165 days, 72 hours, 36 minutes and 12 seconds. Apollo had kept track of how long he had been on the planet. On your planet.

The days were empty, filled with the same endless routine he had picked up from you and following all the customs you taught him though he barely understood you most of the time. He survived this long thanks to you. How could you be so caring of an outsider?

The astronaut’s radio worked; he could call for help. Call back to Earth and send his coordinates but he didn’t want to. He knew he was probably presumed dead already. He’d rather be with you.

“More.” Apollo’s raspy voice called to you as he held out his bowl, using one of the words that you both knew to ask for another helping of food.