Chapter Text
Simon was, truly and utterly, stumped.
It’d be best to explain from the beginning.
They’d been together — together — for some time now. Long enough for the twin trees to bear apples.
Simon knew Grace was hiding something. Planning something. The man was terrible at hiding his intentions, even worse at lying. Of what it was, exactly, Simon had yet to figure that bit out. What he knew, however, what he was certain of; Grace was preparing a gift.
And it was the most stressful thing ever to happen to him. Or perhaps Grace’s dramaticism was rubbing off on him.
The gifts of which Grace had — for lack of a better word — graced him with were immeasurable. There was no number high enough to define them.
Life, for one. Not only life, as in the general sense of going through the motions of survival. Grace had given him a life he wanted to be a part of, not merely a witness borne unto himself.
Simon had always known, at the back of his mind, that the way he was living — had lived — was anything but right. Only now, among Grace, among those who showed him the right way to live, had Simon realized just how deprived of happiness he was; he had grown accustomed to the lack.
Picture a grave, six feet, freshly dug. That had been the extent of Simon’s life. He was born with a grave. He would give his body to Eden’s soil. Nothing existed outside that grave, outside that cause.
Until Grace. A single star in the gaping emptiness of space. Simon could see the stars now. He just didn't know where to look before. Now, he knew: in the blue eye of deliverance.
Everything was nothing until Grace. Perhaps, thought of in this sense, his eagerness to gift the man something in return could be understood. Somewhat, at the very least. Now, the only question that remained was: what would he give?
It was not a lack of knowing the man, for he knew him quite well. Just about as well as he knew himself, he would say. He knew, in a game of rock, paper, scissors, Grace would always subconsciously choose rock. He knew Grace despised people who littered without care toward local flora and fauna. He knew he liked to explain things in extreme, near excruciating, detail. He knew he loved learning just as much as he loved teaching. He knew the way he breathed when he slept, and he knew the way his pulse increased beneath his touch.
There were lots of things Simon knew about Grace. He almost hoped, at times, that Grace hadn't known him as well. He didn’t think he was a very interesting person to be known. Quite the opposite, really.
Simon was, by all definitions, malcontented and unwarm. Hardly worth knowing, no less loving. He still didn't understand, after all this time, why Grace would willingly choose a man such as he. Because, truly, why would he choose a man who screamed in his sleep, who awoke with a start? A man who grew angry far too quickly, a man who isolated himself at the smallest of inconveniences? He’d found himself, thinking, at times, perhaps Grace had chosen him for the simple fact that there was no one else to choose.
But he was reminded, time after time. With each graceful touch, with each careful word, he was reminded of his love, not only his deliverance. “Love someone and their flaws, not despite them.” That was how Grace loved him.
Grace loved him. Simon knew this. It’d taken him a very long time to wrap his head around this fact. And he still faltered, at times. But Grace would always be there to remind him. That he loved him, and that, ultimately, he deserved it.
And despite the way he knew him, despite the books he could fill with all he knew of Grace and the ways he loved him, Simon couldn’t think of a single thing to gift in return.
So what, he wondered, paced the length of his home in search thereof, could he give to someone who had given him everything?
He needed help. That's what Adrian was there for.
“What Simon need, question?” The translator spoke monotonously, with as few words as possible. Though from what he had gathered from Grace and Adrian's own mate, it was not much unlike the way Adrian spoke in his own native language.
They’d met, unofficially, only just a month following Simon’s arrival. Adrian wove fine silks and fabrics — of what the materials actually were, Simon couldn't say for certain. Close enough to the textiles he was used to, he needn’t question it.
Adrian utilized such to create costumes. Or, at least, that’s what Simon presumed they were — for, among being a weaver, a creator, Adrian was also an entertainer, a dancer. And he had been more than willing to share his materials with their new Eridian human.
Grace had given him such fabric — just another thing he’d been endowed with — and explained, just as he always overexplained things, that it had been from Rocky’s mate, Adrian.
Only, it was months later that they finally spoke, face to face. Or, face to carapace, technically speaking.
He’d already sewn Grace several shirts by then and kept the worst of the bunch — mainly the first few attempts — for himself. Though he had yet to create anything strictly Eridian. It was high time Simon returned Adrian’s favor.
Rocky had delivered the piece to his mate, and returned the very next day with news that Adrian had used it in his previous night’s performance. Absolutely honored, Simon was. That someone had enjoyed his handiwork so very much, to go as far as to utilize it in such a way. Even if that someone was, indeed, a glorified sentient rock.
Adrian, as much as he could recall of her, reminded Simon of his mother. As far as a sentient space rock could remind one of their mother, that is.
It was the creativity, really. The innovation. Adrian was what his mother would have been if given material and time. He allowed himself to mourn, for but a moment, of what could have been.
Adrian, set aside his monotonous speech, was among the kindest people — Creature? Alien? — that Simon had ever known.
They’d been friends since their first official meeting. Or, at least, to some extent of the word. Simon, admittedly, didn’t have much to compare to what a genuine friendship may look like.
“It’s Grace.”
Strangely enough, they did not often talk of their partners. They had other things upon which the basis of their friendship had been built. Fine fabrics, sewing styles. And it was nice to have something for himself. He gathered that Adrian felt very much the same.
Adrian shifted, paused his weaving. He never did — those two foreclaws had always been in a constant, perpetual movement of creation. It was remarkable, really, how he never truly stopped. Simon could hardly multitask two things at once, while this creature could speak, weave, and walk all at the very same time. That was, until now, it seemed.
A secondary claw tapped against the floor, the preparation of an inquiry, “Yes. What of, question?”
“He’s… hiding something.” It sounded absurd, now that he’d said it aloud.
But as Adrian put down their tools, as he turned his attention upon him in full, the pit in Simon’s stomach reopened. “What Grace hide, question?” Another pair of stomps, more forceful than the last.
“I don’t know.” Simon, seated at the main table, glanced toward his own previous activity strewn upon the surface, now long forgotten. His laptop was still open to the novel he’d been reading just before Adrian’s arrival. Simon quite liked reading — counting the pages, how many he’d read, how many he had left. Even if it was only on the computer.
Just another thing Grace had given him. He’d begun to lose track at this point.
“It’s a gift. I think. I assume. Keeps asking me such… specific questions. About… climates. And scenery.”
“Oh,” Adrian exclaimed, and continued his weaving, “Adrian afraid much worse. Much relief.”
Adrian didn’t understand, clearly. Simon began to explain, “But he’s already given me so much.”
“Simon not want Grace gift, question?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Adrian much confuse, statement. Please explain, small word.”
“Small word” was something commonly expressed by both Adrian and Rocky. However, it had mainly been reserved for Grace and his untranslatable ramblings — Eridians had impeccable memory, but that did not help them to decipher new words.
“Uh,” Simon tapped a finger upon the table. Adrian mirrored the movement. “Grace has given me many things. Life, food, a home… love.”
He’d nearly omit the last word out of a deeply rooted instinctual fear. He quickly came to realize, however, that this fear was moot. Adrian knew of their relationship. And if he did not, Simon was certain he would not care. Eridians had no paragon of relationship standard; they did not even have the concept of gender to influence such. They simply loved. Simon admired that.
“And I feel… guilt. For what he has given me. He has given me more than anyone ever has.”
“Why Simon feel guilt, question?”
Simon swallowed that growing lump in the very back of his throat.
He wasn't sure why he’d been so anxious to talk about it. There was nothing inherently wrong — the action, nor what he spoke of. And, truly, there was no real chance that Grace would walk in on them. His school lessons had just begun some odd hours ago.
Even then, they still occasionally remained in their own separate homes. Even if most nights were spent together, tangled in a bed made for one. It was nice to have space to breathe their own, separate oxygen.
Though still, even on nights spent apart, Grace left his door slightly ajar. A silent invitation, for if Simon had experienced a particularly bad night.
Just another way Grace loved him. Just another gift he had yet to reciprocate.
It seemed, in Adrian's humble opinion, that Simon had taken too long to respond. “Simon not feel guilt, statement. Gift is show of love. Grace love Simon. Much, much, much.”
Something Simon could only equate to a subtle laugh rattled through Adrian’s vents as he spoke. Could Eridians laugh and speak at the same time? Simon wouldn't put it past them.
“Rocky say Simon all Grace speak of. Very ♩♫♫.”
The translator hadn’t caught the last word. Simon filled the gaps.
“Romantic?”
Adrian nodded his carapace, “Act of appreciation toward mate. Yes. Grace very ♩♫♫ to Simon.”
“But I feel…” Lord, how was he supposed to explain this feeling to an alien? “Like I have not given enough in return.”
Adrian tapped a claw, though not of inquisition. Simon presumed it was more something akin to impatience. “Human emotion illogical.” Was that a sigh that exuded from his vents? “If human love not unlike Eridian love, love is ♫♩♫.”
“Uhm. What does that mean? The last word.”
Adrian seemed to ponder for a moment, “♫♩♫ mean always. No matter condition.”
Unconditional. That was the word. It invoked a swell in his chest — something warm, something sweet.
“Rocky always ask, will Adrian love even if he ♪♩♪,” another unknown word. Adrian promptly explained, “small slithering creature. And Adrian say: ♫♩♫. What Adrian try to say to Simon is Grace love Simon always, ♫♩♫. Simon love for Grace enough. Worth more than any gift.”
Simon thought that loving him — someone loving him, the act of such — was not much unlike looking at a bright light. Painful, blinding. He’d thought this way when Grace first professed his love for him. And even months after, he’d continued to show Grace the door, on the off chance he changed his mind. Grace never did. And each night, Grace left his own door slightly ajar.
Unconditional love. To love someone and their flaws, not despite them.
That was how Grace loved him.
Simon felt better, now, at the very least. “Thank you, Adrian. Really.”
His carapace rattled with a lovely hum.
“Still,” Simon continued, “I want to give him something in return.”
“What Simon have in mind, question?”
“No idea.” Simon shrugged. Just as he had scarcely received gifts before he met Grace, never had he given one in return.
“Simon know Grace very well, question?”
Simon was pretty sure he had that much covered, “Yeah. Definitely.”
“Simon tell Adrian what Grace like, and Adrian help to think. Adrian best at gift giving, statement.”
Simon couldn’t help the tug of muscle at the corner of his lips. It was nice to have a friend.