel. âRocky not weird! Rocky normal. Grace stay here!â
Ryland ignores him and continues on towards the main area of the ship. The Eridian follows him the whole way, spewing a concoction of musical notes and computerized speech. It all goes in one ear and out the other. Heâs got investigating to do.
Heâs a middle school teacher, for Peteâs sake. He knows when somethingâs fishy.
He turns the corner, walks through the doorway, and freezes.
Youâre in thereâas he thought you would beâand youâre in the middle of hanging up a⌠banner? Itâs homemade, based on the scribbled handwriting and the uneven way itâs been cut out. It looks like it might beâyep. Itâs pages from one of the old manuals stapled together. Heâs gotta give you points for resourcefulness.
Itâs only after heâs made these observations that he decides to actually read what the banner says. His heart instantly leaps into his throat.
âHappy Birthday, Ryland!â
The words are written in your beautifully familiar handwriting, decorated with the three (3) different colored pens that are on the ship.Â
His name. On the banner that you made. With your own hands. He canât stop staring at the way youâve curled the âyâ. Is it crazy to describe it as exquisite?
You glance over then, finally noticing that youâve got company. As soon as you spot Ryland, your eyes go wide. And then they shift to the alien, standing oddly still in his tunnel.
âRocky!â You exclaim, resting your hands on your hips. âYou said you could keep him occupied until I was done!â
âRocky tried! Grace no listen, too stubborn. Grace ruin big surprise, ruin Grace birthday. Bad bad bad.â
The comment makes a pretty smile form around your lips. Shaking your head, you turn your attention back to Ryland. He doesnât have anything to say. Heâs still trying to recover from the banner, andâwait. Itâs his birthday?
âWelp. I guess the catâs out of the bag,â you sigh. Your arms spread out, making a giant V towards the banner. âHappy birthday, Ryland!â
âHappy birthday, Grace! We celebrate you today!â Rocky echoes the sentiment, doing his jazz hands, and it feels like Rylandâs getting the biggest, warmest metaphorical group hug.
âYou- wait-â he huffs, half smiling and half still-confused, âhow do you know what day my birthday is? How do you know itâs today? I donât even know what day today is.â
That makes you turn sheepish, pursing your lips and dropping your gaze. You shrug, and he swears he can see a tinge of pink on your cheeks. It turns his stomach into jelly. Youâre so gosh darn pretty.
âItâs in the records, the stuff they have about you. And then I⌠I did the math, with some help from Rocky and Mary. Itâs today, I promise,â you explain. You look up at him again, and put the final nail in his coffin. âIâve been counting down for weeks.â
His heart feels like itâs going to lurch out of his chest. Itâs a familiar sensation, but one that only you can elicit from him. The effect you have on him could be studied, heâs sure. Heâs thought about doing it himself.
He wants to kiss you. He wants to marry you. He wants to sweep you up in his arms and carry you off to happily ever after. But he doesnât do any of these things, because youâre just friends. Friends in the middle of space, currently on a suicide mission, but still.
Just friends.
His vision blurs then, and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize itâs tears welling in his eyes. He sheds his glasses, scrubs at his face, but itâs too late. He can feel wet tracks down his cheeks. How embarrassing. The last thing he wants to do is blubber like a baby in front of you. Of course, thatâs exactly what he does.
âGrace face leaking. Not like surprise, question?â Rocky asks.
âNo, bud. I like it. I like it a lot,â he responds. âItâs just-â
He stops again, a wet laugh escaping his throat. Heâs always been a crier. Itâs something heâs not very happy about at the moment. Not when he can feel your eyes on him, boring into his very soul.
Ryland clears his throat and tries again. âThis is just so nice. Probably the- the nicest thing anyoneâs ever done for me.â
âYou deserve nice things.â Your voice draws his attention back to you. Youâre smiling at him, something small and warm. Your hands wring the bottom of your t-shirt over and over. âEspecially on your birthday. We want to celebrate you.â
âYes. [____] explain human birthday custom. Rocky like. Want to celebrate Grace friend birth.â
âAw, shucks, guys,â he chuckles, swiping the tears away. âYouâre the sweetest crewmates a guy could ask for. Thank you. Really, thank you so much.â
You move towards him, arms open for a hug. Thereâs not a single world in which he would turn that down. He pulls you to him, wrapping you in his embrace and holding tight. Your warmth envelops him instantly; your scent fills his nose and turns his brain to static. He seriously canât fathom the things you do to him without even trying.
âHappy Birthday, Ry,â you say, burying your face in his neck. It sends shivers across his skin.
âThank you, [____],â he murmurs. Neither of you moves to let go. Thereâs a scuttling, surely Rocky in his tunnel, and then itâs gone. Itâs just the two of you now. âI canât believe you made me a banner.â
âThereâs party hats, too.â
That makes him laugh. A loud, full-body laugh. It rumbles in his chest and vibrates between you. âOf course there is.â
Rocky appears again, rolling across the white floor in his ball. He stops in front of the two of you. âRocky join birthday hug, question?â
You finally pull away to look at the Eridian, and Ryland follows suit. He pretends not to miss your warmth. Pretends like he doesnât want to tug you back into the embrace. Instead, he smiles.
âOf course. Get in here, pal!â
He chitters excitedly and rolls his ball into Rylandâs leg. You both chuckle and crouch down to be at his level. It becomes a group hug, then. You, Ryland, and a big Xenonite ball. Itâs awkward, but you make it work.
And Ryland wouldnât want it any other way.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
The birthday festivities continue. True to your word, there are party hats. One for each of you, and all uniquely decorated for its owner. He almost keels over when he sees you in yours. This whole thing is all too much for his poor heart.
The three of you play games. Thereâs trivia, with Ryland-centric questions, which you win by a landslide. It does things to him to see how much you know about him. Heâs so flustered that he can barely get a word out the entire game. You and Rocky donât seem to mind, though.
Neither does he. Heâs just fine watching you two have fun.
He tears up again when you give him his presents.Â
Rocky made a very tasteful model of the three of you out of Xenonite. You and Ryland pose with Rocky between you, standing tall and proud. Thereâs no ball in the figure, just him. Youâre all pressed together as tight as you can be. Itâs immediately one of Rylandâs prized possessions.
Once heâs gotten past the lump in his throat and has stopped hugging Rocky, you give him your gift. Which just brings on another round of trying not to bawl his eyes out in front of his friends.
Youâve given him a little handmade book, and the cover proudly states âTop 10 Ryland Grace In Space Moments.â He wastes no time in flipping it open. Itâs exactly what he thought it would be, and better than he could have ever imagined. Each page details something heâs done while on the ship, while the adjacent page shows an insanely detailed drawing of the event.
They are, unfortunately, not the moments in space heâd like to be remembered by. Theyâre all varying degrees of embarrassing. From tripping over his own feet and faceplanting on the lab floor to solving an equation wrong and ruining the compound heâd been working on via (mini) explosion. Itâs all his worst moments right before his eyes, but every pen stroke emanates fondness.
This isnât someone making fun of him or being cruel. This is someone appreciating him, down to even his most stupid mistakes.
He cries, because of course he does. And it gets worse once he turns to the last page.
âMoment #1â, the page states. And directly under that, youâve written: âgiving us hope that this will all be worth it.â The drawing paired with it is simple and overwhelmingly sweet. Itâs just him, caught in the middle of a laugh with a hand on his stomach. His eyes are scrunched shut, mouth agape, and he looks so happy.
It doesnât feel genuine, but he knows that it is. This is how you see him. This is who he is to you. He doesnât deserve it. You have no idea how much he doesnât deserve any of this.
âThis isâŚâ he looks up to meet your gaze, hating that he has to blink away tears in the process. â[____], this is too much. How did you do this?â
You shrug one shoulder, the movement illuminating the glittering of your own eyes. Guess heâs not the only emotional one, then. âI went back through all the video logs until I found the moment I was looking for. Traced the frame I wanted onto the page. Itâs not the most creative, but I think it gets the point across.â
A smart idea, and one that would require a tremendous amount of work. Ryland canât believe youâve put so much effort into this, into celebrating him. No oneâs ever done anything remotely close in his entire life.
He sets the book down and pulls you into another hug. You melt against him instantly, and heâs pretty sure he can feel you shaking a bit. Youâre both crying. You keep accidentally sniffling in sync. Itâd be funny if he werenât so unbelievably touched right now.
âThank you,â he whispers against your hair. He doesnât know what else he can say. None of the words coming to mind will get the point across. But he has to try, regardless. âYou give me hope. Itâs the only reason I keep going.â
Something almost like a whimper leaves your throat, and you hold tighter to him. He doesnât mind one bit.
âGrace like gifts! Birthday celebration successful, question?â Rockyâs voice slices through the moment, and Ryland feels like heâs been dunked in cold water.
You both pull away and wipe at your faces. The air is thick and heavy between the two of you, although thatâs indiscernible to the alien. Not to Ryland, though. His heart is hammering in his chest and he canât seem to look back over at you.
He nods, unable to keep the smile off his face. âVery successful. This is the best birthday Iâve ever had.â
Itâs true. Despite everything, this is his favorite birthday memory. How fitting that itâll probably be his last.
Rocky shifts excitedly and chirps. âHappy happy happy.â
âWe did an awesome job, bud,â you compliment him, patting the Xenonite ball right over his carapace. âThank you for your help.â
âRocky happy to help. [____] doesnât need to thank.â
âWell, Iâm doing it anyway,â you argue, and both Ryland and Rocky know thereâs no point in trying to change your mind. The alien just lets out a grunt.
Ryland smiles at his little makeshift family. Thereâs nobody else in the world universe that heâd rather be with.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Rocky announces that he needs to sleep a few hours later, and the group migrates to the bedroom. Someone has to keep watch, after all. He falls asleep quickly, going stone-still (pun intended), and you and Ryland sit squashed together on his bed. Your legs hang off the side, knee knocking softly into his. Itâs a familiar touchâcomfortable.
It still makes him feel like heâs having heart palpitations. At least Rockyâs not awake to comment on his âelevated heart rate.â
âSo, you had a good birthday?â You ask after a few minutes of silence. Itâs ridiculous that you even feel the need to ask.Â
He gives you a deadpan look. âYou know I did.â
âOkay, well, I just wanted to make sure,â you shoot back, raising your hands in surrender. A teasing glimmer lights up your eyes. âI know itâs not the most extravagant, but I tried my best.â
âYou did more than that,â he murmurs. He hates how serious he sounds. How clear it is what you mean to him. âYouâve given me everything.â
Your cheeks tinge pink, and you drop your gaze. He almost takes it back out of sheer panic, terrified that he crossed the line between âfriendâ and âmore than a friendâ you two have been toeing. But you speak up before he has the chance to make himself an even bigger fool.
âIs it okay if I give you one more thing, on top of the everything?â
Rylandâs stomach somersaults. What more could you possibly have to give? Heâs torn between being curious and terrified. Itâs usually how he feels around you. Like heâs being torn apart in the best, most uncontrollable way.
âDepends on what it is,â he tries to joke. It doesnât come out right. Youâre nice enough not to tease him about it.
Fishing around in your pocket for a moment, you produce a single unlit birthday candle. Where or how you got it, he has no idea. But he canât say heâs surprised. Youâre capable enough to get anything you want. Always willing to put in the work for it.
You hold it up for him, smiling in that kinda shy way that leaves him speechless. âYou canât have a birthday without making a birthday wish.â
He opens his mouth to speak, and then shuts it. He has no idea what to say. Hence the âspeechless.â
You pretend to light it, holding an invisible lighter to the wick. Itâs astoundingly adorable to watch. âGo on, Ryland. Make your wish.â
A million possibilities flash through his mind. A million things he could ask for. To go home, to not die, to save Earth and Erid, to find the solution to their problem. Theyâre all good options; all things he could (and should) wish for. But he doesnât.
Because youâre looking at him, eyes bright and big, and youâre smiling. And youâre in space on a suicide mission, and you made him a banner for his birthday. You have every reason to be miserable, but you arenât. You make him smile every single day. Thatâs enough for him.
He closes his eyes, makes his wish, and pretends to blow out the flame. When his eyes open again, itâs to meet your gaze.
âWhatâd you wish for?â You ask, squirming excitedly next to him.
Ryland chuckles, âWell, I canât tell you, or it wonât come true.â
âCome onnnnn. Youâre no fun.â Rolling your eyes, you knock his shoulder with your own. âCan I tell you what I wished for, then?â
âWhat you wished for?â He questions, raising an eyebrow. âHow come you get a wish on my birthday?â
âBecause Iâm special.â
Well. He canât argue with that. âFine. Go ahead.â
âI wishedâŚâ You begin, letting out a breath. You keep your eyes on your lap, picking at the skin around your nails, âto spend the rest of my life by your side. Even if that looks like floating through space all by ourselves until we run out of food. Iâll take it. As long as weâre together.â
The words settle between the two of you like a heavy blanket. Rylandâs breath catches in his throat.
I love you. I love you so much. More than anything. All I need is you.
He wants to say it. He wants to say anything, but it feels like heâs frozen in place. His bodyâs lost all function, leaving him a useless shell. All he can do is stare at you. Because heâs an idiot.
âThatâs not- I hope that wasnât too much,â you speak again. His silence is making you antsy, worried youâd gone too far. âI just, I donât know. I think Iâm just feeling sappy because itâs your birthday. I didnât mean to get all poetic. Sorry.â
âCan I-â his voice dies mid-sentence, fear making him silent. He shakes his head, swallows, and tries again. He needs to do this. He canât keep letting the time pass him by. âCan I kiss you? Please.â
You look at him like heâs the sun. As if he were something to be admired, someone meaningful. No oneâs ever looked at him like that. No oneâs ever cared like that. Not until you.
Heâs not worthy of you, but heâs too selfish to let you go. Let that be his curse. Heâll gladly walk into Hell if thatâs what it takes to keep you in his life. Heâs always been a coward; this is something he wonât back down from.
âYou can do whatever you want, Ryland,â you whisper. All of the air leaves his lungs.
He will never, as long as he lives, get enough of you. And he doesnât want to.
Ryland grabs his glasses from where they hang off his right ear and drops them onto his nightstand. Then he takes your face in his hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks, and kisses you. You return the kiss, thank goodness, and your lips are so soft against his.
Itâs amazing. More than he could have ever thought possible. The feeling of you against him, the way his stomach twists as you scoot closer. Your warmth, your taste, your skin. It envelops him and takes him far, far away.
He didnât know it could be like this. He had no idea this feelingâthe euphoria, the desire, the joyâexisted. It shouldnât have been possible to experience such a thrill.
Itâs because itâs you. He knows that. Only you could do something like this.
The two of you finally break apart when your lungs begin to burn, but you donât go far. He rests his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses brushing. Every graze of skin is just shy of too much. His body is burning. His heart beats erratically against his ribcage.
âI want to give you your wish,â Ryland finally says, once heâs decided he can trust his voice. His hands are still on your face. They rest against your jaw, light and comforting. âI want you with me. Always. Please stay with me.â
He can feel you move as you nod. âIâll stay. Always. Thereâs nowhere else for me.â
It overwhelms him. All of itâheâs so grateful that he can hardly breathe. He pulls you into his arms, into his lap, and holds you as close as he can. His head tucks into the crook of your neck, nose against your clavicle. Heâs probably going to cry again. You donât seem to mind, though.
Your hands card through his hair. Your chest moves against him as you breathe. He can hear the beat of your heart. It feels like home. It feels like this is where Ryland was always meant to be.
A smile spreads across his lips. Whoâd have thought the happiest day of his life would be like this?
summary: two strangers wake up alone, lightyears from home, thrown into a mission neither of you remember choosing. he is a stranger, he has to be.
but something doesnât fit. not in the way he looks at you like heâs already lost something. the pieces come back wrong, not fitting where they are supposed to, and neither dr grace or yourself can explain this away.
he feels it though, one thing that is deep and certain: that once, you might have been everything to him.
warnings: 18+, eventual smut, major angst, amnesia, memory loss, violence, major major hurt/comfort, arguments, heartbreak, slowburn, kind of enemies to lovers
Fly Me To The Moon : ĚĚâ Ryland Grace x Reader
Pairing: Teacher!Ryland Grace x Teacher!Reader
Summary: The entire school knew how close you and Ryland Grace had become since you'd joined Grover Cleveland Middle's staff a year prior. That knowledge only fueled the rumor mill, that one that ran between the staff and students alike, on just how close the two of you were. It didn't help that you were definitely head over heels for the slightly awkward and endearing science teacher.
Warnings: pre-Project Hail Mary and should not include spoilers but caution anyways just in case, pre-movie storyline, tooth-rotting fluff, idiots in love, workplace romance, friends to lovers, slightly suggestive-ish comments but no smut, female reader but no characteristics described, definitely some incorrect science information but I am not a scientist so apologies, I am also not a teacher so I am sorry for any inaccuracies there lol, lightly edited so apologies for any mistakes
Word Count: 14,596 words
Requests are open! : ĚĚâ Find my masterlist here
âCan anyone tell me why it was that Penelope asked her suitors to string Odysseusâs bow?â
The silence that followed was deafening. Your eyes shut for half a second, a tiny sigh escaping through your lips. Reopening your eyes, not a single one of your students had dared to raise their hands. No one except for Olivia, your star student, who waved her hand repeatedly in the air from the back of the classroom. A single glance to the clock told you all you needed to know.
11:55. These kids were already in lunch mode, and there was zero way you were getting them to listen to you.
With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you gave Olivia the okay to answer the question. She happily took your permission and ran with it, always the first to answer any questions you posed in class. If only the rest of these damn middle schoolers were as eager as she was.
âPenelope didnât want to marry anyone else, so she gave them an impossible task,â
âWhy does she always know everything?â
Marcus thought his comment was whispered just low enough that you wouldnât hear him in the first row, but he was never quite that lucky. He quickly shut his mouth and looked anywhere but in your direction the second he caught sight of the disapproving look you were casting directly at him.
âYou are exactly right, Olivia. Thank you for answering my question,â there were a few chuckles in the room at the obvious sarcasm laced through your words, as you hopped up onto your desk to relax and get a better look around the room full of kids. âPenelope knew the only person that could string her husbandâs bow, was her husband himself. She needed to buy time, especially when these suitors only really wanted to be the ones to inherit Ithaca-â
There was a loud knocking on the door to your classroom that had been left open for the last 20 minutes of class, interrupting your words. You werenât surprised in the slightest to meet the eyes of none other than Ryland Grace, the science teacher.
âUh- sorry! Didnât mean to interrupt important book talk stuff. Super important, you uh-you never know when Shakespeare will come up at your future desk job,â the cringe that Ryland physically did at his own comment was easy to see, even from across the room. He gave you a sheepish smile, his glasses barely hanging onto his face from their unconventional spot hanging off of one of his ears. The blonde held up the brown bag in his hand, and you could practically smell the food that rested inside. âIâm early, Iâm sorry. Didnât think youâd want to have a cold burger for lunch.â
âI told you!â Marcus still didnât understand the concept of a whisper, leaning over to his best friend Jason at the desk beside him, slapping him on the arm. âTheyâre totally dating!â
âAs if Mr. Grace could pull her,â
There was a chorus of snickers and laughter through the class, any semblance of order you mightâve had descending into chaos as every single one of your loveable, little shits just kept casting looks between you and Ryland, who still stood awkwardly in your classroom doorway with reddened cheeks.
Your face was surely no better, you were sure you could feel the heat that was emanating off of your skin, as you ran a hand down the burning skin of your face and wondered why you chose to teach these little menaces for the rest of your life. The world decided to be kind to the pair of you though, for once, letting the lunch bell save you from any further embarrassment from a group of 13 year olds.
âPlease come to class prepared to actually answer questions tomorrow!â you called out over the hustle and bustle of the class as they grabbed their things, eager to scurry off to their lunch hour and finally eat. âYour unit test is at the end of next week, and I would prefer not to fail all of you.â
They werenât listening, but by this point in the day you were hungry and didnât have the energy to try and argue with them.
Any of that tiredness they brought to your bones? It disappeared the second you watched the way they all interacted with Ryland on their way out the door.
Big smiles, every single one of them excited to see the schoolâs favorite science teacher lingering in the doorway to their English class. You could just barely hear the tail end of one of Rylandâs terrible science puns, something about a hungry planet needing a âlight snackâ that got a groan out of Marcus. All it did was bring a soft smile to your face, though, one that somehow softened even more at the quick, secret handshake Olivia shared with him before she was out the door.
Then, it was just the two of you, smiling like idiots as you locked eyes across the room again. And god, did you want that fluttering group of butterflies in your stomach to calm down for just a moment.
Having a crush on Dr. Ryland Grace, the former molecular biologist turned San Francisco middle school science teacher, was inevitable from the moment you turned up at the school for your first day over a year ago. Incredibly smart, amazing with kids, and so incredibly handsome you thought your heart stopped beating the first time you saw himâhell, Mrs. Doyle, the math teacher for over 5 years, said there were at least 4 other young teachers that absolutely had crushes on this man. You were far from the first.
He broke that perfect vision of himself you were building in your head within 5 minutes of meeting, tripping over his own two feet and knocking the stack of papers a mile high from the Principalâs hands, but you had only found it even more endearing.
âI didnât mean to interrupt,â he apologized again, long legs striding across the room and reaching your desk in a matter of seconds. âI had a free period before this, a-and you mentioned this morning you forgot lunch so I grabbed some for both of us-â
âSalâs?â you questioned, pointing to the bag of foot now sitting on your desk with the familiar logo. âTheyâre, like, 10 blocks away. Whyâd you go that far?â
âBecause I know theyâre your favorite,â
The flare of heat in your cheeks was instant. Ryland Grace, who rode a damn bike to the school every day, used his free period to ride 10 blocks away and pick you up lunch from your favorite spot, all because you mentioned offhandedly at 7 a.m. about forgetting your lunch for the day.
Well, he certainly didnât do that for the four fresh out of college teachers that had crushes on him. Youâd mentally consider that a hefty win in your book.
âHow sweet of you to remember,â Ryland simply waved you off, head turned away as he passed your wrapped burger into your hands, taking up space on your desk chair while you stayed comfortable on top of your desk. âYou even remembered tomatoes this time!â
âI forgot them one time and I never hear the end of it,â laughter was shared between you both for a moment as Grace took a bite of his own burger. âI caught the tail end of that discussion. Olivia answering all your questions like a champ?â
âIsnât she always,â you shot back with another laugh, turning slightly on your desk to better face him. âI swear sheâs the only one that I can ever get to answer any of my questions. She might be the only one that does any of my assigned readings.â
âTo be fair, can you blame her?â Rylandâs words were muffled slightly by the food in his mouth. You couldnât even contain the slight smile that grew as he managed to just barely catch the ketchup dripping off his burger before it could smear itself on the stack of papers that needed graded at your desk. âShakespeare was justâŚso interesting. Couldnât get enough of his stuff. Donât know why your kids donât want to read it.â
There was silence for a moment, your eyebrow quirked in his direction. The blonde stopped mid bite of his burger, looking back at you quizzically, trying to figure out what he had said wrong.
âYou know weâre currently learning The Odyssey, right?â
âYes?â
âIâll let you think about that for a second,â
He did, just slowly blinking in your direction. He glanced at the chalkboard behind you, covering in little notes youâd made throughout the class discussion, before they flickered to the copy of the book that sat on your desk. That was finally when you saw the light bulb flicker on above his head, Rylandâs eyes shutting as he let out a loud sigh.
â...that wasnât written by Shakespeare, was it?â
The laughter that bubbled out of you practically had you throwing your head backward.
âNo, but Iâm sure Homer wonât be too offended,â feet landing on the ground as you hopped off your desk, you gave Rylandâs shoulder a quick squeeze as you moved past him. âThe attempt was cute, though, it was a good try.â
Cute. Why in the world did you let that one slip? You were practically cursing yourself in your head for that one, taking another bite of your burger as you worked to erase the whiteboard to prepare it for your next class. You didnât dare steal a glance over at Ryland, in fear that your little slip-up was going to ruin everything.
There was only quiet for a moment before the single moment of awkwardness was gone.
âI promise you I know Homer wrote that. I swear!â
The desperation to believe him drew another laugh out of you. Sparing a glance in his direction, Ryland was giving you his best, exaggerated puppy dog eyes, begging you to believe him, as a smile just barely squeaked its way onto his lips.
âRight, of course you did. My mistake. Whatever you say, Ryland-â
âI mean it!â It was his turn to laugh this time, a sound that had those butterflies rattling around once more. âI was justâŚdistracted.â
âUh-huh, distracted,â as if you were preparing to scold one of your students, you turned to face him fully with a hand on your hip, eyebrow raised expectantly. âBy what, exactly?â
If a human being could buffer, Ryland Grace always seemed to be constantly buffering. Your eyebrow remained raised, waiting for him to piece together his response. All he could do was open and close his mouth like a fish, before looking away and taking another bite of his food.
âNevermind that, just finish your food before it gets cold. I did bike, like, three miles to get that thing,â
With a roll of your eyes that held zero malice what-so-ever, you made sure the blonde could see your next bite of your food, a satisfied smile on his face.
âBack to the previous topic,â you steered the conversation in another direction, wiping off the last bits of chalk on the board and writing down your next period at the top so that you could start the discussion on the reading over again. âI donât understand why itâs so hard to get some of these kids to just read the content. They all pay attention in your class!â
âI heard Jason make a comment yesterday during class that Marcus has a crush on Olivia. Maybe theyâre too distracted to read,â
You shot him a skeptical look.
âMarcus, crushing on Olivia? He was just making fun of her before you came in the room,â
Ryland averted his eyes, suddenly very interested in his ID badge hanging around his neck from his school issues lanyard.
âW-well, maybe he just doesnâtâŚknow how to express his feelings,â he spared a glance up at you, seeing you were still watching, as he tripped over his words again. âIt can be hard for boysâand menâof all ages, toâŚtell someone how they feel.â
âWell, I donât know where heâs learning from, but making fun of the girl you like isnât the right way to go about things,â you shot back.
âThen teach them!â Ryland sounded absolutely ecstatic, that light bulb over his head going off again as he looked like heâd come up with the worldâs greatest idea. âClassic literature, thereâs plenty of great love stories in there. Get his interest by teaching them about that, so he can learn from them.â
âAlright, give me an example then, Mr. Suddenly an Expert in Classic Literature,â
âRomeo and Juliet,â he said like it was the easiest thing in the world, balling up the remnants of his finished food and tossing it in the bag it came in. âGreatest love story ever told, so great Taylor Swift wrote a song about them.â
âExcept they donât run off and get married and live happily ever after, Ryland. Romeo thinks she is dead and kills himself with poison, and when Juliet realizes heâs dead she stabs herself,â
Rylandâs excitement fell slightly, his mouth forming a little âoâ shape.
â...oh,â
âDonât think thatâs what I want to teach young, impressionable pre-teens about love-â
âDaisy and Gatsby, then! He loved her so much he stood on that dock staring at the-the bright yellow light of a stoplight for her,â
âIt was a green light and it was the dock light, first of all. Iâm not even sure how you could be that off. Secondly, Gatsby is murdered at the end of the book and Daisy doesnât even attend the funeral, she and Tom move away and pretend it never happened,â
Rylandâs eyes are shut at this point, his fingers massaging his temples and those glasses just barely hanging on from their place around his neck.
â...does anyone not die in these old books?â
The sound of your laughter permeates the room and you sweep over, collecting his trash and combining it with yours. You never even spared him a glance, though you could feel his eyes on you, as you swept the trash away with you to the other side of the room, his voice echoing across to you.
âIâm going to get lucky on one of these guesses!â
What Ryland Grace was really lucky about was how adorable you found him, and how head over heels you were for him, because his lack of literary knowledge was astounding.
â¤ď¸
âIâm sorry, youâre trying to tell me that arenât currently fucking the eye candy that is the science teacher in room 305?â
âEvelyn!â
Evelyn Doyle was in her late thirties, married since she was 18, and already had three kids with her high school sweetheart. Since you had transferred into Grover Cleveland Middle, youâd become fast friends and she had become a great mentor.
She had, sadly, caught onto your pathetic crush on Ryland Grace before you had even fully realized it, and was now âvicariously living through youâ as she always said.
âThereâs not a single child left in this entire school right now,â she shot back, gesturing around her empty classroom, as she finished cleaning up anything her students had left around at the end of the day. You rolled your eyes at her excuse, perched on the edge of her desk. âPlease, Iâm tenured, what are they going to do?â
âIâm more so yelling at you for butting into my love life, once again,â was your reply through laughter. âRyland and I are good friends, thatâs it.â
It was her turn to laugh, finishing up her cleanup around the room before she joined you at her desk, packing her things away into her shoulder bag.
âOh please, you keep denying that little crush of yours-â
âI never said I was denying that,â you cut her off. âLord, you realized I liked him before I even did. But he and I arenât anything besides friends. Iâm not lying.â
Your pleas fell on deaf ears, like they typically did when you were around Evelyn. She simply waved your statement off, tossing her bag over her shoulder as you followed her out of her room and down through the quiet of the school hallway. The quietest the hallway ever was, in the hours right after students were sent home for the day. Youâd rather be anywhere else, preferably at home, but these mandatory once-a-month staff meetings were unavoidable.
âWhether youâre telling me the truth or not, you have to understand why everyone thinks soâteachers AND students. I think even some parents think so!â The only response she got was an eyeroll, her shoulder bumping into yourâs playfully. âHe brings you lunch at least once a week, meaning he rides that dingy bike to get whatever youâre craving that day.â
âItâs usually just something random-â
âConstantly in your classroom, or vice versa,â she cut you off, and you quickly realized you werenât getting a single word into this conversation. âIâm pretty sure Principal Marshall has considered, somehow, moving your classroom closer to his just so heâll stop being late to classes because heâs busy talking to you.â
OkayâŚyeah, you didnât have a retort for that one. Your classroom was on the opposite end of the school building from Rylandâs own, and yet every time he had even a split second he was somehow always leaning in your doorway. Even if it only resulted in a conversation that lasted all of a minute.
Many times those ended with your students having to remind him that the bell rang and he definitely had students in his own class unattended, waiting on their teacher. More than once heâd slipped as he tried to sprint back to his classroom from yours. It didnât matter how short those little conversations were, though, because every second around him was precious to you.
âAwe, look at you blushing about it-â
You slapped Evelynâs hand away, throwing her a look of disdain that didnât really hold any true malice to it.
âLook, all Iâm saying is the ball is in his court,â was the response you finally settled on as Evelyn propped the door of the small auditorium open for you to enter. âRyland is nothing but friendly to me, so if heâs interested then heâs got to show me.â
âYouâre acting as if youâve made your own feelings clear, honey,â
âNo, but I clearly donât do a good enough job of hiding them,â
Speak of the devil: there he was. Rylandâs head shot up the moment the pair of you walked into the auditorium. Those damn glasses hanging down from one side of his face, framing his stubbled jawline perfectly. A smile lighting up his face the second those blue eyes found yours, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.
A packed auditorium, as you and Evelyn were the last ones there. Every seat up practically filled, and yet Ryland Grace sat among a crowd of people, eyes trained on you and a single seat saved for you amidst it all.
All you could feel was the heat in your cheeks, and the touch of Evelyn patting your back as she laughed, voice low but loud enough to hear as she shifted past you to find a seat of her own.
âDoesnât have interest in you my ass,â
Her words swam through your head with every apology you muttered to the other teachers as you snuck past them in the cramped rows, happily taking the empty seat beside Ryland.
âYou didnât have to save me a seat, you know,â your voice held a hint of teasing to it, but it was soft. Filled with an adoration that you knew you were terrible at hiding. Luckily, Ryland was terrible at picking up on it.
âWanted to sit next to you,â he whispered back as Principal Marshall began to drone on about updates neither of you particularly cared about. He leaned in close, a hint of his breath wafting over the shell of your ear as he spoke. âYou make these slightly less boring.â
Close proximity to this man was your worst nightmare, and the cramped auditorium wasnât helping. That single touch of his breath against your skin was enough to send a simultaneous shiver down your spine and another round of heat to your cheeks. His suit jacket covered arm rested on the shared armrest between your seats, the edge of his bicep ghosting against the bare skin of your arm with every little shift he made, tapping incessantly against the armrest.
The slight action made you smile. He never could sit still in these meetings, always hated them.
âDid anything fun happen in class today?â you kept your voice low, eyes trained on the principal, as your head tilted slightly over to Ryland so he could better hear you.
âUh, if you count Madison telling me that she thinks the sun orbits the earth, then sure,â you had to stifle your laugh at that, casting Ryland a side glance as he grinned at you, doing a terrible job of whispering back at you as usual.
âHow could she possibly think that?â
âYouâd be surprised,â Ryland leaned just a tad bit closer, the side of his arm pushed up fully against your own. You could almost hear the smile in his voice without even having to look over at him. âThe National Science Foundation estimates that 26% of Americans still think the sun orbits the earth.â
âJesus, that many?â
âWell, 100% of them are stupid, so,â
Nasty looks from other faculty were shot your way that second you choked on your own breath, slapping a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop yourself from breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. You gave them the most sympathetic look you possibly could, learning how to breathe normally again before mouthing sorry at them all.
Ryland didnât care in the slightest for the warning look you shot him, a bright smile on his face as his eyes seemed to trail over every inch of your face.
âIf you keep doing this in every faculty meeting, theyâre going to separate us, Ry,â
âI met Madisonâs parents for the first time last month for parent-teacher conferences,â he continued, ignoring your plea. Instead, he leaned in even closer, eyes locked on yours, and god it was impossible to look away. âThey are, 100%, undeniably, part of the Flat Earth Truthers Club.â
You shook your head, a smile creeping back up on your lips. Rylandâs gaze could still be felt on the side of your face as you turned back to face the front, eyes focused back on the principal again in an attempt to pay attention to the meeting.
âFlat earthers are ridiculous. Theyâre just scared of science,â
âWell, you know what they sayâŚthe only thing they have to fear is sphere itself,â
There simply wasnât enough time to clap your hand over your mouth and conceal your laughter, a split second of it breaking through the quiet of the auditorium. And Ryland? His smile was somehow even brighter than it was before, still locked onto your face, never having strayed once.
âDr. Grace, is there something you feel needs to be shared with the rest of your fellow faculty?â
Principal Marshallâs voice was enough to knock Ryland out of whatever trance he seemed to have put himself in. Eyes wide as if heâd just seen a ghost, hands barely able to catch his glasses as they almost fell right off of his ear where they dangled, a burst of red spread through his cheeks instantly as his deer-like eyes locked onto the unamused principal.
âI-I uh, no. No, nothing, Principal Marshall,â he scratched at the back of his head, ruffling up his already messy hair, a nervous tick youâd picked up since the moment youâd met him. You simply buried your head in your head, eyes trained on your shoes and Ryland out of the corner of your gaze, terrified to look up at your fellow faculty that youâd already apologized to once. âJust getting super jazzed about faculty updates. Hard to keep it in here. Iâm like a mushroom, getting allâŚhyphaeâŚâ
A collective groan sounded through the auditorium at the terrible biology pun that rolled off of him with ease. All you could do was smile into the palm of your hand.
âPlease justâŚpay attention to the meeting, Dr. Grace, before I separate you and your other half,â
Other half. Thatâs not how she meant it, but it was impossible not to let your mind wander to the idea.
Early mornings. Coffee, the smell of eggs and toast burning in the kitchen. Ryland and his hair that was surely even more unkempt that early in the day. The guarantee that he definitely had about 120 science puns ready to go at any moment.
Late nights. Curled up on a couch. A movie, a shared blanket, warm in the embrace of his arms. The quiet of just being with someone that made you happy in ways youâd never felt before. The promise of another day with them on the horizon.
It was becoming increasingly harder not to think about Ryland Grace like that every day, of what a life with the awkward, endearing science teacher could be.
And as Principal Marshall continued her meeting, and your eyes met the blue ones that were already looking at you: soft, kind, a hint of something you couldnât understand in them, you could only dream he thought the same thoughts when he looked at you.
â¤ď¸
âAlright, who can tell me the day of the first human space flight?â
Not a single middle schooler, packed into the buildingâs planetarium, raised their hands at first. Many of them started whispering to each other, confused looks on their faces, but Ryland just waited with a smile on his face. A brave soldier from Mr. Harkinâs class, Damien, finally raised his hand.
âUh, Mr. Grace? Wouldnât thatâŚbe today?â
âExcatly!â Graceâs clap echoed through the room as he pointed toward the young kid sitting in the front row of seats. âInternational Day of Human Space Flight, commemorating the first human space flight by Yuri Gagarin. It was a trick question, and you passed my tiny friend.â
Were you excited about losing a chunk of your day to escorting your class to the planetarium, along with other classes in the building, for a special science presentation? Absolutely not, especially not with how terribly your class did on their last The Odyssey assignment.
When you found out that Ryland was giving the presentation during your allotted time? Suddenly, The Odyssey meant nothing to you. Not when you could watch Ryland teach, something he did so effortlessly.
The way he captured every single childâs attention with ease. That glowing smile on his face every time they answered a question right, and simply the way he seemed to love what he taught. You were captivated every time you got the chance to see him teaching the thing he loved so much.
âYuri Gagarin was a Soviet cosmonaut who became the first person in space in 1961 aboard the Vostok 1,â the planetarium was lit up with the night sky, little stars reflecting down. You could almost see them in the students eyes, in their bright smiles as they looked up into the vastness of space. Your eyes trailed to Ryland, already looking at you with a soft smile of his own, before he cleared his throat and moved throughout the room, focusing back on the kids. âOver the course of 89 minutes, his ship traveled to a maximum altitude of 187 miles, as it orbited the Earth.â
âWait, so we werenât the first people in space?â one of your students, Lydia, called out. Ryland laughed, pointing over at her.
âNo, we kind of sucked,â you rolled your eyes with a grin at Rylandâs statement, though it drew a laugh from all of the kids. âNo, America had actually scheduled its first space flight for May 1961, so this was a huge blow to us. It really heated up the space race.â
âHe really is good with them, isnât he?â
Glancing over, Mr. Harkin had saddled up beside you on the edge of the room, head tilted toward you and voice low so as to not disrupt the lesson the kids were being taught. Your gaze drifted back to Ryland as he continued his lesson, eliciting more laughter from the kids. It only brought another soft smile to rest on your lips.
âHe is, in a way that I just donât understand,â
Those blue eyes youâd become so fond of met yours for a moment across the room, face illuminated by the light projecting onto the planetariumâs dome walls. The little grin he wore seemed to drop just slightly, gaze still locked on you but flickering every moment over to Mr. Harkin as he spoke to the students. Harkinâs elbow dug lightly into your side.
âCareful, youâre giving him major âheart eyesâ across the room right now,â
You did your best to conceal your laughter, shooting Harkin a look, Rylandâs gaze still felt on the side of your face even as you looked away.
âWhy do I feel like Iâm about to find out that every teacher in this school has a secret betting ring going on when it comes to Ryland and I?â
âI mean, itâs not a secret. Principal Marshall runs the damn thing,â
âMr. Grace?â one of the youngest girls in the grade, Aurora, called out, raising her hand up to get Rylandâs attention. âMy mom told me the other day that thereâs 8 planets in our solar system. What happened to Pluto?â
Ryland went to answer when Mr. Harkin beside you laughed, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, as he shook his head at his young student.
âNo, honey, scientists a couple years ago decided that Pluto wasnât a planet anymore,â
Your eyes flickered to Ryland, who was already staring at Harkin from across the room as he tossed his little crochet earth back and forth in his hand. His response was a bit of a forced laugh.
âWell, your teacher isnât wrong. Scientists classified Pluto as a dwarf planet a couple years ago,â he explained to the kids, eyes trained on the little crochet sphere in his hands. âBut thereâs 8 other very important, even closer planets that we should focus on. I mean, who really cares about a tiny, slow planet that takes 248 years to orbit the sunâhonestly, he should just accept that heâs slowly falling into obscurity and stop trying to steal the spotlight.â
The room got quiet. Your eyebrow raised slightly, head tilted, as everyone just seemed to stare at Ryland, who had yet to look up.
âUh, Mr. Grace?â some student in the back called out. âWhy did you call Pluto âheâ? Are the planets boys and girls like us, too?â
Rylandâs head shot up, as if he suddenly remembered he was in a room full of students. His eyes shot to you, his mouth opening, then closing, before he quickly looked away.
âIâwellâŚplanets donât reallyâŚIâm not trying to misgender the planets, you know? Thatâs not for me to decide, thatâs for them toâyou know what, does anyone else have any other questions that arenât related to Pluto?â
You really didnât want to laugh at Ryland, but only he would be able to accidentally turn a lesson about space and planets into almost a lesson on bodily autonomy. He caught your eye, his widening just slightly and you could almost see his cry for help written across his face, but it only made your laughter worse.
It was little Madison that raised her hand next, speaking before sheâd even been called upon.
âAre you sure the Earth isnât the center of the universe?â
Ryland hung his head in shame, the shaking of his head evident from across the room as a few of the kids around laughed at the young girlâs comment. You were quick to shoot them a warning look, not keen to hand out any detentions today.
By the time your gaze turned back to Ryland, he was already looking at you. His gaze flickered to Harkin, then back to you, and it was like a light bulb had just flickered on the way his eyes lit up.
âYes, Madison, Iâm sure the Earth isnât the center of the universe. And I can show you,â his long legs crossed the room in seconds, his body sliding between you and Mr. Harkin as his hands landed on your shoulders with a tiny little squeeze that sent your heart leaping through your chest. âBut to do that, Iâm going to need this volunteer that Iâm not quite giving a choice.â
âItâs not volunteering if you didnât ask, Ry!â
You exasperatedly tried to whisper to Ryland as he steered you across the room to stand before all the kids. He only shook his head as a bunch of your own students started cheering for you around the room, only worsening the red that coated your cheeks the second his hands had landed on your body.
âI need you for this,â he shot back hastily, positioning you in the middle of the room, standing in front of you. His body blocked the students from your vision, blue eyes boring down into yours, hands gently squeezing at your upper arms as you begged the blush in your skin to not be too obvious. âYou trust me?â
A ridiculous question, because the only answer was yes. You gave him a nod, and Rylandâs smile only widened as he turned back to the kids in the room.
âAlright, kids. Your gorgeous teacher here is the Sun,â
Little oohs and awes sounded from the kids around the room at Rylandâs little slip in of the word âgorgeous.â There was a sting in your bottom lip as you bit into it with your teeth, trying to contain your own smile. Marcus spoke up from across the room without raising his hand, as usual.
âThen whatâs Mr. Harkin?â
âOh, heâs Pluto,â Ryland shot back immediately, nodding his head. âSuits him.â
Laughter rang through the room, the young boys as rambunctious as ever. Ryland met your astonished look with a tiny wink of his own, one that forced a small laugh to tumble from your lips. Then, he began to slowly spin, walking around you in a circle.
âAnd I am the Earth,â he called out to the kids, and you could only hope he didnât trip over his own two shoelaces. âThe Sun holds 99.8% of the mass in our solar system, which means itâs packing some massive gravity.â
Ryland stopped spinning himself, still moving around you in a circle. He held his hand out toward you, and you slipped yours into it without hesitation, spinning in that circle slowly with him.
âBecause the Sun holds such intense gravity, itâs actually pulling Earth into it. But, Earth has such high forward velocity that it actually keeps us moving sideways. Put these two together, and it keeps Earth moving in an almost perfect circle around the sun. Can anyone tell me another fun fact about our movement around the sun?â
The words went in one of your ears and straight out the other. There was no paying attention, not when Rylandâs hand held your own. Soft skin, just slightly rough around the edges, and those blue eyes were so soft, locked onto you as if there was nowhere else he wanted to look.
âOur speed changes!â Olivia called out from somewhere in the back, but you didnât even try to look and find her. âWhen weâre closer to the sun in our orbit we move faster, and the further away we are, the slower we move.â
âVery good, Olivia!â Ryland called out, sparing just a quick glance over to the kids in the room as his hand held yours tighter, still spinning slowly together. âMadison, we also know this works because thereâs other sun-like stars out there that are also orbited by planets. Like Tau Ceti, which has four Earth-like planets orbiting it.â
âIs the sun important for other things, besides just being the center?â
Rylandâs eyes flickered to you, and you watched as he paused. The slight hesitation on his face, the bobbing of his Adamâs apple for a moment, before those blue eyes locked onto yours and refused to look away.
âI-It isâŚfor a lot of reasons. The Sun is the Earthâs entire reason for existing. The Sun gives the Earth life. The Sun is the reason the world is beautiful,â
Your breath hitched, eyes still trained on Ryland. There was something in his words, something in that earnest, raw look that he had written across his features as he looked at you that added a weight to his words. A weight that sent a tiny chill across your skin, raising the hair on your arms.
âWithout the SunâŚthe Earth would be nothing,â
There was quiet across the room. Then, a couple snickers, followed by Oliviaâs smug little voice.
âThe Sun sounds beautiful the way you talk about it,â
âShe is,â his voice was lower, softer than it was before. Until, he seemed to realize what he said, the red on both of your faces spreading further than before as his eyes shot wide. âTHE SUN I mean! I-Iâm talking about the sun, obviously, b-because this is a science presentation!â
Laughter rang through the room, little chants of your names mashed together coming from some of the kids as the bell rang and saved either of you from further embarrassment.
Ryland, being Ryland, chose that moment to finally trip over his own two feet. You pulled on his hand as hard as you could, saving him from plummeting to the ground as he instead just landed on his one knee.
âMake good choices,â Ryland commented lowly as some of the kids walked past the two of you, still snickering and giggling to themselves. You let go of his hands finally, simply resting it on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. âDonât uh, I donât know, blow up the world during lunch or anything. Or pop those chip bags and give kids heart attacks, whatever you kids do these days.â
You laughed, stepping around Ryland as your kids lined up outside of the room, waiting for you. He shot you a sheepish smile from the floor, and your skin still burned with heat at the memory of his words as you looked at him.
âEvery time I think youâre doing well with those kids, they manage to knock you down a peg,â
âYeah, well, whatâs new?â
When you met your class outside, you didnât let them get a word in before you warned them not to say anything. You could still hear little comments talking about âshippingâ their English and Science teachers the entire way back to your classroom.
â¤ď¸
Ryland Grace didnât understand how he had ended up here.
Well, he did. Calling the leading scholar in his field a âstaggering waste of carbonâ at a UNESCO conference in Denmark was an easy way to get blacklisted from the field heâd studied in for many years in college. It was an easy explanation for how he ended up teaching middle school science at Grover Cleveland Middle in San Francisco.
Not that he had a problem with teaching! He actually loved it. Loved his kids, loved talking about science. He loved teaching the future little scientists of the world about why every facet of science was awesome. The pay wasnât great, though.
Especially when it was the reason he rode a bike to school daily.
And there was currently the equivalent of a monsoon raining down from the sky onto the pavement, the reason heâd been standing at the front doors for the last 20 minutes hoping that the rain would simply let up. The heavens didnât take pity on him, though, and it only rained harder and harder. His rain coat and bike were not meant to withstand heavy rain and damaging winds to this extent.Â
Best cast scenario? It takes him a little longer to get home on his usual 20 minute bike ride than normal. Worst case? He crashes and dies, dead in a ditch covered in mud.
âRyland, please tell me you arenât thinking of riding your bike home in this?â
Then there was you. You were probably the single greatest reason why he loved teaching at Grover Cleveland Middle. If he ever had the unfortunate chance to meet that scientist from the conference again, heâd thank him this time for being a staggering waste of carbon, because it led him down a path to you.
âI canât be that bad,â he tried to joke, waving you off as a crack of thunder seemed to shake the entire building, and his fake confidence faltered for a second. He glanced back at you, coat wrapped around your bag instead of yourself in order to keep its contents dry. âJust, you knowâŚthe slight threat of bodily harm.â
He really wished the path that led to you was less bumpy and full of himself looking like an idiot, but at this rate heâd take what he could get from the universe.
âYeah, absolutely not,â was your immediate reply, head shaking as she fished your car keys out of the bag still covered with your coat. âIâm giving you a ride home, canât risk the best science teacherâs life over a dumb storm.â
Ryland immediately shook his head, turning to face you beside him. He was not letting you risk your own life in the storm for him. If it really came down to it, heâd sleep at his desk. There was a change of clothes he kept in the bottom drawer, it wasnât the first time heâd had to do it.
âI canât let you-â
âThis isnât up for discussion,â Ryland snapped his mouth shut as you cut in once again, dangling your car keys up in front of him with a little shake. âIâŚcare about you, okay? I want to know you are home safe.â
There was no stopping the immediate heat that filled Rylandâs cheeks, and he knew it. There was red blooming across your own, but Ryland shook all wishful thinking from his mind. The AC unit in this school was unreliable, you were definitely just flushed from the heat. No other reason.
Ryland decided he wasnât going to put up a fight at this point, but he wasnât going to let you do this without anything in return. He shrugged the yellow raincoat hanging over his own shoulders off as he kicked the glass door in front of him open, the muffle sounds of the torrential downpour now louder as droplets of water splashed into the front door. He held the jacket out, hanging it above your head to protect you from the rain.
âAt least let me save you from getting drenched,â
âYouâre going to look like a dog that just had a bath by the time we reach my car,â Ryland only smiled at your joke, and the little giggle that fell through your lips. The close proximity didnât help as he held the jacket up around you.
âActually, itâs not windy today,â he shot back with a grin, nodding out the propped open door into the rain. âThat means if we run, Iâll be drier than if we walked, because the rain thatâs hitting us from above is proportional to time. Though, the rain hitting us from the front is proportional to distance, and when running-â
âRyland Grace, you are adorable when you get all science-nerd, but if weâre going to runâŚwe should run,â
Ryland was thankful that you couldnât see the renewed heat flooding his cheeks, as you were both too busy sprinting through the torrential downpour to the staff parking lot.
Being a gentleman (who was head over heels in love with you and too terrified to say a damn thing) was thrown out the window with how fast you were booking it to your car, the idea of shielding you from the rain with his jacket abandoned after just a moment booking it across the lot. He could feel the coolness of the water settling against his skin as it soaked through every layer of clothing he had, every few seconds having to furiously wipe at his glasses in hopes of seeing through them.
None of it really mattered in the end, not when he heard your laugh. The little shrieks of laughter as a particularly big drop happened to fall right in your eyes. Or the laughter as Ryland managedâin his signature fashionâto slip on the final step into the parking lot, and you had to double back in laughter to help haul him to his feet.
Heâs spring clumsily through the rain a thousand more times if he got to see you smile like that. And that is why his kids always told him that he was definitely âwhippedâ for you. Whatever that meant.
The second you had both jumped into your respective seats of your vehicle, doors slamming shut, there was only a moment of silence between the both of you. Ryland felt like his chest was going to explode, remembering why he always hated gym class, his heavy breathing mixed with yours as you both caught your breath, before you locked eyes over the center console.
Then the laughter resumed.
He held his hand to his stomach, feeling an ache settling in as he couldnât stop his own laughter. Yourâs grew slightly louder in his ear as you leaned over, trying to help him wipe at his glasses that were still covered.
âI was right, you look like a wet dog,â
Rylandâs only response was to shake his soaking wet hair like one, a simple reaction that earned yet another shriek of laughter from you and a light slap to his shoulder. You muttered something unintelligible under your breath, but Ryland found himself unable to tear his gaze away from your lips as you started the car and began to pull out of the staff lot. How soft they looked, the way the little beads of water running down your cheeks fell over them.
Whipped. He still didnât get it, but he agreed wholeheartedly with his kids at this point.
There was no driving fast in this rain, especially when the windshield wipers were moving at their highest programmed speed and it still wasnât enough. It was quiet in the car for just a moment as you pulled out of the parking lot, but Ryland broke it the second your phone had connected to the carâs bluetooth, music filling the space between him and you.
Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.
âFrank Sinatra,â Ryland couldnât help the growing smile on his lips as the familiar song flooded through the car speakers. He kept his eyes trained on the side of your face, watching the little smile grow on your own lips, eyes focused on the road conditions in front of you. âOld books and old music. Didnât know you had such an old soul.â
âYou calling me old, Ryland?â
âN-no!â Ryland immediately back track, hands flying up and shaking back and forth as his eyes went wide. âI might say some stupid stuff someâokay, most of the timeâbut I know better than to comment on a womanâs age.â
âIâm just teasing you,â he could thankfully hear the sincerity mixed in with the teasing lit to your voice. âBut yes, I do enjoy some old music. Always been a big fan of Sinatra, especially this one.â
âItâs a nice songâŚjust not scientifically accurate,â he caught the side eye that you threw his way for just a moment, another crack of thunder banging across the sky and almost shaking the car. Ryland couldnât help but jump slightly. âJupiter only has a 3.13° tilt to its axis, so it doesnât experience seasons like we do. Marâs would, though, because its axis is tilted at 25°, only 1.5° more than our own tiltâŚâ
Ryland trailed off as the car rolled to a stop at a red light, and he caught you fully facing him this time with a bemused expression written across your face. His smile dropped just slightly as he let out a sheepish laugh, adjusting his glasses as they slid back down the wet bridge of his nose.
â...I went full science-nerd again, didnât I?â
Your laughter drowned out the rain beating against the roof of the car as your attention returned to the road once more.
âYou always do, but I happen to enjoy it very much,â
If only teaching paid more, because the commute to Rylandâs apartment was a lot shorter than his bike ride home every day from work.Â
Parked in an open space across the road from the dimly lit apartment building, Ryland Grace hesitated with his hand on the handle of the door. His eyes swept out over the area around the vehicle, still being hounded with rain. The top of his road looked like the beginning of a river, the way the water was rushing down the small incline to pool at the bottom.
âThanksâŚfor this,â he gestured toward the weather right outside the card.
You moved to respond to him, when the weather alert on your phone propped up on your dashboard sounded out. Ryland could just barely make out the headline: FLASH FLOOD WARNING.
The roads were far too dangerous, and Ryland already knew from various conversations that you lived on the opposite end of town from him.
HeâŚcould ask you to stay for the night. Just for safety reasons, obviously! He was quickly trying to work through the pros and cons list in his head.
Pros: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman heâs been head over heels in love with for the last year would be safe and not driving in this storm.
Cons: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman heâs been head over heels in love with for the last year would be inside his tiny little apartment that looked like it had been hit by a separate hurricane than the one it felt like they were currently suffering through.
âI should probably get home-â
âStay,â Ryland cut in, quickly continuing his words after his vague statement. âI-Itâs just, the roads are bad, and you live on the other side of town. This storm is just going to get worse, and I-Iâd hate to know something happened to you.â
You hesitated, he could tell, shaking your head.
âRyland, I couldnât ask you to let me stay,â
He hesitated himself for a moment, every feeling heâd kept bottled up for a year now threatening to escape past his lips. Instead, he settled on echoing your own words.
âIâŚI care about you. I want to know youâre safe,â
Moments later, he had his rain coat draped over your head as he rushed you inside his apartment to shelter from the storm.
Rylandâs hands shook the entire time as he put his key into his front doorâs lock. The last time he had guests overâŚwas never. His apartment was built and designed for him and his brain, scattered with notes and books and piles of arts and crafts that he worked on in order to decorate his classroom. It was not meant for visitors, especially not ones as pretty as you.
âDonât, uh, mind the mess,â he mumbled, holding the door open and motioning after you, allowing you to take a step inside his apartment as he let out the small breath he didnât realize he was holding.
Chucking off his sneakers, little puddles of water forming below them on the ground, his jacket found its way into a pile with them. Ryland wiped his hands nervously against the thighs of his jeans, the action doing nothing against the soaking went material, as he watched you take in his apartment.
The apartment that looked like it had been ransacked, at least partially. Stacks of books relating to a thousand different topics were stacked on the ground by the tv stand, on top of the coffee table along with the coffee cup heâd abandoned there early in the morning in a haste to get to the school, and and by his desk that had a stack of papers scattered around it after her strewn them about in order to find one specific slip of paper at 11 p.m.
It was a mess, and Ryland regretted everything.
âItâs not messy, itâs homey,â your reply sent a burst of heat through his skin as you turned to him with a bright smile, leaving your own bag and coat by his pile of wet items before gesturing to your own soaking wet clothing. âDo you maybe have something a little lessâŚwet?â
He scurried away into his bedroom, trying to ignore that little section of his brain that took your comment in a MUCH different way.
His bedroom was worse. Ryland wasnât letting you sleep on the couch, but he surely wasnât letting you see his room in a state like this.
Clothing was thrown across the room and Ryland quickly ran about, shoving piles of clothing away into corners where he was certain you wouldnât be able to see any of it. Throwing it into his closet and slamming the door before it could fall out, pushing it down in his laundry basket, kicking it under his bed so it was out of sight and out of mind, whatever he could think of.
âGreat idea, Ryland,â he muttered to himself, pulling on a dry pair of sweatpants and a tshirt for himself, trying to shake the remaining water out of his hair as he rummaged for something you could wear. âAlmost get the woman youâre in love with killed by letting her drive you home in a monsoon. Invite her to stay the night in your apartment that makes you look like an even bigger loser than you are. Amazing idea. A doctorate in molecular biology and this is the best you can do.â
You were waiting by the couch in his living room, just glancing around at everything with a smile, when he reappeared. Sheepishly, he handed the folded clothing over to you, hand running through his soaking wet hair as he pointed down the hall.
âYou can take my bed for the night. Uh, just leave your clothes in the bathroom, I can throw them in the dryer in a bit. I can scrounge up something to eat in the meantime,â
âThanks, Ry,â your hand reached out, squeezing his upper arm lightly, and he felt the heat in his skin instantly bloom under your touch. âFor all of this.â
If it wasnât for the giant crack of thunder that flickered the lights of the building for a moment and made Ryland jump out of his skin, he wouldâve forgotten how to breathe again.
He rummaged through every part of his kitchen, desperately trying to find something that he could make the two of you to eat that also wouldnât make him seem pathetic. All he could come up withâŚwas a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jelly.
Yesterday. Heâd stayed late after the end of the day to help in tutoring. He forgot to go grocery shopping. Ryland let out a sigh at his realization, back to his fridge door and head banging back against the stainless steel, hand running down his face and dragging against his skin as his glasses were knocked off, hanging off of one ear.
âGreat,â he muttered into his palm. âJust absolutely freaking great, Ryland.â
Ryland Grace desperately wished he had the guts, the bravery, to just simply tell you how he felt.
From the moment he met you, when you had arrived for your first day at Grover Cleveland Middle, he was a goner. It had been a long time since heâd had a partner, his last one certain that he was too busy with his head in the clouds to pay attention to her, and she wasnât wrong. But from the moment he looked at you, waving and smiling as you introduced yourself to all of the teachers that had gathered to welcome you, you were suddenly the only thing his brain wanted to focus on.
He had been so focused on you, too busy admiring every inch of you in silence, that in his typical clumsy fashion he tripped over his own two feet and knocked Principal Marshallâs papers out of her hand, spreading them five feet across the floor. But youâd joined him on the ground, laughing lightly to yourself, as you helped him clean up the papers, and Ryland knew he was a goner for you.
It only continued every single day, getting worse, and you somehow became his friend. His only friend, if he was being quite frank. So he tried to hide the way he really felt, too scared to mess anything up. Heâd rather have you in his life in any way he could, then mess this up and lose you forever.
Keeping those feelings in was getting increasingly harder in the last few months. Which explained why heâd traveled cross town just to get lunch from your favorite place, or compare you to the sun and basically called you his entire reasoning for living in front of a bunch of children-
Either Ryland was going to blurt it out at some point, or he was taking these feelings to the grave with him.
âPeanut butter and jelly? Sounds like weâre eating like royalty tonight,â
He shouldnât have looked over at you. He really, really shouldnât have. Leaning against the opposite wall of the kitchen, hair still damp and dripping onto the cheesy âI had potentialâ shirt heâd been gifted by one of his students the following year. Sweatpants that were bunched up around your ankles so that you didnât trip over the length, waist tied in as tightly as possible so they didnât just slide right off your hips.
Ryland Grace had never thought it possible that you could look more gorgeous than you did every day, but he stood corrected. He felt more in love than he ever had just looking at you right in this moment.
âSorry, I donât exactlyâŚlive a life of luxury,â Ryland awkwardly laughed as he spoke, pulling out two sad paper plates from the cabinet next to him and flashing them in your direction, shaking them lightly in the air. âHope this doesnât ruin my perfectly curated image.â
His eyes followed you as you brushed past him, humming to yourself with a little grin. You fumbled through every drawer in the kitchen, looking for something, when Ryland quickly popped open the one right next to him, showcasing his small selection of utensils. You flashed another heart-stopping grin at him before digging out two knives from the drawer.
âThat image cracked a long time ago, Ry. Like that time you let Marcus perform some chemical reaction and got the fire department called to the school,â
The tall blonde groaned to himself, rubbing at his temple as you pushed past him to throw some of the bread down onto the plates and crack open the jars of peanut butter and jelly set out.
âThat was one time!â he tried to defend himself, saddling up beside you as you passed him one of the knives. He almost completely missed the opening of the peanut butter jar, eyes too transfixed on the sight of you in his clothing. It was still up in the air if his heart was actually working correctly yet. âI learned my lesson very quickly not to let him handle any more chemicals.â
âDonât worry. I made the mistake of doing popcorn reading when we were working on The Outsiders. Marcus seemed to end up with every single instance of profanity in the book, which he would yell at the top of his lungs,â
Ryland snapped his fingers, glancing down at you at his side with a teasing smile.
âYou know what? That explains that really loud âHELLâ I heard across the school a couple months ago. I was so sure that it was going to shatter the windows of my classroom,â
âOh, shut up! It wasnât that bad!â
Your laughter permeated the air, elbow digging into his side as you spoke. And when your eyes locked with his, and Ryland got the perfect look at every square inch of your face, he could see it so clearly in his head.
Mornings just like this, where youâd both struggle to get out of the warmth of the blankets. The way he would surely annoy you with his very disorganized morning routine, but heâd make up for it with coffee already set out for you, just as you liked it. The lingering moments by the door, too wrapped up in each other because you didnât want to leave the peace of this space, even though you were going to the same place.
Late nights, curled together on the couch with some movie playing on TV that neither of you were particularly paying attention to. Whispered words, laughter shared. Kisses that lingered, hands that trailed-
Thunder broke Ryland from his spell, thoughts gone in a flash. He was back in his dingy kitchen, with you just inches away, staring up at him as the picture of true beauty.
âT-This is nice,â he cleared his throat, turning back to his sandwich as he spread his toppings along the bread, heat blooming across his cheeks again. It always did around you. âMaking dinner with someoneâŚno matter how sad the dinner is. I havenât done this in awhile.â
âRight,â your voice responded after a momentary pause. âSarah, wasnât it? You were dating her when we first met. What, uhâŚwhat ever happened to her?â
âOh, we broke up a long time ago,â Ryland waved the comment off, shaking his head. âShe just, uh, thought my head was too far in the clouds. Didnât think I wanted to be down here on Earth. She wasnât wrong. It was for the best, though. She hatedâŚall of this. The rundown apartment, the lack of a car, my love of science. She just never understood it. I was justâŚtoo much for her. But sheâs with Mark now, so Iâm sure sheâs happy.â
Ryland chose not to mention that his last relationship had been dead long before it officially ended, the pair not having seen each other in well over a month by that point. If his math was right, which it usually was, Sarah had started dating Mark before sheâd even broken it off with him.
He also failed to mention the relief he felt inside when she had called it off, knowing his heart had belonged to you the moment your eyes had locked with his.
Fingertips just barely ghosted over Rylandâs cheek, and he froze in place. Eyes trained on the plate in front of him, he could feel the way your hand curled around his cheek. The way your thumb glossed over his skin, back and forth, and the way your other fingers barely grazed over the shell of his ear. He couldnât help the way he instantly leaned into the touch, a touch he hadnât felt in so long.
Ryland turned his head, still resting in the palm of your own, to look you in the eyes. You gave him the softest smile, hand trailing across his cheek and ghosting over his jawline. His eyes watched it move, the way your fingers gently curled around the frame of his glasses dangling precariously from his face, and placed them gingerly back where they belonged, resting on the bridge of his nose.
His breath caught, your body so close to his, as your hand trailed back down and rested on his chest for just a moment, your own gaze flickering to its resting spot while his gaze stayed on your face.
âYou are never, and will never be, too much, Ryland. Not for the right person. Theyâll love every part of you. The clumsy parts, the nerdy parts, every part that makes youâŚyou,â
The Sun. Thatâs what you were to Ryland Grace. He meant every word he had said in that planetarium that day, driven by the rare jealousy of seeing Harkin that close to you.Â
The Sun was the reason Earth had life. Without the SunâŚthe Earth would be nothing.
Without youâŚwell, Ryland Grace had accepted long ago that he didnât understand what it was like to truly live until heâd met you.
Your eyes flickered for just a second, and Ryland took in an audible breath, swearing they settled on his lips for just a second. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the pattering of the rain against the living room windows.
The moment shattered with yet another terribly timed clap of thunder, your body jolting away from his, focus turned back to the counter in front of you, face hidden from his wide eyes.
âY-you knowâŚI canât tell you the last time I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,â
Ryland shook his head, smiling slightly to himself at the little stutter in your own words, turning back to finishing his own food as well. But the moment still lingered in his head, the heat that bloomed from where your skin touched him still lingering.
âSince peanut butter is banned in school for allergies, probably awhile,â
âI almost forgot that rule a couple weeks ago and almost packed peanut butter crackers,â you joked back, before Ryland heard you snap your fingers. âOh! Speaking of work, did you put yourself down to volunteer for the school dance next week?â
Sandwiches finished off, Ryland packed the ingredients away and stashed them back in their appropriate spots, laughing awkwardly to himself.
âHah, uh, no I didnât. I chaperoned last year and kind of left covered in punch, became the kidsâ favorite âmemeâ for a week afterward since one of them got a picture of it,â
He turned back to you. Leaning against the island counter, holding your sad little sandwich in your hands, face still lit up red as you smiled toward him.
âI think so far it's me, Doyle, and Harki, plus Principal Marshal and I think Katie and Dawson from the front office. We could really use another teacher,â he swore the fluttering of your lashes was on purpose just to kill him and his resolve. âSign-up? For me?â
Well, there was no universe in existence where Ryland said no to a request like that.
Rejoining you at the counter, he held his own sandwich in his hand, reaching out and tapping it against yours as if you were sharing a toast.
âFor you? Totally,â
Even as you both took a bite of your sandwiches, eyes still locked together, Ryland felt as if something had shifted in the air. Your eyes were still as kind, your smile still bright, but it felt like there was a new weight to your gaze as you looked at him.
And he sworeâand hopedâfor just a split second, that your eyes had just flickered down to his lips again.
â¤ď¸
The student council had outdone themselves with this end of the year dance.
As you stepped through the main doors of Grover Cleveland Middleâs building, the smile on your face grew immediately at the sight before you. The walls were lined with little fairy lights, little styrofoam planets hanging down from the ceiling at various lengths, glow in the dark stars right around them and glowing. Silver streamers hung around the fairy lights, with the check in desk decorated with tons and foam and lights behind them to look like twinkling lights in the clouds.
âA space theme?â you called out as the two kids in front of you ducked away from the registration desk. Evelyn Doyle finally looked up from the sign-in sheet, grin growing as she took in the sight of you and rounded the desk. âI hadnât heard anything from the student council on the theme, but they did well.â
âNevermind the theme, youâre finally here!â you laughed as you threw her arms around you, reciprocating the hug, before her hands landed on your shoulders in order to get a good look at you, eyes trailing you up and down. âAnd look at this dress, oh my god!â
The deep yellow dress fell right around your knees, the fabric light and airy as it swooshed through the air with every move you made. Buttons lined the front down to the tie around your waist, leaving just enough room for the little gold necklace resting against your collarbone. You thanked yourself for choosing a short sleeve option, already feeling the heat in the building from how many kids were all packed in and dancing together.
âThank you,â was the sheepish reply you gave your friend as she let you go. âIâm sorry Iâm late, I caught one of my studentâs parents in the parking lot and they turned it into a mini parent-teacher conference, sadly.â
âNot a problem,â she waved the comment off, gesturing toward the doors of the gym just off to the left of you both. âJust get on in there, have some fun, and keep those slow dancers at least 12 inches apart at all times.â
If the hallways were gorgeous, the inside of the gym shone even brighter. Bathed in blue and purple, even more little lights twinkled around the room, hung off the walls, the ceilings, and on every surface they could possibly find. Moon and star decals, made by the art students, hung off the walls and from the ceiling, almost glowing under the lights.
Your eyes trailed over all of your children, scattered throughout the room, already having been dancing for at least thirty minutes. The smile on your face grew as you watched each one of them, gathered with their friends as they danced together in groups, or even stood off to the sides and just observed from beyond the dimly lit dance floor.
Mr. Harkin had been stationed at the punch table, and you could hear him from across the room warning these middle schoolers not to try and spike the punch. You could only giggle to yourself, shaking your head at his antics, before your eyes swept over the crowd once more-
The music seemed to stop in your ears, breath hitching, the second you laid eyes on him across the room. Ryland Grace.
He wasnât in anything fancy. A nice pair of jeans, the worn pair of black dress shoes youâd seen by his apartment door that night. A dark green shirt was tucked into his jeans, adorned with a worn, navy blue suit jacket overtop, and those same glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose as he spoke animatedly to Olivia.
Ryland looked good. Too good, in your eyes.
For just a second, he looked up, and his eyes happened to meet yours across the room. You thought for sure youâd forgotten how to breathe.
Whatever had happened that night, in the silence of his apartment with only the beating of the rain against the windows and the roof as a witness, had shifted something. From the moment your fingertips had ghosted along his skin, your hand had rested against his chest, and youâd been close enough to see the specs that danced in those ocean blue eyes of his up close, nothing had been the same.
Like the little bubble you had been existing in with your harbored crushed had finally popped. Like a toe had dipped just slightly over a line, and there was no going back from then on.
You always blushed around your friend, every time heâd manage to fumble his way through a comment that borderlined on a kind-of-not-just-friendly compliment. But since that day just a week or so ago, every time he has been within a few feet of you, your face lit up like a hot summerâs day.
Moments where heâd find a second to linger in your classroom door, held a new weight to them. Sharing lunch together, fingers just barely brushing for a second as you both reached for your food, to moments when youâd simply be walking together down hallways, back of hands brushing along each otherâs but no one making any moves to stop it from happening.
Something was different, and you werenât sure you wanted to go back to how things were before. Not after touching his skin, or existing in his orbit like that. Not when youâd seen the side of him beyond these school walls.
You were in love with Ryland Grace. You had been for a long time. And, finally, you were done trying to pretend that there wasnât at least a small chance that he felt the same.
âI need your help,â
The heated staring contest between you two was broken by the sound to your right. You turned, just to see Marcus standing directly beside you and reaching up to pull on the sleeve of your dress. His hands wrung together, foot tapping incessantly on the ground, and you immediately knelt down in front of him to get a better look at his face that he was trying to hide from you.
âMarcus? Honey, whatâs wrong?â you asked gently, hands coming to rest on his arms as you tried to get him to look at you.
âIâŚI like Olivia,â
Oh. It was one of those problems. The anxiety you felt in that moment finally washed away, an easy smile falling to your lips as you took a quick glance over in Ryland and Oliviaâs direction, the formerâs eyes still locked onto you from across the room.
âI did hear a rumor about that. Olivia is a great girl,â
âShe is,â he said quickly, finally looking at you. His nerves were basically written across his face. âI-Iâve been really mean to her. I didnât mean to be.â
âI know, honey. Sometimes feelings can be confusing,â you stood up, hands on your hips as you looked down at him with a smile. âDo you want to dance with her?â
âI do,â
You held your hand out toward him with a smile.
âThen why donât we start by going and apologizing to her?â
With Marcusâs hand in yours, you confidently led him across the room, eyes locked back onto Rylandâs as you approached. He stood with Olivia at his side, who was talking his ear off, a dopey looking grin on his face as he nodded to whatever she said as he continued to watch as you approached him.
âDr. Grace, Iâm sorry to interrupt you and Olivia,â you announced yourself to the pair with a grin of your own, hands on Marcusâs shoulders and you lightly pushed him forward. âBut Olivia, thereâs something that Marcus here wants to say to you.â
The young boy shuffled awkwardly forward, hands wringing together again as he stood in front of his crush.
âI, uh, I wanted to say I was sorry. For being really mean to you. I didnât mean it,â
Oliviaâs eyes went wide, as she too shuffled uncomfortably for a second. Ryland saddled up to your side, the pair of you sharing a glance as you watched the interaction happen right before your eyes. His hand graced over yours lightly, and it took everything in you not to reach out and lock your fingers with his.
âOh! Itâs, um, itâs okay. Thank you,â
âSay, Marcus?â Ryland called out to them both, catching the boyâs eye and gesturing toward Olivia with a wink. âWhat do you think of Oliviaâs dress?â
âIâŚI think she looks really beautiful,â
That comment finally seemed to catch Olivia off guard, her eyes wide in shock as she giggled nervously.
âOh! IâŚthank you, Marcus. You look really nice too,â
âThank you,â his posture seemed to straighten out at Oliviaâs reaction, like seeing her accept his compliment gave him the confidence he needed. âDo you want to dance with me?â
Olivia shot you and Ryland a look, and you both immediately gave her a thumbs up. Then, your happy eyes could only watch the two pre-teens awkwardly shuffle away together to the dance floor, not daring to meet the eyes of the other.
âLook at us, playing matchmaker for middle schoolers,â
âI think they did that for themselves, we just helped,â you laughed, turning your head. The laughter died on your lips the second your eyes met with Rylandâs, voice low and breathy as you whispered to him through your smile. âHi.â
âHi,â he whispered back just as breathily. His hand came up to the back of his head, running through his hair for a moment, and you could see the red and pink hues that lit up his cheeks. âI got worried when I didnât see you. I was ready to call you.â
âYou couldâve,â
âIâll remember for next time,â he shot back, hands finding their way to rest in the front pockets of his jeans. His eyes moved back over the crowd, finding your two young students once more. âIâm proud of him for that. ThatâŚmust have taken a lot of guts to do.â
You followed his gaze, landing on the pair as they danced together, laughing and talking like old friends.
âLike you said before, it can be hard for boys to express their feelings. All he needed was to pull up his big boy pants and ask her,â
Ryland laughed beside you.
âYeahâŚI should probably follow in his footsteps,â
You glanced back to him, seeing him already watching you. A single eyebrow raised toward him quizzically, even though your heart felt like it was ready to beat directly out of your chest.
Rylandâs mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were trying to force out words that he couldnât quite seem to get right. You didnât even realize you were holding your breath, hoping inside that whatever he wanted to say would address the weight that seemed to be hanging between your gazes.
âStay here,â
There wasnât even time for you to respond before the tall blonde rushed away, almost tripping as he dashed over to the DJ booth across the way from the makeshift dance floor. He whispered something to the DJ, and you could see the thumbs up he got in return, before he rushed back over to you, panting slightly.
âRyland?â you questioned softly, the man who held your entire heart without knowing it standing just a foot in front of you with a nervous grin on his face. âWhat did you just do?â
As if on cue, the song changed, and familiar lyrics floated through the room, bouncing off the walls.
Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars
âIâm pulling up my big boy pants,â he responded with a nervous laugh, his hand outstretched toward you. âAnd asking you to dance with me.â
Nothing else existed the second that you slid your hand into Ryland Graceâs without hesitation, letting him pull you in. You werenât in the school, not in a room decorated for a middle school dance, and certainly not surrounded by middle schoolers and a bunch of faculty that had placed bets on you both.
It was just you and Ryland Grace. Thatâs all you wanted it to be.
Your arms found a place to rest around his shoulders, fingertips just barely brushing past the strands of hair that tickled the back of his neck. There was a fluttering in your chest the second that his hands made their way to your waist, curling around the divet just above your hip bone, pulling you into him just by another inch.
In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling, kiss me. Fill my life with song, and let me sing for ever more.
"I didn't tell you yetâŚ,â his voice was soft, words whispered just between the two of you in a crowded room. âBut you look beautiful,"
"You don't have to flatter me, Ryland,"
"No, really, you look-"
"Like a banana in this yellow dress?"
He paused. His tongue poked out, running along his bottom lip, and you could see the nervous bob of his Adamâs apple before he spoke again.
"...like the sun,"
You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.
Oh. That fluttering in your chest was back, and suddenly, you werenât at a middle school dance anymore. You were back in that planetarium, spinning in circles. And this time, there were no doubts in your mind. You were the Sun, and he was the Earth. And what was the Earth, without its Sun?
"Ryland-"
"I wasn't lying,"
You cocked your head.
"...about what?"
"That I knew Homer wrote The Odyssey,"
That drew a short laugh from you, but you could still see the nerves that were laced through Rylandâs smile.
"Right, you were just distracted,"
"I was. By you. I'm always distracted by you,"
In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.
You took a deep breath. Heâd crossed the line for you, thrown himself onto the other side, and was waiting for you with open arms. It was just a leap of faith.
âIâm always distracted by you, too. Since the day we met,â
The song faded away, melting into the next. There couldâve been eyes on you both, either from students or from faculty, but nothing would break either of your gazes away from the other.
Ryland took a quick look around the room, before his hands took hold of your own, bringing them down between you both. He gave you a grin, one filled with more happiness than you had ever seenâand you knew your own matched his perfectlyâbefore he tugged you toward the doors of the gym.
âCome with me,â
âRy, weâre supposed to be chaperoning!â
âI donât see Principal Marshall anywhere. Whatâs the worst she could do, fire us?â
âQuite literally, yes!â you shot back with a laugh.
Ryland only shrugged his shoulders, tugging you again, and you didnât even try to fight back. Your feet simply moved with him.
âWorth it,â
Hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, your laughter echoed off the walls of the empty hallways as Ryland Grace ran you down them, a destination clear in his mind. Every few seconds heâd look back, just smiling at you as his eyes trailed over every single inch of you, before youâd yell at him to look at his own feet before youâd both be sprawled across the linoleum floors.
The door to his classroom was open as you flew inside, hand slipping from his as you caught yourself on the projector cart sitting in the middle of the room. Spinning on your heel, you caught his eye just as he shut the classroom door behind him, and the silence enveloped you both once more. Finally alone, no prying eyes to watch.
The momentarily confidence that seemed to seize hold of Ryland dissipated in that moment. He wiped his hands against the front of his jeans, chuckling awkwardly as he took a few steps toward you.
âWhat was your plan here, Dr. Grace?â you teased, taking a couple steps toward him as well, too high on the feeling of everything youâd just finally realized. High on the feeling of finally not denying what your heart knew long ago: you and Ryland Grace were never just friends.
âIâm not going to lie,â he shot back, coming to a stop just in front of you, barely an inch or two separating you. âI hadnât thought this far ahead.â
âThen stop thinking,â
No one had leaned in first. It had been both of you, as if drawn together like two magnets, as your lips finally found one another's.
Goosebumps rose across your skin as Ryland Graceâs mouth moved against yours with an ease that shouldnât exist between two people that have never kissed before. It was like a perfect dance between two partners that knew each other better than anything.
Your lips never left his, moving against his as if you couldnât believe you had deprived yourself of this for so long, as your hands wound around his shoulders. Fingers curled into his hair, finally carding themselves through the blonde strands that felt so soft between your fingers.
The slightest little moan, enough to send heat coursing through your body the second you heard it, slipping from Rylandâs mouth into your own. His hands grasped at your hips, winding around your back to press into your lower back and tug you as close as humanly possible, as if he was a starved man that craved to touch you in any way that he could.
His lips were soft, a feeling that you knew you were going to crave for the rest of your life now that youâd had a single taste of them. You pressed further into him, a small mewl tumbling from your own lips and swallowed by his mouth as you pressed every inch of yourself into him, desperate to hang onto the moment in case the world would be cruel and wake you from this dream moments later.
The need to breathe was what finally separated you, but not far. Rylandâs forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning out across your skin. His hands still gripped at your hips, holding him to you, as yours stayed carded through his hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as you chest heaved as it tried to level your breathing back to normal.
âIf I havenât made it clear already, youâre my best friend,â his words were breathy, accented by the way he was still trying to catch his breath. But his smile was bright, his eyes almost shining, as he looked down at you. âAnd Iâm completely in love with you. Literally, since the moment we met.â
You laughed, trapped in this little bubble with him, as your hands slid from his hair to instead cup his cheeks. The tip of your nose just barely brushed against his, and he bumped his right back against yours without hesitation.
âIâm completely in love with you too, Ryland Grace. Since the moment you tripped over your own two feet,â
The sound of your laughter filled the empty, dark science classroom again as Rylandâs hands came to scoop you up around your thighs, spinning you in relentless circles. All you could do was hang onto his broad shoulders and smile, his lips peppering a thousand kisses to every inch of skin he could possibly reach.
The Earth needed the Sun, like how Ryland said he needed you. The person that makes it all worth it, that makes the days brighter, that makes this short little life worth it.
Jealousy, Jealousy. ( Ryland Grace x Teacher!Reader Oneshot. )
Jealous hot nerdy men are hot
Title: Jealousy, Jealously.
Pairing: Heavily Implied - Ryland Grace x Teacher!Reader.
Rating: T. ( Nothing too suggestive tbh just to be safe. )
Words: 4.1K
Summary: Ryland runs into you in the Teacher's Lounge. But hey-o! You're not alone. There's some annoying parasite.... History teacher, attached to your hip.
Ryland Grace Masterlist.
Ryland Grace is a professional.Â
This was like a mantra he repeated every day when he woke up. He is an educator! A mentor! A responsible adult whose job is to guide young minds and maintain appropriate boundaries and composure at all times!
So, as he strolled into the Teacherâs Lounge on sparkling morning, expecting hot coffee in the pot and if heâs lucky? A stale donut left over from the batch one of the Math teachers brought in âjust becauseâ. What he was not expecting was you already there, leaning very casually against the counter, head tossed back in laughter at something Mr. Carter, new hire, 8th grade History teacher, suspiciously charismatic, had just told you.
Ryland is not someone who feels a very⌠A VERY specific and very unreasonable spike of irritation when someone else is already in the room talking to you.Â
The 6th grade science teacher⌠Does not like this History teacher. Again, not in a jealous way. More in a⌠data-based, observational and entirely rational way based in science! All things he told himself to feel a tiny bit better as he shuffled his way to the coffee pot.
Ryland noticed right away the stance of the other man, hand braced on the counter, a little too close beside you like he was some B-actor in some low budget rom-com. Ryland internally gagged at that as he pulled out his mug, setting it on the counter with a small âclinkâ from the porcelain.
âAnd then the kid tried to argue with me that the War of 1812 actually happened in 1912.â Carter talked with that dumb charm that rubbed Ryland the wrong way, his blue eyes narrowing just a bit at the grin the History teacher gave you. Gross. Thereâs no way youâre falling for th---
âNo way!â You laughed.
Oh Câmon!!! Ryland whined internally.
âI swear. Full confidence too, like there was no argument.â
âThatâs kind of impressive, honestly.â Your head tilted, Ryland staring at the back of it, almost flabbergasted.Â
And without thinking, his mouth is moving, sharper than intended. âMore like statistically concerning.â
Both you and Carter turn at the sound of Rylandâs voice finally breaking the moment. The smile you give him is instant, causing the blonde to feel a shift of⌠Pride that your attention was on him like he deserved it all. âOh hey, Mr. Grace. Good morning.â
âMorning.â He replied to you, aiming for a totally normal tone but he landed somewhere in the vicinity of Iâm in the middle of a tense lab presentation donât even look at me.Â
Carter nodded curtly. âMr. Grace.â
Ryland wanted nothing more than to make a disgusted face, but opted to just⌠Nod in response. Brief. Efficient and neutral. Ah⌠Professional. Nothing to draw his attention anymore than needed. Ryland squeezed himself to access the coffee pot behind you, almost hyper aware of the conversation happening.Â
âAre you still coming on Friday?â Carter asked, his voice deepened which caused Ryland to⌠Well, he mocked the History teacher in his head. ArE yoU sTIll ComINg oN FRIdaY. He scoffed softly, his hand pausing on the coffee pot handle as he waited for you answer.
âYeah, I think so. Theyâve been really pushing these social events for teachers, like making us interact outside of hours is going to help.â You chuckled and crossed your arms.
âYou better.â Carter replied lightly and Ryland swears he can sense the stupidhead getting closer to you. âIt wonât be as fun without you.â
Ryland grabbed the pot handle with a bit too much aggression, bringing it to his cup and pouring.
Too fast.
It sloshed onto the counter with a small âsplooshâ, your eyes glancing over right as it happened.
âGreatâŚâ Ryland muttered softly, looking at it with a gaze of defeat. And it wasnât even 8 AM
yet.Â
âWoah, careful. You donât want to burn yourself.â There was such concern in your voice that Ryland really liked, but⌠Couldnât shake the pair of hazel eyes also watching you. What was it with History teachers having to witness every flippinâ event? Ryland suppressed the desire to roll his eyes.
âI am being careful,â He told you gently, grabbing a paper towel and immediately knocking over the sugar container in the process. Thereâs a soft thunk as it hits the counter, your eyes trying to search for Rylandâs but heâs⌠Refusing as a wall of silence hit the three of you before ---
Carter snorted. Quiet enough to be subtle but enough for Ryland to close his eyes for half a second to recollect himself.
This is fine.
Everything is fine.
âYou okay there, Grace?â Carter asked, clearly entertained.Â
âIâm excellent.â Ryland said tightly, mopping up sugar like it had personally offended him by following the laws of gravity.Â
âRough morning?â You asked him, concern leaking from you as your body twisted towards him.
âNo.â Ryland whispered gently. âNormal morning. Completely normal series of events.â
There was another beat that hit the air, the History teacher sensing a shift and without even missing another, Carter tugged you back his way, âAnyway, like I was saying. Iâll uhhh. Save you spot on Friday.â
Ryland straightened, glancing down at his mug with an intense glower. There it was again. That sentence. The audacity. That seat saving nonsense. The blonde man spoke before his mind even had time to process.
âThatâs not necessary.â
You blink, Carter next to you raised an eyebrow and⌠Ryland immediately regretted even coming into the lounge to get the coffee he had every morning.
âI mean, not that you canât.â His blue eyes met yours frantically, trying to backtrack and save face. He gestured vaguely at you with the paper towel, âSaving seats is uhhh⌠A common social practice. I just--- Thereâs uh no need to⌠Preemptively organize seating, is all.â
You watched Cater lean back against the counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest. âDidn't realize seating charts were a sensitive topic.â He told Ryland matter-of-factly.
âYou must not be a great teacher then, theyâre a life saver when students mis-behave.â Ryland looked him dead in the eye.
Your mouth fell open at the insult that was so casually tossed into the air. âOh my god, Ryland.â He could tell you were suppressing a laugh as your hand came up to cover your mouth.Â
Good, he got you to laugh. Ryland one, Carter zerrrooooo.
Carter looked between the two of you and in that moment, something clicked behind his eyes. âRight⌠UhâŚâ He said slowly, directly towards you, âWell, if you want me to save you a seat, just text me later.â
âYeah, not a problem.â You replied, half-heartedly as your attention was still on Ryland who really committed to the pile of sugar in front of him. The other man next to you pushed off the counter, headed towards the door with a faint amusement lingering at what just happened.
The door swung shut with a small click and silence drifted in and settled between you as Ryland continued his attempt at cleaning up the spilt sugar. He scoops it until the paper towel carefully and throws it away like it was the last, very complicated step in an unknown experiment. Then, from across the room, he turned on his heel to look at you.
Youâre already looking at him, a smile tugging at your lips. âYou wanna explain what just happened?â
âA totally normal interaction. I donât know what e---â
âThat was not normal---â
âIt was well within acceptable conversational boundaries for co-workers.â
âYou knocked over the sugar, Ryland.â
He prickled at the sound of his first name. âThat was⌠Unrelated.â
âAnd you told him not to sit next to me.â
âI did not tell himâŚâ Ryland paused, letting his mouth press together for a moment, âOkay, I can see where that might have been the implication.â
âYou literally insulted his teaching prowess.â
Ryland opened his mouth, closed it again, then seemed to decide that defending himself further would only make things worseâwhich, scientifically speaking, was already the established trend of the morning.
âYouâre unbelievable.âÂ
There was still a smile tugging on your face, Rylandâs glasses shining a bit as he took a guilty few steps towards you, back to the counter just so he could glance at you before looking back at his coffee mug on the counter. It took him a second, but the scientist did what he always did when things exceeded their acceptable control limits. He recalibrated.
âI am not unbelievable.â You raised an eyebrow at him, clearly saying âyeah, rightâ. Ryland swallowed softly as he scooped up his coffee and took a small sip. From behind the mug, you could hear him utter a small, âI am⌠Consistent.â
That statement earned him another coveted look from you that made his chest⌠Clench uncomfortably, annoyingly and so⌠non-scientifically. He cleared his throat and looked at the counter again.
âYou absolutely are unbelievable.â You repeated surely, softer this time without sounding as accusing, like you were correcting him rather than trying to start an argument.
The blond in front of you began fiddling with the sugar container again with the hand not death-gripping his coffee mug. You knew him well enough to recognize that he was⌠Fidgeting, giving his hands something to do rather than letting his mind run with the first thing it wanted to say.
âIt was a logical cor---â
âYou were jealous.â You said confidently, the immediate sound from Ryland mid-sip coming out as a wet-choke of sorts as he coughed and tried to adamantly remain in control despite the hot liquid quite literally trying to end him.Â
The mug was sat down gently as he breathed in deeply, shoving his glasses up his nose with such pressure, he felt the nose-pieces dig a bit more into his skin. But, when Ryland went to open his mouth, nothing came out.
He closed it.
Then opened it once something actually populated behind his buffering mind.
âWoah, hey. I was not. Okay. I think we need to clarify a few things. I feel like this is getting scientifically misclassified."Â
You crossed your arms and leaned against the counter, the smile on your face smug and almost all-knowing as you let him continue with a gesture of your hand.Â
âI was not jealous. Jealousy is a very specific neurochemical response involvingâŚâ The sentence died on the way out as your eyes met his. You stared at each other for a moment, Ryland taking a delicate note of the pink-ish tone to your cheeks.
âWell, not that I would know personally, I mean I know academically, obviously. I teach middle school science, when itâs not about that specific thing, itâs usually about jealousy. And I know a lot of things about brains--- Thus. I was not experiencing it.â
You were just⌠Watching him. More carefully than you wanted to admit as he had abandoned his coffee completely and was unraveling right in front of you from a conclusion that was, when broken down, very true. And unfortunately, you watching him just spurred Ryland to continue.Â
Like a dingus. âAll I was doing was observing a disruption in environmental peace. Thatâs all. He wasâŚâ Rylandâs jaw clenched a bit, the fluorescent lights bouncing off the muscles and were a feast for your eyes. âHe was standing too close to you. Which, I know, youâre thinking âoh well, thatâs not a crime, Rylandâ.âÂ
He mimicked your voice and went an octave up which caused you to chuckle.Â
âUnless you define personal space as a regulated boundary condition, which I do, but only in my head, not officially because that would be weird.âRyland began gesturing vaguely at nothing as if movement was going to drive home the point he was trying to make. It wasnât working, but you were enjoying it and let yourself lean over and grab your own coffee, taking a small sip as he continued.
âThe distance between him and you was objectively⌠Not objectively-objectively like⌠I donât have a ruler readily available to measure with, but I have a very strong internal sense of spatial geometry, and it was wrong.â
You blinked. Slowly, trying to process the absolute whammy of word vomit that the cute 6th grade teacher just bestowed upon you. The words flipped over and over again in your mind as you deduced what he was saying and what he actually meant by it. And off to your side, as you stared at him almost slack-jawed, Ryland nodded quickly like that solved the issue.
You opened your mouth to say something --- But werenât allowed.
âAnd then he was doing the thing.â Ryland said a bit louder, gaining momentum now that he had fully committed to the spiral down. âYou know, that thing where people lean? The conversational lean? Thatâs a dominance posture, super common in men like that when theyâre around a potential sexual partner.â
You sputtered a bit at that, a small cold sweat running down your body at the implications that Ryland was giving. Like you had⌠Something going on with the History teacher. Which was definitely not the case and if Ryland were as brilliant as he claimed to be, heâd not be giving the go-around to what your relationship was and what it did to him emotionally. Very evident now as he was just digging himself a bigger hole. But who were you to stop it?
âThat is not me being emotional, that is what we call a behavioral⌠DuhnnnnnnâŚ. Behavioral anthropology! I definitely remember reading about it in a paper somewhere. Or maybe I just skimmed an article at 2 AM.â
He was forced to take a breath.
âAnd the seat-saving thing is just⌠Itâs inefficient. It doesnât even work for the kids who want to save a spot for their friends at lunch. And logistically? A nightmare. Because what if you get there and the seat is not emotionally available? You canât assign social seating like itâs a controlled experiment and there are way too many variables. People sit differently, chairs have opinions!â
Ryland gasped softly, letting his hand rest on his forehead as he massaged the lines there that had built up during the spill of the century. In⌠front of⌠you⌠His stomach dropped a bit when his blue irises met yours, your eyes playing with his for a few seconds as if you were trying to read behind the words. Which, knowing you, Ryland⌠Knew you knew the truth. You were good at that, the emotional thing and reading people.
He clearly⌠Was not. He was quieter this time around, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. âI am saying I behaved very normally---â
âIs that all---â
â--- having to adapt on the fly to the unexpected variable upon entering the Teacherâs Lounge for my morning coffee, when the equation usually only calls for you and I to share a cup together.â
There was a beat as you leaned back a bit and drew your bottom lip in at the last thing he said.
Ryland was not done, having to add in a small, âWhich is not jealousy.â Like it made his argument tight and secure.Â
Silence settled for half a second as you nodded your head slowly, your heart beating in your ears at⌠What you imagined to be the closest thing to a confession of âI like youâ from the teacher in front of you. Ryland⌠Was looking at the counter like it had earned his trust and then betrayed it all for no reason. You watched his stare go from that, to his mug, then to the sugar. Maybe⌠If he was lucky and he stared hard enough, the entire situation would justâŚ. Poof, disappear.
You decided to be daring and took half a step towards him, your eyes focused on the minute expression changes he gave. He went from âYeah, I know what Iâm talking aboutâ to down right horrified in a matter of miliseconds.Â
You stepped closer to him, your body heat beating into him without warning, and that alone made Rylandâs overdrive brain visibly reboot.
âOh golly gosh,â He said softly, voice wavering right around the edges. âI think I ma--- Made it worse. I think I just said five sentences when I could've said zero.â Ryland looked at you, almost accusatory.
âHey, you were the one who wanted to go on about it, it wasnât my fault.â You laughed and Ryland felt himself heat up from the inside out at that, minorly glad that the annoying vibrant florescents of the Lounge took the color out of most things because he just knew his face was red.
âThatâs bad! Thatâs always bad. In literally every documented social study, excessive clarification is correlated with---...â
âCorrelated with what?â It was your turn to interrupt with a heavy pink against your face and the pit of your stomach almost on the floor. He felt himself blush even harder at that and willed himself to glance down at his coffee. Maybe if he were lucky, his beard and glasses would cover the childish reaction his body was having.Â
The blonde stopped moving, his rambling dying in the air and the words that wanted to be spoken just drifted between the two of you.Â
Excessive clarification is correlated with defensive mechanisms because the argument presented was correct. Your assumption based on his interactions with another man, the assumption being his very mediated jealousy, was⌠Correct.
Ryland internally cringed.
The lack of momentum in the moment wasnât obvious at first. Just⌠A minor pause, a hitch in the shift of Rylandâs breathing which was still catching up from the intense word-vomit. But, then it stretched, lengthened into something neither of you seemed very willing to break. His fingers, still curled loosely around his mug, tighten just enough to make you conscious of the motion. His knuckles turned slightly off-color.
Ryland was aware of you, and you⌠You werenât actively looking at him, but from the flush against your cheeks, from the way your breathing was cascading up and down, you were very aware of him too as it all came to a head.
There was acute awareness of the space between the two of you and whatever the heck just passed through it.Â
Finally, like twenty years had passed, your eyes met. Accidentally. At least, thatâs what made Ryland feel a little better, but the fact that you didn't look away quickly solidified something in him that was only there under the surface for the better half of this school year. It was not accidental. There was no sense anymore in pretending. The unsaid confession just sat there, fragile and undeniable. A balancing act between two teachers like it was something that might shatter if touched directly.
Rylandâs jaw clenched, your hand tightened around your mug.
He was running in circles in his mind.
This is a moment. Definitely a moment and even worse itâs a mutual moment shared with someone than active makes meâŚ
 Ryland tilted his head at that, not going as far for admittance, but was that even needed when he just went off the way he did? This entire thing caught him off guard. Not what he wanted on a Wednesday morning. He just wanted his coffee and his hopefully stale donut.
His expression morphed. Not dramatically from one subset to another, and not enough for anyone else to notice, but you saw it. Familiarity, like heâd just solved a long-standing equation. The flicker of recognition, followed immediately by Rylandâs wild instinct to contain it, intellectualize it and to put some far distance between himself and whatever that was. Not like your thoughts were any better, in fact, you wagered a bet to yourself that they were far less organized than Rylandâs. Did that just.Nahhhhh, it didn't. Yes, it totally did. Youâre stupid to deny it.Â
Neither of you found yourselves smiling, as odd as that was. That would have made it easier, your mind should have yelled at you to smile and to try to rectify but⌠Instead you just stood there. Looking at each other, knowing. And there was definitely some effort on both parts to pretend that you didn't know.Â
And then, without warning, you finally broke. It wasnât graceful or pretty, heck, it wasnât even subtle. The floating moment finally snapped under the weight of your own self-awareness, the knowledge of how close Ryland had gotten, subconsciously or not.
Heat rushed up your neck so fast that it felt visceral. With a small straggled sound, you looked down at your mug, then darted your eyes away completely like looking at the science teacher would just confirm something that you werenât ready to name.
âUhhh right then.â You started too quickly. You slapped yourself mentally at that but Ryland was still whirling.
That had been a moment.
Abort! Abort! Abort!
But his body betrayed him and he was unable to move as you it was your turn to ramble. âI uh⌠Oh boy, look at the time.â It was 7:30. Ryland knew you didn't need to be in your classroom until 7:50. âI should uh go. Iâve got⌠things. Very important⌠Things.â Smooth, (Name). Very convincing.
Within seconds, you were grabbing your mug and headed towards the door to the hallway. Faster than you needed, but it felt like all the oxygen left the room with the dead-air and open confession. It was risky, but you let yourself glance at him once more.
Immediate regret. Ryland was still looking at you, he had to have watched you move almost robotically to the door and there was something written on his face that you couldnât read. Curiosity and something more⌠Complex? Like, he hadnât recovered and needed more time than you.
That didn't help the situation at all, you swallowed softly and took a step back towards him. âHey,â Blue eyes widened a bit at the direct acknowledgement. âIâll uhm⌠Save you a spot.âÂ
Rylandâs lips parted as if he were going to say something, but you didn't allow him as you were fast to the finish line, âOn Friday. The Teacher Pot luck thing. Iâll⌠Save you a seat.â
There was a pause as you grasped the door handle. Just long enough for the words to hang awkwardly between you before you gave the smallest, almost apologetic nod at the still suffering 6th grade teacher. It was also a half gesture, half escape as you opened the door.
âYeah. F-Friday.â Ryland said. âI uhhâŚ.â He creased his eyebrows. He wasnât even planning on going Friday. What was he doing? âUhhh. The seat thing. Wouldnât it be better if we showed up together? Statistically, weâd find seats side-by-side better that way. I can uhmâŚâ Oh god, why was his mouth moving? âI can pick you up at your classroom on the way to the lunch hall.â
You smiled softly at that, the ice around you two finally melting just a bit, âAre you always that chivalrous, Mr. Grace?â
He sputtered just a bit, âIâve got to make up for the fact that I just insulted the new History teacher.â
âYeah, well, that doesnât stop him from being an absolute tool.â You added, âBut uh⌠Maybe try not to interrogate any more of the faculty before Friday.â
Ryland laughed, a small huff as he nodded shyly at that. âYeah⌠Well, no guarantees."
âAnd Ryland?â You said his name again, propping open the door right as his eyes caught hold of yours from across the room and his chest did a small swimming motion like it was underwater.
âYes?â He was quiet.
âItâs okay that you were jealous.â
That earned you a tired look from him as he stared back down at his coffee mug, the reaction enough confirmation of everything that had happened before. This time though?
He kept his mouth shut in fear of ruining the moment any further. And for a second, he considered arguing again. Like the reflex was right there at the forefront of his mind but it faded before his mouth could speak. Instead, he tightened his shoulders in just a fraction and let a quiet breath through his nose.
âI wasnât⌠jealous.â Completely unconvincing and he knew that you knew as you nodded, the softening of your expression enough to get him to melt.
âSo youâll pick me up on Friday?â
He glanced up at that, something warmer slipping through his entire body despite his best efforts to⌠Remain calm. âFriday.â Ryland let you go with that, watching as the door swung shut with a minor click. And this time? Ryland finally felt free enough to not pretend that it hadnât meant something more.
â･°⊠clark kent text messages âŠÂ° ･ â
A/N: as promised, the bf text messages! these are very simple and silly but i think they're cute lol. pls let me know if you'd like more, or if you have any requests in general! my inbox is open :) love you all!!
you're a teacher, currently trying to fill up your summer vacation with freelance work when you stumble into not one, but two situationships with clark kent, the adorkable reporter from the daily planet, and superman, the hero you can't stop running into. overall? you're having a very interesting break.
wk: 14.8k (worth it i pinky swear)
the best and the worst part of teaching is that you never stop having summer breakâ two and a half months of pure boredom and relaxation that always go the same. you find a job, you visit family, you take random classes at the community center just to get yourself out of the house. you really did not expect this year to be any different, any better. you expected the same boredom, the same routine, the same desperation to find someone to occupy your time.Â
however, you didnât count on clark kent to stumble into your life and take your world by storm.Â
you met in late may, the first time you came around the daily planet selling pictures for the paper. you spent a lot of your free time behind a camera, capturing moments you didnât want to loseâ and you really needed some extra cash. metropolis might pay better than most cities, but at the end of the day, a teacherâs salary is a teacherâs salary.Â
you were hopelessly turned around, clutching a small, manilla file that was nearly overflowing with the photographs you felt were relevant enough to submit with one hand and biting your freshly manicured thumbnail with the other, staring up at the very useless building directory, reading the names and numbers with little understanding. the receptionist had told you to go to perry whiteâs office for your meetingâ but she hadnât been so kind to tell you exactly where you could find it.Â
the signs were no help. you are embarrassingly lost, andâ
âneed any help?â
you turn around, dropping your hands to your sides. youâre met kindly with the direct view of a manâs chest, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.
and there he was. six foot four, built like a linebacker and stuffed into a suit, wearing glasses that looked a bit too small and a smile that seemed a bit too warm. the man you would come to know as clark kentâ the center of your universe.
and those eyes. bluer than the ocean, captivating you so wholly you forgot to breathe. oneâs that looked to you with such unequivocal kindness, coupled with a smile that was breathtakingly gentleâ you forgot how to breathe.Â
heâs staring down at you as if heâs not the only one who needs to catch his breath. as though he finds something about you to be just as overwhelming as you find him.Â
he pauses, clearing his throat. âi just meanâ ah, sorry, you look lost. i-i can help you. i work here. uh, reporterâ um, i meanââ he takes a deep breath, extending a hand. âclark kent.âÂ
god, heâs adorable.Â
you smile up at him, taking his hand in yours and giving it a gentle shake. you note how large and uncalloused his hand is, and try to ignore the shocks of electricity you feel with that first, all-consuming touch. you tell him your name, thankful that you donât manage to stumble over your words, and he jots it down in the back of his head like itâs sacred. âiâm looking for mr. whiteâs office? i have some pictures for the paper.â you explain, holding up your file.Â
âoh, yeah, thatâs my boss. iâll walk you there.â he says, looking down at you with a soft grin that renders you so useless you nearly forget why youâre here. carefully, he motions for you to follow him, and you oblige, walking slowly down the arched hallways of the daily planet at his side. your heart begins to pound out of your chest.
thereâs a beat of silence as you walk, before he breaks it with, âcan i see them?â
he points to the folder in your hands, the one that youâre clutching like a lifeline. you hand it over without a second thoughtâ how are you supposed to say no to the ridiculously cute, dorky guy guiding you through the building? youâre just not.Â
he cards through them carefully, commenting on the quality, the angles, the color grading, basically just complimenting every picture while you try not to swoon. he pulls one of the prints out of the file, a rare picture of superman you managed to get two weeks ago. you consider it the strongest picture in your portfolio. most of the photos of superman are blurs of red and blue, or shaky selfies heâs taken with fans. this one is still, certainâ hopeful. you took it candidly. he was crouched with a kid, one of your students, helping him fix his broken project with gentle hands.Â
you think about that moment every now and then. it changed you from a casual viewer of supermanâs heroics to someone who supported him completely. you watched him stop, and with hands capable of much greater things, sooth the worries of a child when he could have been doing anything else. it instilled a kind of faith in humanity you hadnât felt in a long time.Â
âi like this one.â he mumbles, sliding it out of the folder, staring at it like it means as much to him as it does to you. superman fan, noted.Â
he pauses, staring at it a second longer than he did your other pictures, memorizing every detail before sliding it back inside the folder. âi donât see how perry wouldnât buy theseâ youâre an amazing photographer.â he says with a smile, handing you back the file.Â
you do your best not to turn completely red at the compliment, looking up to meet his gaze. âiâm a teacher, actually.â you explain, bouncing on the balls of your feet. âjust looking for a side hustle. that picture of superman? heâs helping one of my kids.âÂ
âreallyâ? wow thatâs really, uh, very cool.â he says, wearing a smile that you try your best not to read into. you both stop in front of an office with the name Perry White stamped across the door in shiny silver lettering. as anxious as you are to start the meeting, your heart sinks when you realize your time with clark is over. âwell⌠good luck.â he says, all shy and dorky in a way that makes your knees weak. âi have a feeling iâm gonna see you around.â
you canât help but grin, thanking him for walking youâ and for the vote of confidence. you really donât want to say goodbye, not when one look from him already disarms you.
he opens the door for you, and heâs lucky enough that you donât realize how long he lingers by the office, memorizing every detail he can catalogueâ the way you stand so confidently, yet with a demeanor that is so kind and genuine it makes him reevaluate everything heâs been looking for, the way the draft from the vent in perryâs office blows through your hair and makes you look like a movie star, the way you speak like itâs your favorite thing to do.Â
you leave the meeting with a steady freelance gig, and a yellow post-it note you hadnât noticed earlier, tucked into an interior pocket inside your file.Â
i really hope you call me (xxx-xxx-xxx)Â
-clark :)
youâre in your apartment when you find the note, and you canât help but giggle like a schoolgirl, heat rising to your ears and dusting your face a rosy shade of pink. you waste no time dialing that number.
ââ
you meet superman before you see you clark again. actually, youâre on your way home to get ready for your first date with clark, trying to not let the nerves and anticipation shake you.Â
youâre excited. likeâ bouncing off of the walls, canât stop thinking about him kind of excited. you text constantly, and he calls you like talking to you is the highlight of his day, not some chore he has to do to maintain a relationship. youâve been talking for about a week, and all the time with him has done is confirm your many blooming suspicions about him: heâs sweet, gentle, incredibly well-spoken and not afraid to be open about his interest in you in this shy, dorky kind of way that makes you kind of want to melt.Â
youâre practically skipping down the street when it happens. itâs barely sunset, but you suppose crime doesnât really depend on time of day anymore, not in the era of aliens and meta-humans. a hand darts out of the alleyway, grabs your arm, and pulls you into the shadows. before you can think to scream, to ask for help, anythingâ thereâs a knife at your throat and you realize that your silence is a lot more valuable than your survival instinct.
âwallet, now.â you can barely see himâ a combination of the dark alleyway and blurry vision. you make out dark clothes, dark eyes, and an expression that tells you to comply with whatever he says.Â
your heart is beating so loudly you can feel it in your fingers. youâre shaking like a leafâ fumbling with your wallet, trying to hand it to the mugger.Â
it drops from your hands. you look up at the man, eyes wide with the overwhelming fear for your life. you fucked up. itâs over. you can practically envision your funeral: sad, sparse, the death of someone whoâs never really lived. you slam your eyes shut.
but then thereâs a gust of wind, and the knife disappears from your neck.
it takes a moment for you to breathe, to process, to blink open yours and face a blue chest with a red and yellow emblem.
âare you okay, maâam?âÂ
your gaze moves up to meet his. youâre not all there yet. thereâs still adrenaline moving like shocks of lightning down your veins and the phantom breath of death sticking up the hairs on your neck. all you can really focus on is his eyes. impossibly blue like the deep sea, captivating you so wholly you forget yourself for a beat too long.
âmaâam?â he repeats, and his voice less authoritative. instead a gentle, concerned call to your senses, breaking out of your haze.Â
you down, taking a deep breath. âyes, uhâŚâ your hand darts to your neck, feeling for any imprint the knife couldâve left. youâre grateful to find nothing but untainted skin, like it had never happened at all. âiâm fine.âÂ
he nods, but thereâs something in his expression that tells you he isnât totally convinced. he hands you your wallet, a small, green leather clutch youâve carried around since you were eighteen. somehow it had become the last thing on your mind.
âyouâre safe, i promise.â he says, and his voice is so tender it makes you nearly forget that itâs superman standing in front of you, making sure that youâre okay. âthe dangerâs gone.â
you look up at him, eyes wide, brimming with tears you donât know if you can hold back for much longer. he leans in a little closer, just enough for you to notice, his eyes checking over you carefully. maybe youâre just thrown off, because of the whole⌠mugging situation. but he almost looks a little scared, maybe a little relieved, like you mean a bit more to him than a civilian he saved.
you shake the thought. youâve heard heâs like that anyways, kind, caring, a boy scout through and through. the look youâre seeing now canât be anything more than that.Â
he clears his throat, leaning back, taking on a more official, heroic posture. âcan i take you home, maâam?â and just like that, the momentâs over.
you nod, letting him guide you out of the alleyway with a touch that is impossibly gentle for someone youâve seen pummel aliens into the ground with a single punch. a comfortable silence hangs between you, and youâre grateful the streets are empty enough for no one to pay the pair of you any mind.Â
you must look ridiculous together. the thought makes you smile, and your adrenaline-induced panic is officially over.
 âthank you.â you say, breaking the silence. you smile up at him, craning your head to meet his gaze. he honestly looks a bit surprised that youâre thanking him. âfor⌠yâknow, saving me.â
âof course. iâm glad i made it in time.â he says with a quiet nod, his eyes meeting yours. his smile is so genuine, so human, you wonder how anyone could really hate him.Â
you miss the lovestruck look in his eyes.Â
you laugh. âme too.â you say, your hands swinging freely at your sides. âi know you donât normally handle, uh, muggings, so⌠i feel pretty lucky.âÂ
his eyes dart away, looking around at the blockâ anywhere but you, really, but he doesnât stop smiling. âwell, i try to keep an eye on the street. yâknow, on the rare days when aliens and robots donât tear apart the city.âÂ
you grin, his eyes meeting yours again. âyeah, i know.â you say, looking up at him with wide, starry eyes that make him forget heâs superman and not anything besides the man lucky enough to be by your side.
your eyes are so focused on the god beside you that you miss a step, losing your balance because the tip of your heel got caught in a sidewalk crack. you fall into himâ no, you practically dive into him, because of course you do.Â
âwoah there.â he says. his hands, which are just warm and huge and tender, carefully grab your sides and he steadies you, lifting you back onto your feet.Â
you pause, flush with embarrassment. âiâm so sorry,â you cringe, looking up at him. âmy heel got stuck because i had to humiliate myself and ruin the moment.âÂ
he laughs, sliding his hands away and looking down at you with a soft smile. âno harm done. just glad i caught you, miss.â
you pause, returning his smile with a grin that you just canât seem to push down.Â
âi saw you once, with one my students. he broke his history project, a popsicle stick model of the golden gate bridge?â
âi rememberâ jackson, right?â he asks, and thereâs something so touching about him knowing the name of the random child he helpedâ it makes you want to melt. âsmart kid, iâve never met someone so knowledgeable about geography.â he says, nodding towards you.Â
âright? heâs a little genius. iâm pushing him into architecture. i teach third grade, which is, i think, the best, âcause you get to see their passions develop in real time.â you say. youâre not sure why talking with him feels so easy, so natural. maybe itâs the whole superhero thing, or his impeccable bedside mannerâ but whatever the reason is, you canât remember the last time you smiled so much.
âthat sounds very rewarding.â he says, a gust of wind blowing his cape through the air. âi wanted to be a teacher, once.â
âgot busy?â you ask, gesturing to the suit.Â
he laughs in the sort of way where his shoulders shake and his voice booms throughout the street, even though you didnât say anything particularly hilarious.Â
âyou could say that. howâs jackson doing now?â
âheâs on his way to becoming a very talented fourth grader.â you hesitate, before you continue. âi got a picture of you two, when you helped him.â you pause, stopping in front of your apartment building. ânot in like a creepy stalker wayâ iâm a photographer too. kind of. hence the photo.âÂ
he pauses, peering down at you curiously. âmay i see it?â he asks.Â
you stop, your eyes locked with his. you canât kick that feelingâ how familiar he is. you canât quite place it, so you push it back down deep for another day. âyeah.â you say, softly, pressing on the door. âiâll be right back.â
it only takes you about a minute to retrieve the photo, digging through that same manilla file for your spare copy, the same file that clark stuck his number in. godâ you were supposed to start getting ready, like, fifteen minutes ago.Â
you pray clark is late.Â
thereâs a shadow over your window before you start heading back downstairs. right. flying. superman can fly. not crazy at all. you stumble over towards your fire escape, grinning up at him while you slide up the window.
you stick your head out, leaning on your arms, halfway out the window.Â
âhere, uh, this just a print.â you say, handing him the picture. he takes it gently, his fingers brushing against yours. he stares at it for awhile, his eyes tracing over every detail.Â
âcould i⌠keep this?â he asks, looking up at you like youâre the most important thing in the worldâ in a way that knocks the air out of your lungs.Â
you nod, because really, how could you say no when heâs staring at you like that? you didnât have a choice.
âthank you.â he says, before clearing his throat, floating back out towards the alleyway. âi, uh, i should be going.âÂ
âyou got big plans tonight?â you ask, raising an eyebrow.Â
he laughs, a soft chuckle that rings like wedding bells in your ears. âsomething like that.â he pauses again, looking back down at the picture and then up to you. ââŚsee you around⌠miss.âÂ
thereâs a burst of wind and just like that, heâs gone.Â
and maybe, just maybe, you have a tiny crush on superman.Â
ââ
your date with clark was an awkward, disastrous, messâ in all the best ways. the flowers he brought you had somehow gotten smushed, even though he insisted they came from the little shop on the corner right by your apartmentâ but they were your favorites. the restaurant lost your reservation, so you ended up having a picnic with food from the best food truck youâve ever been to. the conversation was bumpy, at times a little difficult to navigate, but by the end, you had never laughed so hard in your life.Â
you really had never met anybody like clark kent.Â
heâs a gentle giant, a man who, despite being extremely built, you truly incapable of hurting a fly. heâs also the perfect gentleman, the definition of a man. for the entire evening, he refused to let you open a door, or pay, and when you started feeling a little chilly when he was walking you back to your apartment, late at night, he tucked his jacket over your shoulders before you even had the chance to complain. heâs also just⌠kind, plain and simple. he stopped to help an old woman cross the street, to ask a kid where his mom was and led him back to his parents, and, no shit, he literally rescued a cat from a tree. mind you, all in the span of four hours. heâs a good person, the kind of guy you read about in fairytales and grow up thinking doesnât exist.
but here he is.Â
âi had a really good time tonight.â he says, lingering by your door. you nodded in absolute agreement, looking up at him with a giant, uncontrollable smile that he returns in full.Â
âyeah, me too.â you respond. the distance between you closes quickly, you lean in just enough to feel clarkâs breath ghost on your face.Â
he flushes and looks down to his feet, like heâs working himself up for somethingâ before his eyes dart back to yours. âi, uh⌠i really want to kiss you right now.âÂ
you can feel a red hot fire spread to your cheeks, and you pray that the dim light of your apartment prevents him from seeing it. your eyes meet his, staring through his glasses into a sea of endless blue.Â
youâve never actually wanted someone to kiss you more than you do right now.Â
âyeah?â you ask, your voice teasing him ever-so-slightly while you move in closer, your fingertips brushing against his.Â
âmay i?â he asks, sliding his unbelievably large hands on your sides then down to your waist, leaning over you in a way that makes you feel incredibly warm. you have to physically tilt your head back to meet his eyes, and your mood nearly sours at the idea that at some point youâll have to pull away.Â
you nod, and slowly, delicately, he leans inâ pulling your body gently against him, his lips pressing into yours. it isnât an eruption of passion, or some overwhelmingly fervent kiss, no. itâs soft, slow, sensual, an agonizingly perfect connection that makes you knees go weak when youâre in his arms.Â
itâs too short, thatâs your only complaint. he pulls away breathless, smiling down at you with a pink tint dusting his cheeks, ushers you back into your apartment and demands that you have a wonderful night, insisting that heâll call you in the morning.Â
you go to bed that night an hour later, only certain of two things.
this was going to be the best summer ever
you like clark kent so much it makes your head hurt
you want to see if superman is as good a kisser as clark
ââ
âhere.â
clark pushes a cup of coffee that is somehow still piping hot into your hands, smiling down at you. youâre not sure how he even knew you were coming to the planet today, much less when to meet you at the door, but you liked that about clark. he always knows a lot more than he lets on. you chalk it up to the investigative journalist in him.Â
âyou got me coffee?â you ask, feeling the warmth from the cup spread through your hand. apparently, no matter how hot it is outside, none of that leaks into the planet. itâs freezing.Â
âyeah, i didnât know what you liked, uh, so thereâs cream and sugarâ not too much, though, uh, well, i mean, hopefully thereâs enoughââ
you press a kiss against his cheek and that effectively cuts off his rambling and leaves him quietly flushed, his eyes focused only on you. âthanks, clark.â you say, taking a sip. itâs a bit too sweet, but so incredibly thoughtful you might just start taking your coffee this way.Â
he smiles, going red from his neck to is earsâ god, heâs so cute. âyouâre seeing perry today?â he asks, walking with you down the hall. you nod.Â
âapparently he likes my work so much i get a daily planet issued camera.â you say excitedly. clark chooses to leave out the part where he practically begged perry to lend you one, a privilege freelancers donât usually receive. he has to do an extra mountain of paperwork every night for a monthâ but gosh was it worth it to see you so giddy.
âmakes sense.â he muses. âperry rewards the incredibly talented.â
he says it in a silly way, but you can tell heâs completely serious. heâs so sweet it literally makes your teeth hurt.Â
youâve been on three other dates since the first, and youâve bumped into each other at the daily planet a couple times before thisâ everything is going extremely well. heâs so caring, thoughtful, and the more you learn about him the more infatuated you get. you swear, when he puts his hands on you it makes you dizzy.Â
itâs perfect. he is. thereâs only one issue: his constant tardiness, and his tendency to cancel last minute, or just not show up at all. it bugs you, when youâve gotten all dolled up just to have to fight back tears at midnight, forced to leave an angry voicemail or two after youâve downed a glass of box chardonnay, stuck alone, in your living room.Â
but he makes up for it with a thousand apologies and small gestures that make you wonder why you were ever mad.Â
itâs frustratingâ the doubt creeping in about whether or not he likes you, the anger of being left behind without so much as a call, the loneliness that swallows you like a black hole. but when youâre with clark, he makes sure that his feelings for you are never in doubt, swearing up and down that he just has supremely bad luck and it doesnât have a thing to do with you. still, it makes you wonder: what makes clark kent so busy?
âmy lunch break is at one,â he says, taking your folder like it makes all the sense in the world for him to carry it and not you, âif you want to hang around a bit after your meeting, we could grab something together?âÂ
you nod, looking up at him as you approach perryâs office. âthatâs perfect. i was gonna stop at the bookstore down the street and grab something for my momâs birthday. pick me up there?âÂ
âyes maâam,â he says in a way that is all too familiar, and he hands you back your folder, tucking it underneath your arm, his hand ghosting at your side. âgood luck.â
âdonât need it. iâve got you.â you say, opening the door and heading in. you donât see the way clark flushes, this time redder than a tomato, nor jimmy laughing at him from all the way from across the building.
ââ
youâre on your way to the bookstore when it happensâ the sky opens up, a giant alien-whatever pops down and starts wreaking havoc on the skyline of metropolis. the event is far enough away to where you would normally just shrug and continue on your path towards the bookstore while the people wait for superman to show up.Â
except that youâre a photographer now. professionally. and professional photographers run towards their killer shot, not away from it. besides, your meeting with perry didnât go⌠the greatest. he said most of your shots were unusableâ and he wanted more pictures of superman.
but it would be stupid to run into danger like thatâ clark would disapprove, so would probably anyone with common sense. the ground is literally shaking because that demon thing knocked a skyscraper over like legosâ you really should walk away.Â
so, obviously, you end up climbing a tree about a hundred yards away from the creature (and superman, who stepped in about a minute ago), trying to find your perfect shot. itâs stupid, really, the way that youâre about twenty feet off the ground, perched just right on the branch so that if you can get superman and the alien to stay still for half a secondâ youâll have your picture.Â
unfortunately, you hadnât accounted for the monster to have giant fireballs spewing out of its fingertips, with one specially aimed at you. foolishly, you expected it to be the normal kind of cryptid.Â
so, you shut your eyes and brace yourself, praying that youâll be the sexy kind of burn victim and not a crisp, dead oneâ but the impact never comes. instead, a pair of arms wraps around you and youâre on a rooftopâ ridiculously far away from the scene with no way down.Â
âstay here,â superman says, flying back with a harsh burst of air. he sounded⌠angry, probably from the fight but⌠you canât shake his eyes met yours in that single glimpse, before he had gone back into the fray.Â
the fight takes four minutes. youâre like, a mile away, on top of some random building with a pretty subpar view of the actionâ but you manage to still make out the flashes of blue and red that surround the being and shoot him back off to space.Â
you frown, peering over the edge of the building. thereâs no rooftop access, no door, nothing. youâre kind of just stuckâ which is perfect, because itâs 12:55 and clarkâs about to get off for lunch, so heâll get stood up while you figure out how to get down.Â
âyou need to be more careful.â a voice behind you says, and you jump, nearly toppling over the side of the building.Â
a hand grabs your arm and spins you around to face him, steadying youâ itâs superman. thank god.Â
you nod. âyeah. probably.â he looks unconvinced, and maybe a little pissed. his arm drops back to his side and he shoots you a stern look.Â
âitâs irresponsible to run into danger like that. you could have died, maâam.â he says. his hair looks a bit windswept, curling around the edges like clarkâs does when he tries to tame it. his eyes zero in on the camera hanging around your neck. âno picture is worth your life, okay?â
you nod, looking down, a tad embarrassed. âyeah⌠adrenaline kinda beat me on this one.âÂ
he shakes his head. âpromise me you wonât do anything like that again.â he says. when you look up at him, he doesnât look angry anymore. he looks scared. its the kind of thing that makes your heart jump into your throat.
âplease?â he asks quietly, his gaze locked with yours.Â
you nod, swallowing down the strange feelings twisting around in your gut. âokay. i promise.â
thereâs a beat of silence before he steps towards you, beaming down at you like youâre any other citizen. âlet me get you down from here.âÂ
âplease do.â you agree, and he lifts you by the waist like youâre featherlight, slowly flying you down until your toes touch the concrete.Â
âby the way,â he begins, speaking quietly as you land, stepping back, âi framed that picture you gave me. thank you.â
heâs gone before you can say âyouâre welcome,â just a blur of red and blue that disappears into the sky like a shooting star.
he remembered you.Â
he probably remembers everyone he meets on the streetâ heâs known for stuff like that, being so kind, so hopeful.Â
but he remembered you. and that feels different.Â
your phone rings and you shake off whatever youâre feeling, because clark, the guy that you really really like and who really really likes you is calling and thereâs no reason you should be thinking about someone as untouchable as superman in the way that you are right now.Â
âclark, you will never believe what just happenedââ
ââ
today is july first.
your one month anniversary with clark. the day that marks one of the best months of your life coming to a closeâ and hopefully a sign that these next months are going to be just as good, if not better.Â
this month, clark kent has literally swept you off your feet. perfect dates, amazing chemistry, gentlemanlike in a way that all seems too good to be true. and maybe it is.Â
because, well, itâs three hours after your date was supposed to start. clark had been talking about today all week, texting you every free second about the amazing evening he had plannedâ but heâs not here. he couldnât even send you a text, âhey, so sorry i canât make it. raincheck?â nothing.Â
you wonder what the excuse is, this time. had to work late? ma called and he lost track of time? you hate it, how small you feel when he forgets about you. you suddenly wish it was august again, so you could have school and a whole new pack of students to occupy your time withâ you wouldnât even have to think about clark, youâd be so busy.
right as you reach for another glass of wine, thereâs a knock at your door.Â
you frown, tiptoeing silently towards the peephole like you donât already know who it is.Â
itâs clarkâ and he looks rough.Â
thereâs a nasty shiner on his eye, and heâs got blood peeking out from under his collar, and you wonder what other injuries his clothes are hiding. it takes you half a second to swing the door open, your hands flying to his face.Â
âholy shit clarkâ are you okay?â you ask, eyes wide, checking every inch of his face to see just how bad it is. youâve never seen him have so much as an odd bruise before, but nowâŚ? he looks beat. âwhat happened?â
his eyes donât follow your hands, or your movements, they donât stick to the ground, they just find yours and hold your gaze once youâre done giving him an extremely thorough once-over for any prevailing injuries. âyou were crying.â he frowns, looking down at you.Â
you pause, lowering your hands. âyeah, butââ
he handsâ which are notably shaky, press against your biceps, wrapping around your upper arms as if to ground himself.Â
âiâm so sorry.â his voice is so tender it practically kills you, pure, genuine guilt and sadness that makes you feel like a jerk for even being mad in the first place. and those eyesâ god, those eyes. they take you and they refuse to let go.Â
âclark, you look like shit, iâm not upsetââ you start, biting down on your lip. he cuts you off by pulling you into a suffocating embrace, holding you so close and so tight he practically knocks the air out of your lungs, not that you mind.
he traps your lips in a kissâ one that isnât soft, or gentle, not the way that clark usually kisses you. itâs fervent, sloppy and overwhelmingâ he surges into you like he never thought heâd be able to do it again.Â
what you donât know isâ with the battle he had, the one he lost, that was exactly what was on his mind.Â
âiâm sorry i missed our date. i promise iâll make it up to you.â he mumbles as he pulls away. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, squeezing you like he canât get you close enough. you have no idea whatâs going on, but you like the way you feel when he holds you, so you donât stop him.Â
you tentatively wrap your hands around him, unaware of the fallen god that has you in his arms. âwhat happened?â you ask quietly, your voice just a whisper against his ear.Â
he gives you a final squeeze that toed on the line of breaking your ribs before pulling back, looking down at you. âuh, i just⌠this lady got her purse stolen, picked a fight i couldnât win. iâm fine, promise.âÂ
you nod, your heart swelling with both concern and pride. you picked the guy whoâd risk his own safety to help an old lady get her purse backâ the thought makes you all warm and fuzzy, especially now that you know heâs okay.Â
you have to push down the feeling that thereâs more to the story than heâs letting on.Â
âdo you wanna come in?â you ask, tilting your head. he shakes his head.Â
âi uh, i canât. gonna sleep this offâ but iâm gonna make this up to you. i swearâ you can take that to the bank. i just didnât want you to think i flaked for no reason.âÂ
you smile up at him, shaking your head. heâs too damn sweet for his own good.Â
âokay, well, get home safe, okay?â you say, pressing a kiss on his cheek before sending him away with the promise that everything will be fine in the morning.Â
ââ
you didnât think that âiâm gonna make this up to you. i swearâ you can take that to the bank.â meant breaking into your apartment to make you breakfast, but apparently that was clarkâs exact line of thought.Â
you didnât even register the sound of him in your apartment when you stepped out of your bedroomâ your hair a mess, makeup peeled off, wearing nothing but an oversized sleep shirt and your panties. you yawned, stretched, then nearly jumped out of your own skin when you noticed him staring at you from over your stove like you were the most beautiful girl heâd ever seen.Â
âwhat are you doing here?!â you yelled, darting back into your room, searching frantically for a hairbrush.Â
âuh, i, umâ i wanted to make you breakfast?â he starts, putting his hand to his face and shaking his head. âstarting to realize how creepy this is.âÂ
you sigh, laughing softly to yourself, the shock slowly wearing off. âitâs really sweet, clark, just give me a minute to look⌠presentable.â you say through the door.
âyou look beautifulâ but, sorry. take all the time you need.âÂ
you emerge ten minutes later with your rats nest combed out, your makeup done, and wearing a pair of shorts that fit snuggly around your thighs. clark smiles at you in a sort of, iâm-sorry-for-breaking-in-but-hey-hereâs-some-breakfast, kind of way.Â
you shake your head, walking over to him and letting him wrap an arm around you, taking a deep breath to smell the absurd amount of pancakes he made for the two of you. seriously, thereâs like, three stacks and half a bowl of batter left. you lean against him, enjoying the warmth.Â
âsorry for freaking out.â you say as he presses a kiss against the top of your forehead.Â
he shrugs. âsorry for breaking into your apartment.â
you laugh. âyeahâ how long have you been here, and how did you get inââ you pause, looking up at him, noticing how clean his face is for the first time. âyour bruise is gone.âÂ
he leans back, rubbing his neck. âyeah, uh⌠iâm a fast healer.â he pauses and shrugs like thatâs the only answer he can give you. âiâve been here for like, thirty minutes. your neighbor let me in. mrs. stilinsky?âÂ
you nodâ decide not to question anything, moving back to lean on the countertop. you note the way he shifts in the back of your head and move on.Â
âi still feel bad about last night,â he starts, pausing to lift you up and onto the counter like youâre featherlight. you giggle, leaning in to press a quick kiss on his lips. âhence the breakfast. if youâre not busy today, iâd like to make it up to you.â
you raise a brow. âyou know you donât have to make up âgetting jumpedâ to me, right? i kind of get that one.â
he leans back to flip another pancake, shaking his head. âthis is non-negotiable, honey.â
you roll your eyes, grabbing a pancake off of one of the stacks. âactually, i could use another set of hands to help me decorate my classroomâŚâ you say, taking a bite of the pancake, looking up at him. âgod, this is goodâ how did you make this?â you ask, mid-bite.Â
he laughs, a motion that moves through his shoulders. âkent family recipe. ma would kill me if i shared.âÂ
ââis there pumpkin spice in this?âÂ
ââ
clark insisted on being the only one to carry anythingâ so youâre mapping out your classroom while he hauls stuff from your car, little by little.Â
youâre switching to second grade this year, so you have a newer, slightly crappier classroom a mile farther from the teacherâs lounge, and a new curriculum to teachâ but you donât particularly mind. eight is a good age, youâll just need to practice a little more crowd control during your lectures.Â
most of your stuff was brought over from your old classroom last week, this is just the stuff you bought with your daily planet money to get a fresh new look for your class.Â
clark drops the last of the junk gently by the door, smiling down at you as he approaches. he hooks an arm around your waist and presses a kiss atop your head, giving you a quick squeeze. âso, what are we doing today?âÂ
you grin up at him, leaning into his side while you begin rambling about your big plans for the room.Â
you kinda prefer this to big dates. thereâs something special about the mundane when you get to do it with clark. you just like being around him, basking in that sweet farm boy energy that has you totally whipped.
âokay, so, iâm gonna move my bookshelf to this corner, and then iâm gonna put up a bunch of posters in this area and make it, like, a reading corner, right. iâm gonna put up one of my big art wall things here and the other over there, andââ
youâre cut off by an earthquake.Â
clark instinctively tightens his grip on you, looking up and around for any danger. your frown, leaning into him.Â
he looks up at the ceiling for what seems like a beat too long when the ground shakes again. a couple trinkets fall off of a bookshelf, and one of your boxes topples over. he looks down at you, ushering you out of the classroom. âis there somewhere safe to hide?â he asks, looking up and down the hall.Â
âhere, câmon,â you start, leading him down the hall. âkids go in the gym for tornado drillsâ itâs kind of the same thing?â
he nods, following you with his hand tightly interlaced with yours. the ground shakes again and little bits of drywall fall from the ceilingâ none big enough to do any real damage, but enough to spook you.Â
you and clark make it to the gym, where the infrastructure seems a lot more sturdy. you run insideâ but he hangs by the door. âiâm gonna see if anyone else needs help, okay? iâll be back.â
âclarkâ!â you start, but heâs already gone.Â
you frown. the school is empty save for the two of you. he should be back in two, maybe three minutes.Â
but heâs not. heâs not back in five. or ten.Â
by the twelve minute mark youâre worried in a way that is all-consumingâ and the building keeps shaking. you nearly got smashed by a ceiling tile that came loose, and youâve spent the last few minutes half focused on clarkâs survival and your own.Â
you give up on waiting, going to the administrative office to check the cameras for him, a relatively easy journey. you flip through them all twice. you give time for him to leave any blindspot. he isnât thereâ he just ditched you.Â
you try not to throw the computer across the room. you could, logistically, and you could blame the damage on the whatever going on outsideâ but you donât. you just storm out of the building, looking up at the sky.Â
supermanâs fifty feet above your school fighting some robot-looking thing mid-air. to be fair, heâs winning, but not enough for you to be particularly thrilled about the sighting. you look around for clark, and heâs nowhere, which is just great.Â
âclark!â you call out, looking for him, ducking debris from the action above you. you turn the corner of the building, looking around by the dumpster, trying to see if he was hiding with some sweet old lady or doing anything besides running away and abandoning you.Â
you rush past the wallâ and maybe if you were a bit less panicked and a bit more observant you would have noticed the pile of clothes peeking out from under the dumpster, or the glasses that belonged to clark kent reflecting sunlight onto the stack of bricks behind you.Â
but you continue, rushing out to the courtyard, met with a great big field filled with nothing but astroturf and gym supplies.Â
âclark!â you call again. heâs not thereâ you know he isnât and youâre really, really freaking out. what if he got caught under a chunk of debris? what if that robot monster up there crashed into him? what if he really did just abandon you and leave you to fend for yourself?
you brush that last one off. he wouldnât do that. you know him well enough to know that. heâs good to his core, heâs not the type of guy to run from danger.Â
you look up at the fight above you. superman is pummeling into the robot like thereâs no tomorrow, getting closer and closer towards the ground. heâs right above the field youâre hanging around, andâ
oh shit.Â
they both crash against the ground, knocking a literal crater into the field. the impact of the collision knocks you onto your ass, and despite being fifty feet away, the yelp you let out when you hit pavement attracts supermanâs attentionâ and the thing heâs fighting.Â
it happens in slow motion: you, with wide eyes, scrambling to get up on shaky legs, the robot, hurling towards you impossibly fast, and superman, an inch behind, trying to stop it
youâre frozen. you canât run, or fight, or even moveâ youâre just stuck, shaking, your heart beating out of your chest, adrenaline shooting through your veins like fire.Â
you think itâs the end, but superman grabs hold of the thing when itâs an inch away, pulling it back and throwing it across the field so hard the boom that follows sounds like a missile strike. you just stare, your breaths uneven and panicked, watching with teary eyes as superman punches that thing into the ground, ripping the machineâs head off with bare hands, tearing it apart until itâs nothing but scrap metal and wire.Â
and then he turns to you, moving faster than the speed of light across the field to gently help you up.Â
âare you alright?â he asks, taking your hand. your legs are shaking so bad that he has to practically hold you upright, but he doesnât seem to mind.Â
you nod. âyeah, iâm okay.â you say, taking a deep breath, swallowing down your panic.Â
he checks you over for any injuries, the same way he did the first night that you met. âyou shouldnât have been out here.â he says, and he sounds frustratedâ you feel bad. bad that he always seems to be saving you, and that you seem to be his least favorite regular. heâs saved you once a week for the last month at least, sometimes when youâre taking pictures for the planet, sometimes when trouble just seems to follow you home. either wayâ you have seen a lot of superman lately.Â
âi uh, yeah, i was looking for⌠clark kent? i know heâs interviewed you before, have you seen him?âÂ
his gaze softens, and he takes a breath, looking down and shaking his head softly like heâs having a conversation in his head you arenât privy to.
âheâs fine.â he says, looking up at you. youâre captivatedâ itâs always those damn eyes. bluer than the pacific, you donât know how a man so perfect can exist.âi, uh, he was about to get crushed by some debris, so i moved him half a mile west.â
you breath a sigh of relief. âthank you.â you say, steady enough to stand a bit taller. he doesnât let go.Â
âyou get into a lot of trouble, donât you?â he asksâ not in a, ha-ha we run into each other a lot way, but in a, hey iâm kind of concerned about your well-being kind of way. your heart leaps to your chest.Â
âyeah. kept my promise though. didnât come out here for a picture.âÂ
he smilesâ you almost swoonâ and shakes his head. âdo i have to start keeping a special eye on you, miss?âÂ
you try not to blush. you fail. âwith my luck, that might just be necessary.â you say, smiling up at him.Â
you pause.Â
you are totally flirting with superman. and even crazierâ superman is totally flirting with you.Â
you have clark. loving, caring, sweet, handsome clark.Â
but can it really hurt to indulge in the fantasy for a minute longer?Â
âwell, if you need anything, maâam, call out for superman, and iâll be there.â he says.
âanything?â you ask, raising an eyebrow. âi might just take advantage of that.â
he laughsâ a laugh that seems too familiar. âi hope you do.â
you look up at him, tilting your head. âthank you, again, for saving me.â
he smiles, looking down at you, giving your hand a final squeeze before he lets you go. he leans in a bit closer, smiling down at you in a way that makes your heart jump to your throat. âiâm always gonna save you. i promise.â
the way he says you gives you pause. it makes your knees want to buckle. it makes this whole thing seem completely unreal.Â
because heâs talking about you like you mean a lot more to him than a pedestrian heâs had to save a couple times. like youâre someone he cares aboutâ which confuses you a lot more than you care to admit.Â
he leans back, clears his throat, acts like he said a bit more than he should have and returns to that superman persona he let slip for half a second. âyou try to stay safe, okay?â he says, raising an eyebrow, and you nod, a little dazed.Â
âon it.â
he steps back and shoots back off into the sky, and you stare until heâs completely gone, now just a whisper of blue in the skyline of metropolis.Â
âhey! there you are!â clarkâs voice echoes from behind you. you spin around, overwhelmed with relief that heâs safe and running back towards you.Â
you practically crash into him, simply relieved that he is safe and not smushed under a building or something like that. his arms wrap around you so tight you can barely breathe, and you hold him so close you think your arms might break.Â
âi got so scared when you didnât come back.â you mumble into the fabric of his shirt. he nods, pulling back, looking down at you.Â
âyeah, uh, i was looking for others and this giant piece of wall almost got meâ superman swiped me out and took me like, three blocks away.â he says, taking a deep breath. âiâm really glad youâre okay.â
you nod, swallowing down the guilt forming in your chest. here clark is, all worried about you, who literally ran back from half a mile away to come and get you, and you were just flirting with superman.Â
âyeah, uh, superman saved me too. guess we both got lucky.â you say, chewing on your lip. you feel horrible.Â
he frowns. âa-are you okay?â he asks, tilting his head. you hate how he can read you like that.
you nod. âyeah, uh, i think i just want to go home.â
ââ
that night you sent clark home, promising you would call him in the morning. you told him that you were just a bit shakenâ and you were. but not from the whole⌠robot trying to kill you thing. from the superman one.Â
you just felt guilty about it. confused on what made superman so keen on you. youâve felt confused a lot, lately. about clark, superman, your own feelings.Â
to make it clear: you are 100% whipped for clark. he is your perfect man, and he has never made you doubt for one second that he likes you just as much as you like him. the whole superman thing feels like a fantasy come trueâ having some angelic, godlike protector single you out. itâs probably very human to have some feelings, to get a little flustered when someone like superman flirts with you.Â
thereâs just something about superman that feels achingly familiar, in the kind of way that bugs you wholly. his laugh, his voice, his eyes. the eyes get you the mostâ like thereâs something right in front of you that you just canât see.Â
you take another sip of your beer, looking out at the moonlit skyline from your fire escape.Â
âare you alright?âÂ
you jump, whipping your head around to see superman floating ahead, approaching you slowly, like heâs afraid youâll scare. he smiles, leaning against the railing of the fire escape, looking down at you with this weird, soft look in his eye. like heâs worried.Â
you nod. âwhat are you doing here?â
he shrugs. âi wanted to make sure you were okay, after today.â he says, staring at you with those impossibly familiar blue eyes.Â
you raise an eyebrow. âdo you check up on all the people you save?â
he chuckles, and shakes his head. âjust the lucky ones.â
you pause, offering him a beer. he waves his hands no, climbing over the rail to sit with you.Â
âyouâre real friendly.â you observe, taking another swig of your drink. he shrugs.
âjust concerned.âÂ
thereâs a long beat of silence before either of you speak again. youâre not really sure what to say, how to proceed. you can feel him staring at you, while your eyes trace over the buildings around you.Â
âhowâs your day going?â you ask, blinking back up at him. he stares for a second, then smilesâ and those eyes capture you once more.Â
âbeen an odd day. yâknow, stray robot attacks and all.â he pauses, giving you a once over. âyou?âÂ
you shrug. âoddâs probably the best word for it.â
âwould you like to talk about it?â he offers. âiâve been told that iâm a good listener.âÂ
do you wanna talk about it? itâs kind of been an emotional roller coaster of a day. of course, itâs the kind of thing that would only happen to you, having superman on your porch step, asking how you feel. at first, all the running into each other seemed like dumb coincidenceâ now it all feels a lot heavier.Â
âiâve been seeing a lot of you lately.â you say, tilting back your head to get a better look at him.Â
he nods. âis that a bad thing?â
you shrug in response. âitâs an odd one. especially âcauseââ you start, cutting yourself off. you look down, chewing on your lip so you donât confront superman for being a huge flirt.Â
he looks at you inquisitively, a small frown playing on his lips. ââcause?â
you take a deep breath, looking down. âi have a boyfriend. wellâ heâs not technically my boyfriend, yet. he hasnât asked, but like, yâknow. i really like him.â
you look back up and heâs smiling, almost like heâs trying to suppress a grin, which confuses you even more, because, like, two minutes ago he was acting all into you.
âand how are things going with your not-boyfriend?â he asks, leaning back.Â
âgreat. so i need you to stop flirting with me.âÂ
he laughsâ he actually laughs, with his full chest. acts like you saying that is the silliest thing in the world. like he didnât randomly show up at your apartment to âcheck on you.â
he smiles up at you with this weird, knowing twinkle in his eye. âyouâre right. iâve got no business getting between you and clark.âÂ
you pause, your eyebrows knitting together. you didnât mention anything about clark.Â
âhowâd you know it was clark?â you ask, frowning.Â
he pausesâ like his body stutters. âuh, wellââ he starts, stumbling in a way that seems so familiar, just like everything else he does. god, what is it about him? âi assumed, since he was who you were looking for at the school.â
you nod, training your eyes on the loose curl sitting on his forehead. you guess that makes sense, at least, enough for you to not dwell on it any longer. yet, coupled with everything else youâve noticed, itâs all just⌠very strange.
âiâm onto you, superman.â you say, looking up at him, eyebrows raised. you see it, just the briefest, tiniest moment of panic in his eyes before the superhero persona sets back in. itâs just enough to let you know that youâre not crazy.Â
âonto me?â he asks, slightly incredulous. âwhat for?âÂ
you shrug, leaning back against the railing, taking another quick sip of your beer before placing it down against the barred floor of your fire escape. âjust whatever it is that youâre hiding from me.â
he nods, like heâs barely entertaining the idea. âi could just stop running into you.â he says, a bit more serious now than he was a minute ago. âif i was hiding something.âÂ
you smile, shaking your head, standing up and leaning back against the railing. âyou could. i doubt you will.â you say, flashing him a grin, hoisting yourself up to sit on the railing.Â
he tilts his head. âwhyâs that?âÂ
now, you wouldnât do this if you werenât at least two beers deep, and right now, youâre three and a half in, so your judgement is maybe⌠slightly impaired. besides, itâs not like this is the farthest youâve ever gone to prove a point.Â
you slide your legs over the rail, and without a single thought or hesitation, you push yourself off.Â
you plummet for a bit longer than you thought you wouldâ not like the drop would kill you, anyways, you live three stories up, but youâre a lot closer to the ground than you thought youâd be when he catches you.Â
his arms wrap around you bridal styleâ and he looks kind of pissed. he doesnât quite look at you, not until youâre back up safely on the fire escape and heâs floating back out in the alleyway.Â
âthat was, goshââ he starts, looking down at you, arms crossed. âwhy would you do that?â
âi knew you would catch me.â you say, your eyes glancing up to find his.Â
he shakes his head. âpromise me you wonât do that again. ever.â he asks, eyebrows firmly knit together.Â
you nod, which, doesnât seem to be good enough for him, because he tilts his head and looks at you with a gaze that is incredibly stern. you reach out your hand, extending your pinky finger out towards him.Â
âi pinky swear.âÂ
he smiles, locking his finger with yours. âthank you.â
thereâs a boom somewhere off in the distance, one loud enough to attract his attention. his hand slips away from yours, and with a nod, heâs gone.Â
youâre gonna figure him out.Â
ââ
itâs been two weeks since that nightâ and that was the last time you saw superman, a new record for you and him. you enjoyed the space as much as it infuriated youâ so your time has been spent cataloguing every interaction, sorting through everything that bugged you, even slightly.Â
you donât tell clark about it. it canât feel good to hear that your girl is constantly thinking about another guyâ especially one that is a god amongst men.Â
you and clark do have a good rhythm, though. he spends most nights at your place now, and he spoils you with two âreal datesâ (as he calls them) a week. itâs nice, having him around. someone you can force feed your baking to and cuddle up with when watching scary movies.
itâs nights like tonight, actually, that make you so into him it scares you. he came over after work, and after making you a pasta salad that tasted like heaven on your fork, you sat together on the couch to watch some random sitcom he liked. his arms wrapped around you immediately, and he held you so close and so tight it was basically impossible not to fall asleep in those big, bulky arms of his.Â
you blink awake now, soft light and sound still playing on your television despite how quiet everything else seems. you listen to clarkâs breathing, steady and even, snoring softly with his grasp loose around you.Â
you slide out of his arms quietly, surprised that you didnât manage to wake him when you knocked into the table behind you on your way to the bathroom. you come back two minutes later, wiping your hands on your sleep shirt and looking down at him.Â
he looks so peaceful, so relaxed. it makes you smile. carefully, as to not wake him up, you slide his glasses off of his face and put them on your coffee table, and grab a blanket off of your armchair to throw over him.Â
in this motion, you realize youâve never actually seen clark without his glasses before. you look down at him, tilting your head, squinting for whatever shapes you can make out with such little lighting.Â
you didnât realize how strong his prescription was, because he looks quite different. likeâ noticeably different.Â
huh. he looks a lot like superman.Â
you frown. squint a little harder. besides the hair, heâs nearly identical.Â
you shake the thought. it has to be some weird coincidence, right? clark, your clark? not possible. youâre too sleepy to give it much thought, anyways.Â
still, it bugs you. it bugs you the next morning, when he makes you breakfast. it bugs you the day after, when you see him at the planet. it bugs you for another week, because the similarity is just too damning.Â
you stare down at that picture you have of superman. of him, helping your student. the one that inadvertently led you to clark. the one that superman himself framed. youâre looking at all the similarities of note between clark and him. sure, theyâre different, but everything different is something easily changed. hairstyles, tone of voice, hell, even posture.Â
you chew on your lip. itâs 5:30, clarkâs supposed to pick you up in two hours.Â
but, hypothetically, if you went to his place now and looked around when he wasnât expecting you⌠would you find this picture hung up somewhere?Â
it would be just to get the thought out of your head. youâre like, 95% sure there is no way in hell that clark kent can be superman. especially because, if he was, and heâd been flirting with you as superman? youâd be beyond pissed.Â
you knock twice on the door. âclark?â
you hear a shuffle and a pause. it takes thirty agonizingly long seconds for him to open the door, but when he does itâs all smiles and laughterâ âhey, what are you doing here? thought i was picking you up later.â
he urges you in and gently shuts the door behind you, smiling down at you. your eyes trace every inch of the apartment, looking for something you pray you donât find.Â
âi didnât want to wait any longer,â you say, looking back up at him, âi missed you.â
he grins, wrapping an arm around you and giving you a squeeze. he looks niceâ white button up, black slacks, his hair impossibly perfect. you lean into him, nearly forgetting about your mission.Â
âdo you want to just hang out here tonight? skip the date?â he asks, sliding your purse off of your shoulder and setting it down on his mahogany front tableâ one that he made himself when he still lived in smallville.Â
âactually,â you say, uncertainly, sliding off your jacket. âthat sounds perfect. i wanna talk.âÂ
he raises a brow, taking your jacket and hooking it the coat rack. you lead him to the living room, flopping down on the couch. âdo i need to be worried?âÂ
he sets himself behind you, leaning against the back of the couch, smiling down at you. you look around, still looking for that pictureâ one youâre sure you wonât see amongst the decor of his apartment.Â
âyeah, maybe.â you say, your eyes meeting his. his smile fades, and those ocean blue eyes stare down at you with just enough concern to make your heart skip a beat. âwhat are we?âÂ
you donât know why you picked that question to stall for time, but here you are.Â
he takes a breath, like that question somehow relieves himâ what an odd guy.Â
âwhat do you want us to be?âÂ
he asks it gently, hopefully, like heâs easing you into it. he isâ he wants you, bad. more than just a summer situationship. clark isnât built for that. but he understands hesitation, he understands if you want to take your time. heâs got all the time in the world.Â
you pause, taking a breath. âwell, i really like you clark.â you say, scooting back on the couch, patting the empty space next to you as a signal. he dances around the side of the couch, extra careful not to knock into anything and disrupt a moment like this one. the couch dips beside you and you sit with your legs crossed, facing him.Â
âi really like you, too.â he says, quietly, like it kills him not to say more.Â
you nod, chewing on your lip. âand i want to be your girlfriend.âÂ
he breaks out into a grin, leaning back, looking at you with nothing but love in those ridiculously blue eyes. âyeah?â
ânot that you donât still have to ask me, cause you do, and you have to make it, like, the most romantic thing iâve ever seen.â you say, smiling up at him. he nodsâ super serious, like one of your kids planning out an assignment in their head.
âi promise.â he says, leaning in. âiâm gonna romance your socks off, babe.âÂ
you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him against you. he presses a quick kiss against your lipsâ one youâre careful not to get sucked into; youâre not done yet.
ânow that thatâs settled,â you say, forcing him back with a playful push that elicits a groan from him. âif iâm gonna be with youâ you canât hide anything. i need complete, open honesty.âÂ
he nods, looking away. you frown. âis there anything you havenât told me? anything important?âÂ
he pauses, his eyes trained to the wall, like heâs deliberating on something super important.Â
were you right? is clark really⌠superman?Â
he looks back at you, smiling, like that moment didnât happen. like everything is alright. âi stole one the toys from your classroom.â he shrugs, laughing a bit. âthe stuffed deer? it reminded me of you.âÂ
you gasp, feigning offense. âiâve been looking for him everywhere!â you exclaim in fake horror, but you canât help but giggle.Â
what were you thinking? clark, superman? sweet, adorkable clark? itâs more likely that heâs secretly mother teresa.Â
his laugh grounds you, and he slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. âiâll let you know if anything else comes to mind.â he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. âwanna watch a movie?âÂ
you nod, looking up at him. âiâll let you pick it if you make popcorn.â you grin, pressing a kiss against his jawline.Â
âyes maâam.â he says, standing up, lingering in your touch a second too long before leaving for the kitchen.Â
you watch him, unable to suppress a giant, dorky smile. god, you love him.Â
oh god, you love him.Â
you decide to table that thought for when you get home.Â
âiâm gonna change into one of your shirts!â you call out, standing up and heading towards his room. youâre still in date night attire, and you would much rather be dwarfed by one of clarkâs nice, cotton, smallville t-shirts than brave the night in jeans and a tube top.Â
âhave fun!â he calls back, and you can hear the sporadic popping of the popcorn from the kitchen.Â
you make it to his closet, filtering through the half-dozen tees he keeps hung up. he doesnât have that many clothes, you note, a few dress shirts, a couple cheap suits, two pairs of jeans, and a box of ties below it. you look around a bit more, noting the weird amount of dress shoes he has lined up on the ground when you notice a pair of black wingtips sat above a silver, face-down picture frame.Â
huh.Â
maybe if you were a bit more trusting and a bit less suspicious you would have left it aloneâ but that isnât you.Â
your eyes flicker to the doorway, which is empty, and back to the frame. carefully, you crouch down, sliding the shoes down to the ground, tentatively picking up the frame and flipping it towards you.Â
your heart beats out of your chest.Â
itâs the picture.Â
itâs the picture.Â
the one you took of superman, the one you gave him that first night, the one he told you he framedâ the one that you decidedly did not give to clark, the one that clark never told you he framed, the one that clark would have no reason to hide exceptâ
that heâs superman.Â
that you were right.Â
that he lied to you.Â
you take the picture. hold it so tight your knuckles turn white. walk out of the closet, out of the bedroom, into the kitchen. drop it on the countertop so clark can see it.Â
the look on his face tells you everything you need to know. he looks shocked, caught, then scared, guilty. his eyes dart from the picture to you in an instant. the microwave beeps three times, the popping slows to a stop. itâs over.Â
âi can explain.âÂ
you shake your head. he doesnât need toâ itâs pretty open and shut. he lied to you, and if it was just him hiding the superman thing, you could understand. âyou talked to me as supermanâ flirted with me, asked personal stuffâ you lied. youâve been lying, this entire time, iââ you take a deep breath, fighting tears. âi should go.â you say, spinning around on your heels.
he grabs your hand before you can move, squeezing it gently. âplease, waitâ let me explain it. please. you donât understand.â
you pull away, looking at him with nothing but hurt in your eyesâ because you are hurt, you feel betrayed and broken and everything you thought you wouldnât feel with clark. you stare at him, trying your hardest not to cryâ not in front of him. he looks hopeless, half-defeated, uncertain, and lost in a way that overwhelms him.
you sniffle, shaking your head. âi understand fine, clark.â you say, swallowing down your heartbreak and peeling towards the door.Â
âthis is over.â
ââ
the days that follow are bleak. all you have to show for the breakup are dark, lonely hours wasted in pints of ice cream and dirty tissues. your only solace is scrolling through article after articleâ either ones written by clark, or ones written about him.Â
you push yourself through it with everything you can muster, praying that he doesnât hear your sobs from across the city. you love him. loved him. and youâre not sure youâll ever be so in love again.Â
but he betrayed you, he lied to youâ he hurt you in a way that you canât explain. you donât want to let that push you down any more than it already has.Â
so, you push back. get up, out of bed, get dressed, call your friends, make plans. put yourself in a situation where you donât have to think, especially about clark. itâs been ten days since you stormed out of his apartment and you have to move forward. itâs the last day of summer before you go backâ you canât have let it all been a waste.Â
you club. you party. you convince yourself that youâre having fun. you drink too much and then you spend an hour sobering yourself up before you home. you kiss your friends goodbye and toss the numbers you had pocketed in the trash outside your apartment. you head upstairs, taking a deep breath to try an avoid letting yourself think about the silence.
about clark.Â
and, when you get to your door, fumbling for your keysâ you notice a piece of neatly-folded card stock taped below your peephole, your name encircled by a heart on the front of it.Â
carefully, you take it down, removing the tape with little tear and opening the letter, recognizing the handwriting before you can even read a word.Â
to start this, you were right. i shouldnât have lied, i shouldnât have pretended i wasnât lying, i shouldnât have spoken to you under false pretenses. the last thing i ever wanted was to hurt you, and for that, i am so sorry.Â
i hope, for you, this past week hasnât been as miserable as it has been for me. i hoped to have seen you at the planet, or bump into you on the corner, or find some way to see you and try and redeem myselfâ but i couldnât wait any longer to explain.
yes, i am superman. i was born on the planet krypton, sent here as an infant, and adopted by my parents, john and martha kent. i have a cousin who too, is from krypton, but remembers much more than me about home, and i take care of her superpowered dog, krypto, in a secret fortress in the arctic. i can fly, i can move incredibly fast, i have inhuman strength, x-ray vision, laser vision from my eyes and breath that can freeze nearly anything, all given to me by the earthâs yellow sun.Â
i came to you as superman at first by accident. the night i saved you from the mugger, before our first date. i had spent the days leading up to our date spiraling. you, who are so perfect, so beautiful, and so kind, were going out with me, and i was terrified to mess it up. i realized how easy it was for me to talk to you as superman, when it was difficult for clark kent. the times i saved you, i shouldnât have lingered. the times i spoke to you as him, i shouldnât have been there. at first, it had been a crutch, but by the last time, it had become a compulsion.Â
i had to see you. to make sure that you were safe, and warm, and happy. i realize now that i violated you in a way i cannot make up for. for this and for everything else, i am truly sorry. while my betrayal is inexcusable, know that i did it because i love you. this summer has been the best of my life, i have never met someone as compassionate, hilarious, talented, and beautiful as you, i have never wanted to be around someone more than you, i have never had someone plague my thoughts and dreams the way you do. you have quickly become my everything, my reason for waking up, for helping people, for pushing through every day.
you asked me, the day of our fight, to make my request for you to be my girlfriend the most romantic thing youâve ever seen. and i promised you that i would.Â
and while i have lied to you, hidden things from you, and hurt you, i have never broken a promise.Â
open the door, please.Â
you look up from the note, wiping away a river of tears that had just poured out of you. carefully, your hands wrap around the doorknob, slowly turning it and pushing the door open.Â
and there he is.Â
standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a thousand rose petals, holding a giant bouquet with an iron grip. candles litter the foyer, giving his face an ethereal glow in the low light. his glasses are gone. his curls are out. heâs someone between clark kent and superman now, someone who you desperately want to know.Â
he clears his throat, his gaze holding yours hostage with those infinity blue eyes captivating you so wholly.Â
âi promise never to hurt you again. never to lie to you, or hide things from you, or betray your trustâ if youâll let me be yours again.â he says, smiling down at you like heâs on the verge of tears. âwill you be my girlfriend?â he asks, as you approach taking in the entire set up slowly, trying not to lose what little composure of yours you still have.Â
you take a breath, your eyes locking with his once more.Â
âyes.â you say, grinning while tearsâ happy ones, slip from your eyes. he smiles wider than youâve ever seen, practically throwing the bouquet so he can wrap his arms around you in a giant bear hug.Â
he lifts you up and spins you off of the ground, pulling an exciting giggle from your lips. it takes you a second to realize heâs off the ground too, that youâre both mid-air inside your tiny apartmentâ but youâre too focused on clark to mind.Â
he holds you close, leaning in just enough to warm your face with his breath.
âi love you.â he says, quietly, like if saying it any louder would have scared you away.Â
âi love you too.â you say, smiling.Â
he grins, leaning into you and crashing against you with a kiss so fervent it nearly topples you overâ so passionate it makes your chest explode with warmth.Â
and suddenly, just for a moment, just for nowâ everything is okay again. and you know that as long as you have clark at your side, it always will be.Â
ââ
there are two quick knocks on the door, followed by a rasp âhoney? you okay?â
you tremble, sat with your back against the door, bunched up in your wedding dress, trying to force the tears to stop falling to avoid messing up your ridiculously expensive bridal makeup. ten minutes ago the pressure got to you, and five minutes ago you sent your entire partyâ bridesmaids, stylists, even your mom âout the door so you could properly break down.Â
âyeah.â you say, sniffling. your voice shakes so much that the lie isnât even half-convincing. clark can see right through you anyways (literally), so itâs not like you were really trying to lie. you just didnât want him all concerned. itâs his wedding day too, you want it to be the happiest day of his life, even if your own experience is a train wreck.Â
you can practically hear his frown. âkara told me what happened.â he says, softly.Â
oh. yeah. your bridezilla breakdown. not one of your best moments. you arenât exactly proud of screaming at your mom to stop messing with your hair, or your aunt for commenting on the fit of your dress, or your bridesmaids for giving you all sorts of unsolicited advice. you yelled, threw a fit, and pushed everyone out of the room so you could sob mascara into your veil.Â
âcan i come in?â he asks, gently, and you let out a weak laugh.Â
âthe groom canât see the bride before the wedding, remember?â you say. he groans, sliding down against the door, his back to you.Â
âthatâs a silly rule.â he says, and you smile. you love how much he makes you smile.Â
âi donât need any more bad luck.â you wince. âdid kara tell you about my bitch fit?âÂ
you hear him snort a little bit through the door. âshe used nicer words.â he says, pausing. âwanna talk about it?â
god yes. itâs all you want to talk about. but you donât want to bring clark down any further than you already have. you want him to have the perfect wedding, even if you are decidedly not.Â
âitâs fine. i just needed a minute.â you say, your voice shaking againâ enough to where you know clark wonât drop it now. you bury your head in your dress, taking a deep breath.Â
âcâmon. iâm your husband in like, ten minutes. you can talk to me.â he says. his voice is so sweet and syrupyâ youâre not sure how you can refuse him.Â
you lean up, back against the door, shutting your eyes so tight it hurts. the words spill out of you so fast you donât even think about them before they do. âi wanna be married to you so bad. but godâ i know we spent so much on this and we spent so much time planning it but⌠i just want this over with. my dress is so goddamn tight and nobody can leave me alone for half a second without telling me something i need to be doing or something iâm doing wrong. and i justâ it all got to be too much. and now my mom is probably gonna storm out âcause i yelled at her and then my dad wonât be there to walk me down the aisle, and i just ruined everything for no good reason.âÂ
the end of your rant is met with a beat of silence. a terrifying, overwhelming, moment where you think you might have finally scared off clark.Â
of course, you didnât. you couldnât. âhey, honeyâ nothingâs ruined. look, donât think about what your mom wants, or what your bridesmaids want, or even what i want. whatâs gonna make you happy? âcause i could fly you off to a courthouse right now and ditch the party. all i want is to married to youâ you could be in your pajamas for all i care and you would never have looked more beautiful. i justâ darn it, i want you to be happy.â
youâre crying again, but this time youâre smiling, because god, your fiancĂŠ is just so sweet it makes your knees weak.Â
âwhat do you want, sweetheart?â he asks again, his voice so soft and tender it makes you turn to putty.Â
you sniffle again, wiping your tears with your fingers while trying not to further destroy your $120 makeup. âi really want a hug.â you mumble, staring down at your mascara-stained hands.Â
âon it.â he says, and you hear him stand up and try for the doorâ which is still very much locked.Â
you giggle a bit, standing up with him âi canât let you in, though. the rule?âÂ
he scoffs. âthat rule is just plainâ gosh, itâs just ridiculous. let me in, please, or Iâm gonna break this door down.âÂ
you laughâ god, it feels so good to laugh. you havenât seen him all day and it felt like you were drowning.Â
you pause, giving in and slowly turning the lock, but you donât quite open the door yet.Â
âpromise me youâll keep your eyes shut?â you ask, knowing how silly it sounds. god help you, youâre a bit superstitious.Â
âscouts honor.â he confirms, and you slowly open the door, peeking out to see clark, who looks breathtakingly stunning, with his tie wrapped around his eyes like a blindfold.Â
you laugh, smiling so wide the muscles in your mouth start to get sore.Â
âthere she is.â he says, reaching out blindly for you, his handsâ impossibly warm, feeling around for your shoulders. âyou feel very beautiful.âÂ
you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and burying yourself against him, your head in his chest. his arms circle your body and he squeezes you so tight you might faintâ exactly the kind of hug you needed.Â
you do your best not to let yourself cry, but clark has a way of forcing the tension out of you, one way or another. one hand presses into the small of your back, the other strokes your hair softly. little praises and comforts slip from his lips like sugar, while you sob into him.
âi love you so much.â he whispers, giving you another squeeze.
âi love you too.â you cry, holding him so tightly your arms ache. âi am so excited to be married to youâ this is not cold feet i promise.â
he laughs, nodding against you. âi know, honey, i know.â he says, and god, he knows just how to sooth every one of your worries away.Â
finally, you pull away, looking up at him. his glasses are tucked into his pocket, his hair is slicked back with one little curl popped out against his forehead. his suit is a deep black, with a navy blue tie (still covering his eyes) and a matching pocket square that makes him look irresistible.Â
âyou look really nice.â you say, sniffling, but you canât wipe the smile off of your face.Â
he shrugs. âiâm sure itâs nothing compared to you.â and he says it like you arenât already a mess and youâre not blushing like, well, a bride.Â
you grab the edge of his sleeve and use it to wipe away your tears. his thumb brushes against your cheek, falling to your bicep when you let his sleeve go.
âso, whatâs the plan, gorgeous?â he asks, grinning down at you with that five-star smile that gets you every time. âare we sneaking out and going downtown?â
you take a deep breath, shaking your head. âno, no weâre doing this.â you say, leaning into his touch. âbut if you, say, asked one of your superhero friends to slip a roach down my momâs dress, i think iâd skip down the aisle.âÂ
he laughs, squeezing your arm and pulling away. âiâll see what i can do.âÂ
you smile, memorizing how dorky he looks with that tie around his eyes and his cute open mouth smile.Â
âsee you on the other side?â you ask, tilting your head.Â
âsee you on the other side.â he confirms, stepping back with just enough uncertainty to let you know that heâs not using any x-ray vision.Â
you watch him through the crack in the door until heâs gone, smiling so wide you might be stuck that way.Â
half an hour later the music starts, your dad takes your hand, and youâre walking down the aisle like nothing ever went wrong.
first you eye the crowd, looking over the array of friends, family, and superheroes that showed up. thank goodness clark is a reporter and not, say, an office worker, because you donât know how else you could explain the random celebrities like bruce wayne and oliver queen who are sat in the audience.Â
then you look at your feet, which, are hidden beneath the dress, but you want to make sure you donât stumble and embarrass yourself with a hundred pairs of eyes on you.Â
finally, you look up at clark, whoâs staring at you in the sort of way that makes you feel faint. like youâre the most beautiful woman in the world. like youâre about to make his knees buckle. like heâs in pure awe. he doesnât even look nervousâ a trait which you envy, because youâre an absolute mess right now. he just looks captivated.
you make up to the alter, looking up at him with a healthy mix of nerves and excitement. heâs looking down at you like heâs never been more certain of anything in his life.Â
âi love you.â he mouths, grinning at you.
âi love you more.â you mouth back, and he shakes his head with glee.
ââyou may now share your vows.â the officiant says, looking to clark.
he smiles, looking down at his feet, taking a deep breath before looking back up at you.
âfor⌠for a long time i didnât know what to write. i had about six⌠thousand drafts, but i donât think thereâs any way i can put into words how much i love you. how much i depend on you, how much of my happiness is thanks to you. i have so much purpose now. because if i can make you happyâ if i can make you safe, if i can make you feel loved and supported and half as good as you make me feel every day by just being you⌠iâll have accomplished more than iâve ever dreamed of. i love you, honey, so much it makes my chest hurt. and i am the luckiest man in the world to be the man who gets to marry youâ my soulmate.â he looks back up at you with stars in his eyesâ your spaceman.
thereâs like, five tears sliding down your cheeks by the end of that speech. you literally cannot stop smiling. you expected a lotâ his job is writing for chrissakesâ but wow.
wow.
âi, uh, wow. i donât think i can top that.â you say, and a gentle laugh echoes from the crowd. you take a deep breath. âclark, iâ i spent a lifetime thinking iâd never find someone like you. youâre, literally my knight in shining armor. when we met, and you walked me to perryâs office when i was so, horribly lost, i remember thinking how much i wanted this guy to ask me out. and then i found your number in my files, and i didnât even realize how lucky i was. clarkâ my life has become so much better because youâre in it. having you, my rock, my best friend, my soulmateâ i donât have to dream any more. every morning with you is one come true. you are the incredibly dorky, adorable, and unfathomably amazing love of my life, and marrying you is the best thing i will ever do. iâve never been certain of anything, but for this i have no doubt: i love you, clark kent, and i will love you no matter what life throws at usâ i know that despite any tragedy or circumstance, i am yours, always and forever.â
you smile up at clark, droplets of water falling further down your face while a single tear drops from his eye. he smiles at you like youâre all he could ever want. you are.
âby the power vested in me by the state, i now pronounce you mr. and mrs. clark kent, husband and wife. you may now kiss the bride.â
clark grins at you and leans in, his lips pressing gently against yours, his hands pulling you in by your sides. the music plays, the church erupts in applause, and your husband knocks the breath out of you and for one moment, just one, everything is completely perfect.
this is so easily the longest fic i've ever written.... i am very proud of her though i very much hope you all enjoy!!
Hey! It's the 'Gushing and kicking my feet' anon from your 'bad friend' fic on AO3!! AAHHH I am so happy to see the new chapter - thank you so much for feeding us, you absolute superstar.
And as always, reading your writing was SOO good. The way Clark says that the Reader's kiss won't be with Superman, but with him instead, cause he knows there's a symbolic difference between being himself and the hero he is for everyone else.... Aaah that's so sweet of him, oh my gosh. You get it so much. đđ
You are an amazing writer; thank you for sharing your work with the world. If you want, please have some flowers from me, of whatever kind you like. đđđđđđđ
Hope everything's going well, and take care! đ
ahhhh hello and thank you this is so so sweet!! it makes me so happy to see the love youâre all giving my writing, and it inspires me to create more for you all. iâm so glad youâve liked what iâve done and i hope i can continue to keep you well-fed!
this is such a lovely message, thank you so much for taking the time to share your thoughts with me <3 and thank you for the flowers! đ đŠˇ
summary: it's the day after your almost-date with clark, and you're ready to make amends and give it another shot. with a do-over on the horizon, will things go according to plan or is it destined to fall apart all over again?
pairings: clark kent x reader
tags: fluff, happy ending, first date re-do, clark kent is an adorable dumbass, confessions, secret identity reveal, sfw, superman never gets a day off, gn!reader, no use of y/n
word count: 4.7k
a/n: the long-awaited second part to bad friend! sorry this took awhile to post, i have had a crazy couple of days. that being said, i really hope you enjoy and feel free to leave your thoughts! also, if you'd like to request i write anything, you are more than welcome to! i'd love some suggestions :) have a great day! xoxo
Clarkâs late for work.
This isnât surprising or unexpected, but itâs sort of irking you right now. Usually, you find it endearing to watch him stumble in and hurry to his desk. Hair askew, eyes wide, coffee cup in hand. Itâs the best part of your morning. If it were any other day, it still would be.
But youâre waiting for him now, holding a tupperware of cookies that you'd slaved over all night. You want to apologize for your weirdness yesterday, maybe explain Sadieâs psychotic plan, and try to suss out what had him running off before youâd ordered drinks. Heâs late, though, and every second that passes tightens the knot in your stomach. Itâs giving you ample time to worry, to doubt both yourself and his feelings.
Sadieâs been watching you for the last 15 minutes, giving you a thumbs up whenever you catch her eye. Itâs nice to have her support. You just wish it would do more for the nerves buzzing under your skin.
You like Clark. You really, really like him. Itâs embarrassing how badly you want this to work.
As if he can sense your inner turmoil, he suddenly appears. As frazzled as you expected him to be, with a coffee in each hand and a pastry bag tucked under his arm. Your heart leaps into your throat. His eyes are on you. Heâs walking towards you.
You jump to your feet just as he stops in front of your desk, baked goods clutched in your hands.
âIâm sorry,â you say at the same time he does, and the nervous energy fizzles away. You snort, he chuckles, and youâre both shaking your heads.
âSorry,â you say again, lighter this time. âYou go first.â
He nods, letting out a breath. Then he offers a coffeeâand the pastry bagâto you. âI brought you coffee, and one of those sandwiches you like. From the place around the corner. Itâs part of my apology.â
The smile tugging at your lips feels like it has a direct connection to your heart. You set down your tupperware and take the goodies from him. âDabbling in bribery, are we, Kent?â
His expression almost makes you feel bad for teasing him. Almost. âNo, no, I just- I wanted to do something nice for you. I feel terrible about last night.â
âI do, too. And great minds must think alike, because-â you trade the drink and sandwich with your container, holding it out to him. âI made you cookies as part of my apology.â
Clark looks awestruck. Like you just gave him a million dollars, and not shitty cookies you whipped up in the middle of the night. He takes them with the gentleness of someone handling a wounded animal. âYou made these for me?â
âYeah,â you shrug, trying to play it off as no big deal. The way heâs looking at you makes you want to run and hide. âI canât vouch for how good theyâll be, but⌠same thing. Doing something nice or whatever.â
He smiles, something soft and warm that forces your lungs to contract. âThat⌠is so much better than my nice thing.â
âOh, please,â you scoff, smacking him on the shoulder. âFresh coffee thatâs not the sludge they have here? And a sandwich? Youâre spoiling me, peanut butter.â
That gets him to chuckle, but some of the tightness lingers around his eyes. âListen, Iâm really sorry about last night. Iâve wanted to take you out for a long time, and when it finally happened, I- I messed it up.â
Youâre shaking your head before he even finishes speaking. âIf anything, I messed it up. With the way I was acting, it⌠Iâm not surprised you left.â
âNo, it wasnât you. I left because I had- there was an emergency.â
âWell, no matter what, Iâm sorry. Iâll explain the whole thing to you, but itâs kind of crazy. And it got me stuck in my head, so I couldnât really let myself be in the moment,â you tell him, chewing nervously on your lip. This is the scary part. âIâd love another chance.â
Clark grins, putting those dimples to good work. You almost slump down in your chair. âNothing would make me happier. Iâd love another chance, too.â
Returning his smile, you try your best to tamper down the butterflies in your stomach. All of your anxiety has melted away. Itâs just Clarkâkind, beautiful Clarkâsmiling at you with your cookies in his hands. He wants to go out again, and this time thereâs no mistake to atone for. This time, itâs nothing more than a date.
âTonight?â You ask before you can talk yourself out of it. âTwo days in a row might be a lot, so feel free to say no, I just-â
âTonightâs perfect,â he interrupts you, successfully silencing the beginning of your anxiety spiral. âIâll plan something for us, and let you know by lunch, okay?â
God, youâd grab him by the lapels and kiss the daylights out of him if you could. Instead, you nod in agreement. âThatâs perfect.â
âAlright, Iâll let you get back to work,â he responds, stepping back. He holds up the tupperware, shaking it a little. âThank you for the cookies, jelly.â
âWell, I know how much of a sweet tooth you have,â you laugh, waving away his gratitude. âThanks for the coffee and the sandwich.â
âOf course,â he responds, and unceremoniously moves towards his desk. You watch his retreating back for a moment too long.
When you glance over at Sadie, sheâs already looking at you. The two of you share a knowing smile.
True to his word, Clark announces the plan for your date as soon as the clock strikes 12. He wants to take you to that new place across townâthe fancy restaurant already making waves because of its gorgeous rooftop terrace. The waitlist is a month and a half long, give or take. Clark somehow gets a reservation within a matter of hours. Youâre not surprised; heâs gotta be good at persuasion if heâs getting all those interviews with Superman.
He appears at your desk as soon as you both have wrapped up your work for the day. Though youâre quite positive he finished an hour ago and just twiddled his thumbs until you were done. Heâs considerate, always has been, and it comes as no surprise. When he offers you his arm, you take it without hesitation. Like itâs second nature, like youâre two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly.
Clark leads you out of the office, and you feel like you could fly.
The restaurant is a 5-minute subway ride away, the duration of which you spend talking about Star Wars. Thereâs a marathon coming up at the old theatre on Main StreetâClarkâs dying to go, and youâre practically inviting yourself to go with him. The grin he sports tells you heâs not too mad about it, though.
When you walk into the restaurant, your date by your side, your jaw drops. The place is gorgeous; itâs held up by ivory-colored marble pillars, accentuating the mural painted on the ceiling, and every wall has an enormous window in the center. The sun sets on the Metropolis skyline, setting the place aglow. Itâs gorgeous. Itâs the type of restaurant where celebrities and superheroes eat.
You feel wildly out of place. But Clark's presence next to you, warm and solid, bolsters your (nonexistent) courage.
âOh my God, this place is beautiful,â you gush, looking up at him. âHow the hell did you ever get a table?â
 He smiles, those damn dimples making your knees weak. âCalled in a couple of favors. I had to make it worth your while considering our mishap last night.â
That makes you laugh. âWell, mission accomplished. Jesus, I bet the food is gonna be so expensive.â
âYou wonât need to worry about that. Itâs my treat.â
You frown at him the moment he says it, ready with a rebuttal. âClark, Iâm not just gonna let you- oh! That actually reminds me-â you dig into your bag and pull out the money heâd given you the night before, âI wanted to give this back to you. It didnât feel right to use it without you, soâŚâ
His brows furrow as you hold the bill out to him. âYou shouldâve used it. Thatâs why I gave it to you. Keep it and buy yourself something nice.â
Always the gentleman. You roll your eyes and, in a moment of bravery, slide it into his breast pocket. Electricity sparks in your gut, heart rate spiking, as you force yourself not to blush. Clark goes still as a statue, watching you with wide eyes. For a moment, it feels like youâre the only two people in the room.
It takes an embarrassingly long moment to choke out your response. âYou buy yourself something nice.â
A smile spreads slowly over his mouth. âYouâre so stubborn.â
He says it like itâs a compliment. You feel like the most beautiful person in the world. âYes, I am. Now letâs go on our date.â
He doesnât need any additional incentives. Clark checks in with the host, and then youâre being led to your table on the terrace. Of course, itâs on the terrace. Heâs pulled out all the stops for this. Your heartâs going to burst out of your chest.
He pulls your chair out for you again before taking his own. Your server comes by and takes your drink order. One glance at the menu confirms your suspicionsâeverything here is ridiculously expensive. Clark orders a bottle of wine anyway. Itâs a special occasion, he tells you.
Youâre daydreaming of dangerous things, like childrenâs names and five-year anniversaries.
When youâre alone, he turns to you. âSo, how about you tell me why you were acting so weird yesterday?â
You visibly cringe. Thereâs no going back after this. âOkay, but you have to promise not to make fun of me. Or hold it over my head.â
He crosses his arms over his chest, an amused smirk on his face. âIâm not promising either of those things.â
His response is equal parts expected and frustrating. You show him as much with a groan, burying your face in your hands. He chuckles, deep and warm.
âCome on, jelly. It canât be that bad.â
âYou say that now,â you warn, shaking your head. You decide to just dive right in. âBasically, Sadie asked me to set you guys up. She said she liked you and she knew we were friends and so she- she wanted me to put in a good word.â
Shock overtakes Clarkâs features, and he opens his mouth to comment. You continue before he gets the chance.
âI told her Iâd do it because sheâs my best friend and I love her. But it was killing me because I like you so much. And so I went to ask you, and I⌠God, I messed it up. You asked if I was asking you out, and I just went with it. Because I panicked! And because I wanted to go out with you.
âBut literally right after, I felt so bad. I felt like Iâd betrayed Sadie, and like Iâd tricked you, and the whole thing was a mess,â you explain. Youâre avoiding his eyes, afraid of what youâll see there. âI decided I would tell you at the end of the day, when the date started. And Iâd just hope you didnât hate me. But you left early, and I didnât get the chance, and I just went home feeling like shit.â
He sighs, the sound overwhelmingly apologetic. You know he feels terrible about having to leaveâjust like you know his excuse for leaving was bullshit. But youâre letting it slide.
âWhen I got home, Sadie called me. And Clark, you will never guess what she told me. The whole thing was a setup! She knew how I felt about you, and she thought I just needed a push. She thought her saying she had feelings for you would make me confess. It didnât, obviously, but I messed it up so badly that we still ended up here. God, I was so mad. And so amazed at her mind.â
You finally look up at him, nerves getting the better of you. âSo I just- I was scared that I was ruining things between her and me, or between you and me, but I wasnât. She was actually being a crazy powerful wing-woman.â
The weight of the story lingers between you. A million emotions flash across Clarkâs face, each one as incomprehensible as the last. Youâre getting nervous when he finally breaks the silence.
âThat isâŚâ he lets out a breath, eyes glittering. A shit-eating grin grows over his face. âYou like me so much?â
Your face lights on fire. You roll your eyes and attempt to hide it, throwing your napkin at him. âYouâre focusing on the wrong part of the story, peanut butter!â
Clark bursts into laughter, catching the linen with ease as his head falls back. Heâs beautiful like this, of course, as if the sun itself is seeping out of him. Even if heâs laughing at your expense, even if youâre so terribly embarrassed, youâd do it all over again to see him laugh.
âAlright, Iâm sorry,â he wheezes, righting his glasses while he attempts to regain his composure. âI just- you have to admit that itâs cute. All of this because you like me. Because you like me so much that Sadie had to intervene.â
Youâre beginning to feel self-conscious. You laid your feelings bare for Clark, and heâs taking amusement from it. Heâs not making fun of you. You know he would never do that, but still. Youâre vulnerable.
You pick at the skin around your nails, lips pressed into a thin line. âIs that a bad thing?â
âNo!â he exclaims immediatelyâintensely. He reaches over and wraps his fingers around your wrist. Your hand twitches. âNo, not at all. Itâs a great thing. The best thing Iâve heard in a long time. I like you so much too.â
âYou do?â Your smile rivals his.
âOf course I do. How could I not?â He says it as though it should be obvious. His eyes reflect how serious he is. âYouâre my best friend. Youâre amazingly talented, kind, beautiful, and a million other things. Iâve liked you for a long time. I think I⌠I think we both needed this push.â
Clark has a way of making you feel like your heart is going to explode. Right now, itâs pattering ruthlessly against your ribcage. Like a bird trying to escape. Again, images of what could be float in your brain. Making him a birthday cake, picking out sheets for your bed together, slow dancing in the kitchen.
âWe owe Sadie the worldâs biggest thank you gift,â you say, because everything else feels like too much and not enough at the same time.
Clark chuckles, his thumb rubbing circles into your wrist. âYes, we do.â
You take the plunge. You pull your hand away just enough to grab his, intertwining your fingers together. Heâs warm against your skinâlarge, comforting, safe. You never want to let go. He squeezes your hand in a way that says he feels the same.
The wine comes not long after, and you order dinner before taking the glass Clark offers you. You donât even want to know how much it was, but the way the flavors burst on your tongue says enough. Heâs doing too much for you. Heâs too damn good.
When he pulls his hand away to refill your glasses, he puts it back just as quickly. Your pulse skips. Thank God he canât hear it.
âWhy didnât you ask me out sooner, if you liked me too?â you ask halfway through your second glass. The sun has disappeared below the skyline, and the twinkling lights bordering the terrace have lit up. Everything has a warm glow, making it feel like a dream. Youâre almost convinced it is.
Clark clicks his tongue and sets his glass down. He looks even prettier under the cover of night. With his curls mussed up, a light pink to his cheeks, his coat discarded and sleeves rolled to the elbows. You could take a bite out of him right nowâwhich is most definitely the alcohol talking.
âHonestly? I was worried it would ruin this. What we have,â he explains, and the fear is all too familiar. Youâd been scared of the same thing. It was a big reason you never said anything yourself. But now, sitting here with him, you canât believe youâd waited this long. So much time wasted. âYouâre such an important part of my life. Having you as a friend was easier to swallow than not having you at all.â
You give him a sad smile, squeezing his hand. âI felt the same. I couldnât imagine losing you. But this⌠this is nice. It feels right.â
âIt does,â he chuckles, ducking his head. You want to take him in your arms and never ever let go. When he looks back up at you, his expression is serious. âIâm sorry it took us so long to get here.â
âItâs okay. Itâs just as much my fault as it is yours,â you console him, waving away his apology. âBut now we have plenty of time to make up for it.â
âIâll drink to that, jelly,â he raises his glass towards you. You grin and raise yours in tandem.
Itâs halfway through dinner when the best night of your life (so far) takes a turn for the worse. Clark tells you a story from his childhoodâsomething about a tractor mishap that ended with him stuck in three feet of mudâthatâs making you laugh so hard your sides hurt. You can see it so clearly, sweet farm-boy Clark trudging home in soaked, dirty boots, and itâs warming your heart. You wonder if thereâs anything in the world that could make you less charmed by him. The chances feel slim.
He laughs along with you, polishing off the rest of his wine. Something in his expression has suddenly gone stricken. Itâs a microscopic difference, nearly imperceptible, but you notice it anyway. It makes your gut twist.
âIâm gonna run to the bathroom real quick, okay? Sorry,â he murmurs, getting to his feet.
âNo worries,â you tell him, even though you are worried. Thereâs been a shift in the last ten seconds, and you both can feel it. You just wonder what it means. âIâll be here.â
He quickly disappears back inside the restaurant, leaving you with a half-eaten meal and a pit in your stomach.
Three minutes later, the terrace becomes a flurry of activity when Superman lands in the center of the dining area. People gasp and exclaim, jump to their feet, pull their phones out to snap picturesâthe typical reactions of civilians coming face-to-face with an extraterrestrial superhero. No one seems very distressed at seeing him. But if heâs here, it surely means trouble isnât far behind.
Youâve never seen Superman close-up. Sure, youâve seen pictures and seen him from a distance, but nothing like this. Heâs only a few feet away from you, looking very hero-like in the cape. That signature curl falls across his forehead, contrasting against his icy blue eyes. Youâll admit that heâs very handsome.
Heâs also infuriatingly familiar. Thereâs something about himâyou canât place it, and itâs driving you crazy.
âSorry to interrupt your dinner, folks!â he calls, holding his hands up apologetically. âThereâs an attack happening down the block, and we want to make sure everyoneâs safe, so Iâm gonna have to ask everyone to start heading home.â
Thereâs an immediate uproar of questions, complaints, and fearful cries. You feel smugly validated. Youâd been right about the trouble. Of course, the smugness gives way to panic when you remember that Clarkâs in the bathroom. You have to go get him.
A loud boom echoes through the air right then, followed by the entire building shuddering. Just where Superman had said the trouble is, the skyscraper down the block begins to crumble. You see a brief flash of green, a sure sign that the Justice Gangâname pendingâhas arrived on the scene. Thereâs a moment of silence as everyone comprehends what happened. And then itâs chaos.
Chairs are knocked over, tables upended, and glassware thrown to the ground as people flee. You get to your feet just in time to avoid being trampled by a panicked couple in matching purple cardigans. They quickly veer left, heading to the terrace exit with the rest of the evacuating diners. You watch them for a moment, stunned by the frenzy, before decidedly heading the opposite way. Not towards safety, but towards the restaurant where Clark resides.
âExcuse me, you canât go in there,â a voice says from behind you. Itâs Superman, now only a foot from where you stand. âYou need to evacuate to safety.â
âYes, I know. I will. But my- my friendâs inside,â you explain, gesturing to the door. âI have to go get him, and then weâll go.â
The crumbling skyscraper is nearly demolished now. The building next to itâone building closer to the restaurantâis being targeted instead. Supermanâs expression is growing panicked.
âIâll make sure everyone gets out, you need to head home now.â
Youâre shaking your head before he even finishes speaking. Youâre not leaving without knowing Clark is safe. âIâm sorry, I canât. But Iâll be quick. I just need to grab him and-â
âI need you to go home, jelly. Right now.â
Every bit of blood in your body turns to ice. There is only one person in this entire world who calls you that. You look at Supermanâreally look at him. You blink and let your eyes unfocus. When they clear up again, itâs not a superhero youâre looking at.
Itâs Clark. Your Clark.
Heâs without his glasses and clad in an âSâ marked suit, but itâs him. You have no idea how you didnât see it until this moment. Honestly, itâs making your head hurt a little.
âOh my God,â you breathe. You donât know what else to say. What can you say? Your world has just fallen off its axis.
âGo home,â he pleads, sounding like his life depends on it. Based on the damage happening behind him, it might. He takes your hands in his and squeezes. It feels like Clark. âPlease. Iâll come to you when this is over.â
You donât have a response. You just nod numbly and pull away. Head towards the exit that everyone else has already taken. You donât look back when you hear him take off into the sky, feeling a gust of wind against you. You donât look back the entire way to your apartment.
When Clark comes to you, itâs nearly two hours later.
The knock on the door breaks you out of your dissociation, and you peel yourself off the couch to open it. He stands on the other side, still in his suit, looking like a kicked puppy. You almost feel bad for him. But youâre still kind of in shock, so mostly you just stare.
Clark Kent is Superman. Superman is Clark Kent. And heâs standing in your doorway.
âHi,â he says, quieter than youâve ever heard him.
You attempt a smile. âHi.â
He inclines his head towards the apartment. âCan I come in?â
âOh. Yeah,â you move out of the way for him, attempting to shake off some of your awkwardness. âSorry.â
âNo, youâre alright,â he assures you, moving into the room. You shut the door behind him.
The sight is a little ridiculous. Superman, wearing the face of the man youâre halfway in love with, is standing in your living room. He looks taller as Superman. Clark hunches down, makes himself smaller, and you suppose he doesnât feel the need to do that now.
Things are different. Heâs different. Youâre just not sure how deep that goes yet.
âWere you going to tell me?â you ask, surprising yourself. You didnât think youâd break the silence first. Maybe itâs the journalist in you. Or the part that has feelings for Clark Kent.
âYes,â he says immediately, turning towards you. He moves to step closer to you, then stops. Hesitates. âIf we- if this became⌠something. I was going to tell you. Otherwise, the risk just isnât worth it.â
âRisk?â
He gestures to himself, to the âSâ symbol on his chest. âBeing close to Superman means putting a target on your back. I didnât want you in that position unless I knew youâd be around for a while.â
âSo why tonight? Whyâd you give yourself away?â your next questions come quickly, your brain desperate for more information. For an explanation of all of this. âOr was that just a slip-up in the heat of the moment?â
He runs a hand through his hair, mussing up the curls. âI needed you out of there. And I knew you wouldnât go unless you- you knew I was safe.â
Heâs right. And heâs so earnest right now that itâs hurting your heart. Youâre not angry at him, not really. You knew why he didnât tell you even before he said it. Itâs protection, both for you and for himself.
You donât need answers because youâre upset. You need them because, despite going on two failed first dates, this moment feels like the beginning of something. Something real, something lasting. And youâve got the feeling that youâre willing to go all in. As long as heâll meet you in the middle.
âWhen you left last night, it was a Superman thing.â
Itâs not a question. He nods anyway. His jaw tightens, his eyes bleeding regret.
âI knew it,â you shake your head. âI knew the family emergency excuse was bullshit.â
Clark chuckles. It eases some of the tension between you. âGood job, Detective.â
You smile at him. Thereâs silence for a beat, and then he speaks again. âListen, I know this isnât what you signed up for. And you have every right to be angry at me. If you never want to see me again, I understand. But I⌠I like you. A lot. And I want-â
âOh my God, peanut butter, can you shut up for a second?â you interrupt his spiral, earning a surprised look from him. You give him a smile. âI like you a lot, too. And Iâm not angry at you. Iâm not sure what having a superhero boyfriend will be like, but⌠yâknow. Iâm a quick learner.â
He grins, bright as the sun. You wonder if thatâs one of his powers. Jesus. The man has powers. Thatâs gonna take some getting used to. âIâm your boyfriend?â
You roll your eyes. Talk about selective hearing. âLetâs get a first date officially under our belt before we throw labels around.â
This time, he doesnât stop himself from moving closer. He grabs your hands again, brushing his thumbs over your wrists. âIâm really sorry. Iâm gonna make it up to you. For real, this time.â
âWell, you better,â you tease, looking up at him. âIâd like a date without a villain attack one of these days.â
âAnd youâll get it. I promise,â he vows. His eyes scan your face, his own barely restraining the glee heâs feeling. When he looks at your lips, he hesitates for a moment. âYouâre everything, jelly.â
Your heart skips a beat. He probably hears it, which is mortifying.
When you respond, itâs barely above a whisper. âAm I about to have my first kiss with Superman?â
âNo,â he murmurs, and you try to extinguish the flare of disappointment. But then he speaks again. âYouâre about to have your first kiss with Clark Kent.â
God, you like him so much. You lean up to meet him as he lowers his head.
Clark kisses you, and it feels like every nerve in your body sings. His lips are soft against yours, gently caressing as if youâre something priceless. His hands slide to your hips and pull you close. Thereâs no demand, no urgency in the motion. Just the desire to have you near.
You slide a hand into the curls at the nape of his neck, and you can feel him smiling into the kiss. It feels right. It feels like home.
Maybe things didnât have the smoothest start, or go how you wanted, but you wouldnât change it for anything. Youâre here, in Clarkâs arms, and youâre quite sure youâve never been happier.
You owe Sadie your life. And a very expensive thank you gift.
SUMMARY: Clark knew he was going to put a ring on your finger the day he met you, but when he slips up and lets the entire world know that Superman is off the market, things get a little more... interesting.
WARNINGS: None
W/C: 1.4k
There are some things in life that you just know, which rang true the moment Clark Kent met you. Watching you walk into the Daily Planet bullpen with Lois, arms moving animatedly as you spoke with a smile on your face, he knew in that moment that he was going to marry you someday.
Of course, he took his time getting there, but he was prepared to wait for you. He was nothing if not a gentleman, politely introducing himself before finding any excuse to talk to you. He would bring you coffee in the mornings, figuring out how you liked it and doing his best to make sure it was right. If you stayed late at the office to finish up an article, Clark would be staying behind too. He would walk you to your door when you finally headed home, making sure you were safely inside and pretending that he couldn't hear the way your heart skipped a beat when he kissed your cheek goodnight.
He was awkward, though. Superman was approachable, talkative, open to conversation with strangers he had just met, but Clark was a bumbling, stuttering, nervous mess when it came to you. It took Lois spelling it out for him, saying in no uncertain terms that you liked him, for Clark to finally ask you out on a date.
And the rest, as they say, was history.
Clark married you a few years after that first date, in a small ceremony held on his family's farm. You walked down the aisle, radiant in your wedding dress, all smiles as you practically floated towards him. Clark knew how it felt to fly, but in that moment he felt utterly weightless watching you approach. His eyes had clouded with tears and Lois elbowed Jimmy rather harshly in the ribs when he couldn't contain his laughter.
You and Clark didn't care, though.
All that mattered was those soft-spoken vows, the way his hand held yours so delicately, keeping you close until he could finally kiss you as his wife.
There was no doubt in anybody's mind that Clark was in the running for Husband of the Year. Any excuse he could find to bring you up, he would be proudly calling you my wife. If you got the front page with an article, he would boast about it as if it was his own achievement. Something as mundane as cooking a dinner for the two of you? He'd be showing Jimmy and Lois a picture and declaring that his wife could be a world-renowned chef. You'd be somewhere to the side, blushing with your face hidden in your hands because you could tie your shoelaces and Clark would find some way to sing your praises.
He wore his wedding ring like it was the greatest prize he'd ever won. Every day, he looked at you and thanked the stars that they'd sent you his way that day. Somewhere, the fates had aligned and created you both from the same stardust, bonding you together in ways that were cosmic and inevitable.
Clark Kent was happily married and would shout it from the rooftops for anybody to hear, but Superman? As far as the world knew, he was a lone wolf.
Whenever Clark had Superman business to tend to, he would leave his wedding ring with you. He knew that you sometimes got anxious watching him head off to face whatever danger threatened the city that day, so he left his ring as a promise to you.
He would be back.
Whatever it took, he would come back for that ring, because there was nothing in this universe that would stand between Clark Kent and coming home to you every night.
So you would wait, watching the newsfeed of Superman fighting the most recent invader, rolling Clark's ring between your thumb and forefinger absentmindedly.
But even heroes slip up sometimes and the day Clark forgot to leave his wedding ring behind, you can bet the entire world had something to say about it.
It started with a blurry picture, taken by someone after Superman landed in the crowd and greeted people like they were his longtime friends. Although it was unfocused, it was obvious that he was wearing a wedding ring and the moment you saw it flash up on your newsfeed, your eyes had widened.
He was trending almost immediately, different angles of his left hand and an internet ablaze with speculation over who Superman's mystery man or woman could be.
"Y/N," Lois said, snapping you out of your deep-dive through the articles already spawning online. "Weigh in on this. You think Superman's married?"
"Oh, come on," Jimmy said, leaning back in his chair dramatically. "He was wearing a ring. Clear as day. He's obviously married."
You turned in your chair, shrugging. "I don't know. I guess it's a possibility. I mean, what do we even know about the guy?"
"That's such a boring, objective answer," Jimmy said, rolling his eyes. "The reporter in you is showing."
You flipped him off and went back to your computer, eyeing Clark's desk opposite yours. Ever since you started at the Planet, your desks had faced one another and you always questioned whether Chief Perry had made it that way on purpose. Not that you minded, because it gave you an excuse to stare at Clark's pretty face all day, but right now he was missing.
Unsurprising, considering he was just seen not twenty minutes ago in a park downtown.
You didn't have it in you to be mad at him for his mistake, but you couldn't help but wonder what the ramifications of this would be. Superman would be under more scrutiny than ever, with people prying into his personal business like they had a right to know everything about him. How long would it be before somebody figured it out? How would that affect Clark?
Speaking of the devil, he returned to the bullpen with flushed cheeks, windswept hair and his tie loosened around his neck. You shook your head at him as he approached you, an iced coffee in one hand and his briefcase in the other. Placing the latter down first, he bypassed his desk and approached yours, leaning down to greet you with a kiss while he slid the coffee onto your desk.
"Hi," he mumbled against your lips.
"You're trending." You reached for his tie and adjusted it, keeping him hunched over your desk as you watched his eyebrows furrow in confusion. With a sly grin, you turned your gaze to your computer screen, feeling Clark's eyes follow you to the blurry picture of him and his very obvious wedding ring.
"Oh," he said softly, a look of panic flashing across his face as he looked down at his left hand, where his wedding ring was still on his finger.
You couldn't help your smile. "There's worse things to trend for."
Clark straightened up when you released his tie, his cheeks reddening further as he leaned against your desk. "I'm sorry-"
"You don't have to apologise," you told him, resting a hand on his knee. "Just promise me you'll say good things about me when people ask."
Clark leaned down to kiss you again, ignoring the mocking gags from Jimmy across the room. When he pulled away, he looked at you with blown pupils that reflected just how much he loved you. It was the same way he looked at you the day you got married, every day before that and every day since.
"I have nothing but good things to say about you."
Superman went on the record the next time he did an interview with Clark Kent to say that he was happily married to a woman that brightened up his entire world. He asked for privacy in his personal life and although the internet unanimously agreed to give him that, it did not stop the onslaught of comments about how his eyes lit up when he talked about his wife during a recent public appearance.
You had laid in bed with Clark, scrolling through the endless flood of support for Superman and his wife, smiling despite yourself. When you got married, Clark promised you that he would do his best not to let his life as Superman interfere with the life the two of you were building. That was a whispered promise for only you when you were wrapped in one another's arms after the guests had all gone home.
Watching the world learn what you'd known all along, that the man currently wrapped around your body without a care in the world was the biggest loverboy in the universe, was enough to warm your heart.
"I don't mind them knowing that you're married," you mused, lifting your head from where it had been resting on Clark's chest. "But if you name-drop me it's going to cause an absolute scene at work for poor Clark Kent."
summary: clark kent had always been a good friend to you at the daily planetâbut as the two of you fall head over heels for each other, you canât help but notice the striking similarities between him and superman
warnings & content: mutual pining, clark is a sweetheart and a goofball, female reader, reader is too perceptive for her own good, journalist!reader, clark is a little bit of a loser
Clark Kent was something out of a dream.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and way too polite, like someone had ripped a leading man from a black-and-white movie and dropped him into the bullpen of the Daily Planet. He brought you coffee on Mondays, held the elevator even when you were running across the lobby like a lunatic, and laughed at your jokes like they were actually funny.
Maybe he actually did find them funny.
So, it wasn't very hard to believe that you fell for him hard. Head over heels hard.
Cat and Lois cheered you on every time you spoke to Clark. You thought they'd tease relentlessly, but they were actually incredibly supportive. Lois thought you two were a perfect pair, and Cat.. well, Cat just loved to be a part of gossip. Especially romantic gossip. But she'd never dare tell a soul you liked Clark; that's what was so great about her.
And Clark? Clark was.. clueless. Or maybe not, you couldnât tell. He blushed when you complimented his ties. He once held eye contact for a solid ten seconds before walking into a filing cabinet. But then heâd disappear halfway through lunch for âan errand,â only to show up later with windblown hair and an excuse so flimsy even Jimmy side-eyed him.
There was something about himâsomething too gentle, too careful. Like he was constantly trying to shrink himself down to fit the room. Like he wasnât just Clark Kent, but something more.
Sometimes you had to double take and remind yourself this was your coworker, your friend. But then again.. he did remember your coffee order down to the extra shot of espresso. He always made room for you on the elevator, even when it was packed. And he looked at you like you were the first good thing that had ever happened to him.
So maybe it wasn't a shocker that you fell for him. Maybe it was just fate.
Clark and you had become fast friends from the first day you'd landed the job at the Daily Planet. His desk was right across from yours, making it easy to just turn to each other and chat. Clark lit up a room with his bright, dorky smile and his boyish charm.
There was something so special about Clark. You knew it even before you fell hard for him. Clark had such a gentle, kind heart. The kind that's not just worn on a sleeve, but rather worn everywhere. If there was ever some argument about justice or truth, he was the first to defend it. The first to defend the innocent, the helpless.
It was infuriating, sometimes. How someone could be so good and soft and sincere without it being some kind of act. And it made the nagging suspicion in the back of your mind that much worse.
Because there was something else. Something you couldnât quite explain.
Like how Clark seemed to vanish the second anything chaotic happened. How his clothes always had that faint singed smell, like heâd walked too close to a lightning strike. How sometimes, just sometimes, youâd catch him staring at the television in the breakroom right as some new reporter spoke about Superman. It was the way he listened so intensely that caught your attention.
You werenât trying to snoop. Truly, you werenât. You just noticed things. Small things. Quiet things. Things other people overlooked because Clark Kent was so.. unassuming.
But you noticed. And you were starting to connect the dots.
âDo you think Superman is just some regular Joe?â You asked, spinning in your chair as you avoided your computer screen. Sports column. Oh, how you hated when Perry gave you the damned sports column.
Clark's head whipped over to you, his face an expression you couldn't quite read. âSorry?â
âLike.. do you think he just has some boring old day job like us?â You continued, the pen in your hand clicking over and over. âI mean, what does Superman do when he isn't.. super.â
Clark chuckled nervously, you noted. âI⌠guess I never thought about it.â
You clicked your pen, once, twice. âI mean, heâs always around when big stuff happens. But in between? Heâs gotta eat, right? Pay rent?â
âI suppose so,â he said slowly, voice just the tiniest bit too tight. âI donât think Superman has to worry about rent.â
âNo rent,â you repeated. âRight. Because heâs what? Crashing at a super secret lair no one knows about?â
Clark cleared his throat. âUh. Maybe.â
You finally looked at him, raising a brow. He was doing that thing againâadjusting his glasses like they were a nervous tic, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve, not quite meeting your eyes. You leaned your elbow on your desk, resting your chin in your hand. âWhat do you think Superman eats for breakfast?â
âI donât know,â Clark muttered, clearly flustered. âToast?â
âToast,â you echoed, trying not to smile. âThe Man of Steel eats toast.â
Clark shrugged. âEveryone eats toast. I eat toast. I love toast.â
You tilted your head, watching him carefully. âYouâre sweating.â
He blinked. âItâs.. hot in here.â
It wasnât. You both knew it. But he was already ducking his head, pretending to refocus on his screen, the tips of his ears turning suspiciously red.
Huh. Very interesting.
You didnât let the topic drop, no, not yet. You could see the way Clarkâs fingers hovered stiffly over his keyboard, typing nothing.
âOkay, toast,â you said, twirling your pen between your fingers. âBut what about coffee? You think Superman takes it black? Or is he secretly the type to order something ridiculous with oat milk and whipped cream?â
Clark glanced at you from the corner of his eye, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but was scared of what might come out. âProbably black,â he said. âHeâs efficient.â
You snorted. âThatâs boring.â
âMaybe he likes boring.â
âMaybe he pretends to.â
That earned you a real smileâcrooked, boyish, so bright it made your stomach do a little flip. And just like that, the teasing slipped out before you could stop it.
âYou know,â you said, resting your chin in your palm again, âyou smile just like him.â
Clark froze. Like actually froze. He looked like a baby deer in headlights.
For a second you thought maybe heâd short-circuited. His eyes widened behind his glasses, his mouth half-open like he was trying to think of a word that didnât exist yet.
âIâwhat?â he stammered.
You bit your lip, half enjoying this, half swooning at how adorably flustered he was. âSuperman,â you clarified, tapping your pen against your notepad. âYou kinda smile like him.â
âI donâtââ he shook his head, letting out a breathy laugh, âI mean, thatâsâheâsâIâmâthatâs notââ
âYou okay over there?â you asked, raising a brow.
âI justâno oneâs ever said that before.â
âWhy not? Youâve got that same thing. LikeâŚâ You waved vaguely toward his face. âHopeful. Heroic. Like youâre trying to save a kitten stuck in a tree with your eyes.â
He made a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a cough. âYouâreâuh. Very observant.â
âOccupational hazard,â you said sweetly.
He looked like he was trying to melt into his chair. You were pretty sure if he was Superman, heâd have flown straight through the ceiling to escape this conversation. You smiled to yourself, eyes flicking back to your half-written sports column.
Interesting, indeed.
There were more times that Clark seemed to get oddly strange about Superman. Like when you said he was tall enough to be Superman and he spit out his coffee. Or when you said his hair was curly like Superman and he tried to say his hair was just wavy.
You really werenât trying to torture him. Not intentionally. It was just.. so easy. And kind of adorable. It was also a good way to test your suspicion.
Like this morning, when you caught him watching the news broadcast from a rooftop rescue the night before. Superman had carried an entire bus off a collapsing bridgeâagainâand youâd found Clark standing by the breakroom TV, arms crossed, brows furrowed in concern like he was the one whoâd pulled it off and was now second-guessing the landing.
You leaned against the doorway, sipping your coffee. âThink he ever gets tired of saving the world?â
Clark jumped, like youâd caught him stealing. âWho?â
You grinned. âSuperman.â
âOh. Uh. Probably not. I mean.. itâs kind of his thing, right?â
âMaybe.â You tilted your head. âOr maybe heâs just really tired and doesnât let anyone know.â
Clark looked at you then. Really looked. It was like he was scanning for something beneath the surface of your words. You didnât flinch. You were starting to enjoy this little dance a little too much.
You took another sip and added, âIf he ever wanted to take a day off, Iâm sure the world would survive. One day without Superman wouldnât kill us.â
Clark swallowed thickly, turning back to the TV. âI donât know about that.â
You stepped beside him, shoulder brushing his arm, and leaned in just enough to make his breath catch. âI think it would. Kill you, I mean. Youâd go crazy not being able to help.â
He turned to you again, blinking rapidly. âWhy would Iâ?â
âIf you were Superman, I mean,â You replied instantly. âIt would kill you to not go a day without helping. Seems like you and our Kryptonian have that in common.â
You and Clark always liked to have pasta night. It wasnât a date. At least, not officially. It was just something you did after those long, soul-draining Daily Planet days, when the world felt too loud and the newsroom felt too full of egos and deadlines and bad coffee. Pasta night was the safe zone. Laughter over stovetop steam. Old movies on the TV. Clark humming as he chopped garlic with annoyingly perfect knife skills.
Tonight, after a tragically long day trailing Cat Grant around while she whispered office secrets like she was auditioning for Gossip Girl, you were practically crawling to Clark's apartment.
It was locked, unfortunately. But it was so late, so you weren't sure why he wasn't home. Thankfully, Clark kept a spare key under the mat, a terrible hiding spot in a city like Metropolis, but very on-brand for someone who still believed in the good in people. You grabbed it, unlocked the door, and slid it right back where it belonged.
âClark?â you called softly, just in case.
Confirmed: not home. Lights off. No rustle of movement from the bedroom. No familiar clatter in the kitchen. It was quiet in the way that felt wrong. Clarkâs apartment was never silent. It always hummed with soft music, the occasional kettle on the stove, the warm shuffle of him padding around barefoot.
You checked your phone. 7:03 p.m. Weird.
You stepped inside anyway, shutting the door behind you and locking it with a quiet click. His apartment was tidy, as usual, but lived-in. Cozy. A blanket still draped over the arm of the couch from the last time you'd watched movies together. A pair of glasses on the coffee table. His laptop still open on the dining table, half a document glowing on the screen.
You dropped your bag by the door and took off your shoes. Something just felt so off about this.
You wandered to the window, peeking out at the skyline. The familiar neon glow of Metropolis buzzed in the distance. Traffic rolled steady. People moved like ants below. But the longer you sat in the quiet, the more the nothing started to feel like something.
And the more you were sure, without a doubt, that Clark Kent was hiding something.
After about fifteen minutes, the front door opened. You turned your head around, ready to question your friend about why he was out so late like a worried mother. Then, you saw it. That unmistakable S symbol on his chest. Not just on his chest, but on his suit. Superman's suit.
That was Superman.
Or.. no. It was Clark. Same height. Same shoulders. Same eyes. But the glasses were gone. The tie was gone. The soft sweater and rolled sleeves were gone. And in their place: the suit.
For a second, he didnât see you. He had one hand on the doorknob, shoulders sagging with exhaustion, jaw tight. He looked like heâd just flown through hell and back. His suit was scuffed, a tear at the shoulder, a faint smear of soot across his cheek.
Once he turned around, his eyes widened when he saw you. His whole body stilled, like his mind was catching up to what his heart already knew; heâd been caught.
âAre you hurt?â
You didn't expect those to be the first words from your mouth. Maybe a scold, anger because how could he keep such a secret from you? But for some reason, your worry and care for him made the words tumble from your lips before you could even think about saying anything else.
Clark shook his head, âNo, no. I-I'm okay. What.. are you doing here? How'd you even get in?â
âDon't worry about that,â you shrugged his question off. âYou look tired.â
âFights are still tiring,â Clark replied, giving you a soft, crooked smile. He sounded breathless. Whether from the fight or the fact that you were standing there, in his apartment, seeing him.. you couldnât tell.
You nodded to the couch. âSit down, Clark.â He hesitated, then obeyed, lowering himself with a quiet exhale. You sat beside him, close enough to feel the warmth coming off his skin, but not quite touching.
For a moment, neither of you said anything. The quiet stretched between you, soft and charged and full of everything you hadnât asked yet.
Finally, you broke it. âWere you going to keep it from me forever?â
Clark stared down at his hands. âI didnât know how to tell you. Every time I tried, it felt like Iâd be asking you to see me differently. And I didnât want to lose the way you look at me now.â
âI see you the same,â you instantly assured. âThe way I look at it? You aren't Superman. Superman is Clark.â He perked up at your words, just a fraction, but you caught it. âThat heart of yours is a Clark Kent heart that Superman represents.â
He opened his mouth, closed it again, then finally said, âSometimes I feel like Superman is who I have to be. But ClarkâŚâ He looked down again, voice gentler. âClarkâs the real me. The part I hoped someone might love, even if the rest of the world only ever sees the cape.â
Your breath caught. And before you could stop yourself, your hand reached out to rest on top of his. The word fell from your lips again, like some sort of mind control or truth serum:
âI already do, Clark.â
His gaze snapped to yours.
âI already love that part of you.â
For a beat, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, tentatively, he laced his fingers through yours. You could feel the shift in the air between you. Something unspoken settling into place. The kind of silence that isnât awkward, but sacred.
Clark looked at you like you were unreal. âIâve wanted to tell you for so long,â he murmured. âBut I was scared. Not of what youâd think of Superman.. but of what youâd think of me.â
âClark,â you whispered, âIâve been falling for you since the first time you offered me coffee and spilled half of it on your own shirt.â Your words made him chuckle airly, a sound that always made you smile in return.
His free hand came up, hesitant at first, fingertips brushing your cheek, then settling softly at your jaw like he was still asking permission. When you didn't back away, he leaned in slowly like a moment stretched thin with meaning, like he wanted to savor every second before it broke.
And then, his lips met yours.
He kissed you like you were fragile and eternal all at onceâlike he didnât want to overwhelm you, but he needed you to know. Needed you to feel everything he hadnât been able to say.
You kissed him back, and he melted into itâlike the tension he carried every day, in every fight, in every lie, finally had somewhere to go.
When you pulled away, just barely, your foreheads rested together.
You whispered, breath warm against his lips, âHi.â
Clark smiled, eyes still closed. âHi.â After a moment, he spoke again. "Gosh, I've dreamed about doing that for months now.â
âLive up to your expectations?â
âBeat them significantly.â
You grinned, cheeks warm, still close enough to feel his breath fan across your lips. âSignificantly, huh?â
He nodded solemnly. âAstronomically.â
You let out a soft laugh. âThatâs a pretty high bar. I hope I donât disappoint you on the second kiss.â
Clark blinked, momentarily stunned, then gave the goofiest, most love-struck smile youâd ever seen. âThereâs going to be a second kiss?â
âI mean.. I hope there's going to be a second kiss,â you answered. âRight now, preferably.â
With a small laugh, Clark leaned in. The kiss was passionate, but more natural, casual than the first one. The kind of kiss you could imagine sharing after a long day of work or in passing.
And when you finally broke apart, barely a breath between you, you couldnât stop smiling.
âI should probably change out of the super suit,â he murmured, voice low and teasing. âKind of ruins the whole normal guy vibe Iâve been going for.â
You gave him a once-over. âMm. I donât know. Itâs growing on me. Seeing it this close is kind of amazing.â
He flushed instantly. âDonât say things like that. I might have a heart attack.â
You leaned in one last time and whispered, lips brushing his, âThatâd be kind of impressive, considering your heartâs, you know.. bulletproof.â
He laughed, bright and helpless, and you swore you felt it in your chest. And in that quiet, wrapped in warmth and half-lit shadows and truth finally spoken, it felt like the world could pause. Just for a little while.
Because this wasnât about Superman. This was about him. It had always been about him.
kianamaiart
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
areudirty
