Chapter Text
“AHHHH!!”
The engine shutoff elicited a girlish shriek from Ryland as the 1.5gs abruptly swept out from beneath him, rendering him a floating disaster. His head bumped into the ceiling as he was lifted off the lab’s floor, followed by his spine after curling himself into a tight ball of limbs. Eventually, he needed to flail a bit and at least try to steady himself in one spot before crashing into a million important objects. Of course, if he had listened to the wise advice of his only company saying, ‘you better strap yourself to the chair, Ryland’, then he could’ve avoided this situation altogether.
“Woah, woah…! Hey- ugh! Oh my gosh, I need help! Help!”
Her ears perked up at the frantic pleading before she sighed and pushed off the nearest wall in the control room, floating straight into the lab. She reached out to find purchase on any surface around his general area in an attempt to help him regain his composure.
“Ryla-”
“Holy moly! Help me, please…!”
“Yes, I am actively trying to help you. Stop screaming.”
“Okay.”
Her steady fingers curled around a handful of his shirt, tugging him close. He stopped just short of being chest-to-chest with his crewmate. His breathing was labored and huffy, mostly because he wouldn’t shut up and let his brain function five seconds ago, but also due to the proximity. Did the ship’s heating unit have a malfunction, or was that just him?
“Are you fine now? No more blabber or whatever?”
“Blabber? The engine just got cut off and suddenly I’m supposed to be best buds with zero G?! How can you even do this? I’m clenching everything I know how to clench.”
“I- what? Okay… uhm, anyway… I trained to handle this, Grace. So, yeah, I’m technically ‘best buds’ with zero G. I guess.”
His brows furrowed slightly beneath those offset glasses that he wears in every way except for the intended one. She shook her head and let herself laugh a little. It helped a lot that she was with him on this suicide mission, because being alone out here without shared laughter would drive him mad. The mission alone is enough to shake the psyche of a saint, let alone an unmarried middle school science teacher. He instinctively clutched her upper arm in response to her tug, which would be intimate if it weren’t for the current circumstances.
“Okay, well, obviously I did not. Why would Stratt train me for a mission I didn’t want to be a part of? That’s too generous.”
“I’m aware.”
Suddenly, in all the vacuum of space, physical touch seemed like the most important thing. Petrova Line, Stratt, and impending extinction aside… this moment was pretty dang sweet. His eyes locked on hers, and vice versa, with nothing in between to interfere.
“Are you done?”
“Wha- uh, yes. Yeah, I’m good now.”
Apparently, the tenderness of the moment wasn’t a shared sentiment. He flustered in that way he does, pulling away only to be held right where he was. Maybe it actually was reciprocated, or she’s about to yell at him for making everything weird.
Her other hand quickly flew to grasp another handful of his shirt. She treated him like a bully to a nerd in those cliche 80’s movies… Anyway, she wouldn’t be letting go soon, as far as he could tell.
“Uhmmm… Are you done?”
“No, obviously.”
“No? Okay, but you're wrinkling my shirt-”
And, if we’re talking cliche, this kiss fits right in.