Chapter Text
The first thing Simon became aware of was warmth.
Not the stale, metallic heat of dying machinery. Not the wet suffocating closeness of the Iron Lung. Real warmth. Steady. Alive.
His lungs seized.
He jerked awake with a strangled gasp, body trying to bolt upright before pain ripped through him hard enough to make his vision white out. Something caught him immediately—arms around his shoulders, firm but careful.
“Whoa, hey—easy, easy—”
A voice. Human.
Simon froze.
For one impossible second he thought he’d died. Maybe this was Eden’s judgment at last. Maybe the angels really had come for him after the blood ocean swallowed him whole.
Then the smell hit him.
Disinfectant. Metal. Sweat. Burnt electronics.
Not heaven.
His breathing turned ragged. He tried to pull away anyway, panic clawing up his throat, but the arms around him only adjusted enough to keep him from falling off the narrow bunk.
“You’re okay,” the man said quickly. “You’re safe. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”
Safe.
The word felt foreign.
Simon’s eyes finally focused enough to make out the stranger leaning over him. A man about his age maybe older—messy hair sticking up in every direction, exhaustion carved deep into his face. He looked thin in the way people got after too long surviving instead of living.
But his eyes were gentle.
Simon stared at him like something feral.
The stranger blinked. “Uh. Hi.” He gave a nervous little smile that looked painfully out of practice. “I’m Ryland Grace.”
Simon’s mouth was dry enough to hurt. “Angel,” he whispered.
Grace frowned. “...I’m sorry?”
Simon couldn’t stop staring. Warm hands. Soft voice. Light behind him like a halo from the dim ship panels.
An angel.
Or maybe something crueler pretending to be one.
His pulse spiked violently at the thought.
Grace noticed immediately. Simon felt the shift in his posture—the careful distance, like he was handling a frightened animal.
“Hey, no, no, it’s okay,” Grace said softly. “You passed out in your… uh.” He grimaced slightly. “Submarine nightmare coffin thing. You were in pretty bad shape.”
Memory slammed back into Simon all at once.
The ocean.
The noise outside the hull.
The thing in the dark.
The pressure alarms screaming.
He made a broken sound before he could stop himself and suddenly he couldn’t breathe properly anymore.
Grace reacted instantly.
“Okay. Panic attack. I know this one.” His voice stayed calm even while Simon curled in on himself. “Can you look at me? Just—just focus on me for a second.”
Simon tried not to. Looking at people was dangerous. Looking too long meant they saw things.
But loneliness was stronger than fear. It always was.
So he looked.
Grace’s hands hovered uncertainly before resting lightly against Simon’s forearms, grounding without trapping him.
“There you go,” Grace murmured. “Good. You’re okay. You’re on my ship now.”
My ship.
Not alone then.
The realization hit Simon so hard his eyes burned.
He hadn’t been around another person in so long.
Not really.
The prison guards never counted. The voices over the comms never counted. Eden had taught him early that people disappeared eventually, one way or another.
But this man—
This Ryland Grace—
Was holding him like he mattered.
Simon’s throat tightened painfully.
“You saved me,” he said hoarsely.
Grace looked startled by the statement, almost uncomfortable.
“Well, yeah,” he said. “I mean. Obviously.”
Obviously.
Like there had never been another option.
Something inside Simon cracked quietly down the middle.
Ryland had forgotten what another person sounded like.
Not talking—Rocky talked constantly, thank God—but human sounds. Human breathing. Human footsteps. The rustle of blankets. Tiny unconscious noises that reminded him he wasn’t the last lonely idiot in the universe.
Now Simon sat at the tiny table in the Hail Mary’s lab wrapped in three blankets like he expected someone to steal them.
Ryland tried very hard not to stare.
The guy looked wrecked.
Not physically—though there was definitely that too—but deeply, fundamentally exhausted in a way Ryland recognized with uncomfortable familiarity. Simon flinched at sudden noises. Watched every doorway like he expected something horrible to come through it. Barely spoke above a whisper.
And he followed Ryland everywhere.
Not in an annoying way.
Actually, it was kind of heartbreaking.
Ryland would turn around and nearly walk into him because Simon had trailed after him into the greenhouse or engineering bay or storage room with this hesitant expression like he was waiting to be told to leave.
The first time Ryland accidentally shut a door between them, Simon had gone pale with outright terror.
Ryland opened it again immediately. “Oh! Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t—I just—”
Simon visibly sagged with relief.
That was when Ryland realized.
Oh.
Oh, this guy is terrified of being abandoned.
After that, he started narrating where he was going.
“Hey, I’m heading to the lab.”
“I’m gonna go check on Rocky for a minute.”
“Bathroom break. Glamorous astronaut life.”
Every single time, Simon relaxed.
It should’ve felt strange having someone cling to him this much after years alone.
Instead, Ryland found himself lingering nearby too.
Finding excuses to stay in the same room.
Sleeping lighter because another person was aboard.
Sometimes he’d catch Simon staring at him with this awful desperate softness that made Ryland’s chest ache.
Like he couldn’t believe Ryland was real.
Like he was waiting for him to disappear.
And honestly?
Ryland understood that feeling better than he wanted to.
Simon woke from another nightmare with his heart hammering hard enough to hurt.
Dark.
For one horrible second he thought he was back inside the Iron Lung.
Then he heard quiet snoring from across the room.
Not alone.
The panic ebbed instantly.
Simon sat there shaking under the blankets, staring toward the sound.
Grace had fallen asleep at the desk again.
One arm hanging limp off the chair. Head pillowed against crossed arms. Glasses crooked.
Human.
Safe.
Simon swallowed hard.
Eden had taught him that attachment was worship and worship was dangerous. You gave devotion to something higher and hoped it spared you.
But this didn’t feel holy.
It felt painfully human.
Grace stirred slightly, blinking awake. The second he noticed Simon sitting upright, his expression sharpened with concern.
“Nightmare?”
Simon nodded once.
Grace yawned, then stood without hesitation and crossed the room.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Simon shook his head.
“Okay.” Grace crouched beside the bunk instead. “Do you want company?”
The answer came out before Simon could stop it.
“Yes.”
Small. Barely audible.
But Grace smiled anyway. Soft and warm and devastating.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”
Grace discovered very quickly that Simon did not know how to exist casually around another human being.
Everything was too careful.
He apologized every time he touched something. Hesitated before speaking like he expected interruption or punishment. Even eating seemed tense, shoulders locked tight while he watched Grace for signs he was doing something wrong.
It made Ryland want to fight somebody.
Which was new, honestly.
The weirdest part was the staring.
Simon looked at him constantly when he thought Ryland wouldn’t notice. Quiet, searching glances like he was checking to make sure Grace was still there.
Ryland pretended not to notice at first.
Then one day he walked into the greenhouse and nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Jesus Christ—”
Simon stood abruptly from where he’d been sitting on the floor between the planters. “Sorry.”
“No, no, you don’t have to apologize for existing,” Ryland said automatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “You just scared me.”
Simon immediately started retreating toward the door.
Ryland caught himself before letting him go.
“Wait.”
Simon stopped instantly.
God, that shouldn’t affect Ryland as much as it did.
“You can stay,” Ryland said gently. “I just meant you move like a horror movie ghost.”
Simon blinked.
Then—to Ryland’s complete shock—a tiny breath of laughter escaped him.
It wasn’t much. Barely a sound. But it transformed his entire face for a second, softening something guarded and haunted.
Ryland stared.
Simon noticed immediately and ducked his head hard enough to hide behind his hair again.
“Well,” Ryland said weakly, because apparently his brain had stopped functioning, “there it is. Proof you’re capable of smiling.”
Simon’s ears turned pink.
Cute.
The thought hit Ryland so abruptly he nearly choked on absolutely nothing.
Oh no.
No no no.
This was already complicated enough without him developing a crush on the traumatized space convict currently living in his ship.
He turned away quickly before his face could betray him.
“Anyway,” he said too loudly, “plants are doing great.”
Behind him, Simon quietly sat back down.
But Ryland noticed he stayed closer than before.
Simon had not meant to fall asleep there.
The greenhouse was warm. Humid. Alive.
Nothing on the Iron Lung had been alive.
Nothing in prison had smelled like growing things.
He must’ve drifted off sitting against one of the storage cabinets because the next thing he knew, something warm settled carefully over his shoulders.
Simon jolted awake violently.
Grace froze halfway crouched beside him, expression alarmed.
“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you—”
A blanket.
He’d only been trying to cover him with a blanket.
Simon stared at it, disoriented.
“Oh,” Grace said quietly after a second. Understanding crossed his face immediately. “Right. Sorry. Should’ve warned you first.”
Simon tightened his grip on the fabric before Grace could take it back.
“No,” he said quickly.
Grace paused.
“I like it.”
For some reason, that made Grace look strangely emotional.
“Well,” he said softly, sitting down beside him on the floor, “good. Because this ship is freezing and hypothermia would be a really embarrassing way to survive the apocalypse.”
Simon looked down at the blanket pooled around him.
Nobody had tucked him in since he was a child.
The realization made his chest ache so sharply he had to look away.
Grace either noticed or decided not to comment on the sudden silence. Instead he leaned his head back against the cabinet with a tired sigh.
For a while they just sat there listening to the hum of the ship.
Not speaking.
Not alone.
Simon found himself inching closer without really meaning to.
Grace noticed.
He always noticed.
But instead of pulling away, he shifted slightly until their shoulders touched.
Casual.
Easy.
Like Simon was not something fragile or dangerous.
The contact hit Simon like a physical blow.
His entire life had been spent bracing for rejection. People feared him, avoided him, whispered about him like he was already dead.
The Butcher.
Monster.
Murderer.
But Ryland Grace looked at him like none of those names mattered.
Like Simon was just… Simon.
It terrified him more than the blood ocean ever had.
Because if Grace decided to leave too—
Simon didn’t know what would remain of him afterward.
“You okay?” Grace asked quietly.
Simon realized he’d gone rigid.
“Yes,” he lied automatically.
Grace hummed softly.
“Y’know,” he said after a moment, “you don’t have to do that with me.”
Simon frowned slightly. “Do what?”
“Pretend you’re okay when you’re not.”
The words lodged painfully somewhere behind Simon’s ribs.
People did not usually say things like that unless they wanted something.
Grace just sounded concerned.
Simon stared at their shoulders pressed together.
“You’ll get tired of me eventually,” he said before he could stop himself.
The silence afterward was awful.
Simon immediately regretted speaking.
Then Grace turned toward him fully, expression openly startled.
“Simon,” he said carefully, “I spent years alone talking to a spider alien because I missed companionship so badly I almost lost my mind.”
Despite himself, Simon blinked. “Spider… alien.”
“Long story. Great engineer. Kind of judgy.”
Simon made a confused noise.
Grace smiled faintly before his expression softened again.
“My point is,” he said quietly, “I’m not tired of you.”
Something fragile inside Simon twisted painfully at the sincerity in his voice.
Grace continued before Simon could respond.
“And for the record? Following me around doesn’t bother me.”
Simon felt heat crawl up his neck instantly.
“I do not—”
“You absolutely do.”
Simon looked horrified.
Grace laughed softly—not mean, never mean.
“It’s okay,” he promised. “Honestly…” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I kind of like having someone around again.”
Simon stared at him.
The loneliness in Grace’s voice was familiar enough to hurt.
Before he could think better of it, Simon whispered, “I can stay.”
Grace looked at him strangely for a second.
Then his face softened into something unbearably fond.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’d like that.”
It happened slowly after that.
Not because either of them meant for it to.
Mostly because neither Ryland nor Simon seemed capable of staying away from the other for longer than ten minutes.
Ryland would wake up from a nap to find Simon sitting on the floor beside the bunk reading old maintenance manuals he clearly did not care about, just quietly existing nearby. Simon would look up immediately the second Ryland moved, shoulders relaxing in visible relief.
“You know,” Ryland mumbled one morning, voice rough with sleep, “normal people usually use chairs.”
Simon blinked at him from the floor. “You were sleeping.”
“…And?”
“I did not want you to wake up alone.”
The words hit Ryland directly in the chest.
Simon said things like that sometimes. Small honest statements dropped so casually that Ryland suspected he didn’t realize how devastating they were.
Ryland stared at him for a long moment.
Then, because apparently self-preservation had fully abandoned ship months ago, he reached down and tugged lightly on Simon’s sleeve.
“C’mere.”
Simon froze.
Ryland immediately panicked internally.
Oh God. Too much. Too fast. Abort mission.
But before he could backtrack, Simon slowly climbed onto the bunk beside him with all the hesitant caution of a stray animal approaching offered food.
Ryland lifted the blanket.
Simon looked at him like he’d been handed the universe.
Oh.
Oh no.
Ryland was absolutely doomed.
They settled awkwardly beside each other, shoulders touching beneath the blankets. Simon stayed tense at first, clearly trying to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible.
Ryland nudged him lightly with his elbow.
“You are aware you don’t weigh six hundred pounds, right?”
Simon glanced at him uncertainly.
“You can relax.”
After a long moment, Simon did.
The difference was immediate. The rigid line of his spine softened. His breathing slowed. Inch by inch he melted into the warmth beside him like someone so touch-starved he didn’t know what to do with gentleness anymore.
Ryland understood that feeling far too well.
The ship hummed quietly around them.
Simon’s head eventually tipped against Ryland’s shoulder.
Completely unconsciously.
The second he realized what he’d done, he jerked back in horror.
“Sorry—”
Ryland grabbed his wrist before he could retreat fully.
“Hey.” His voice came out softer than intended. “You don’t have to apologize for touching me.”
Simon went very still.
Ryland became abruptly aware they were extremely close.
Close enough to see the pale scars crossing Simon’s face. Close enough to notice the exhaustion bruised beneath his eyes. Close enough to feel the faint tremor still living in his hands even at rest.
Simon looked at him with open, aching vulnerability.
Like he was waiting for Ryland to change his mind.
“You really don’t mind?” Simon asked quietly.
The question nearly broke him.
Ryland thought about all the years alone on the Hail Mary. Talking to himself because silence hurt too much. Missing human contact so badly that even accidental brushes of Rocky’s claws against his suit had started feeling precious.
Then he looked at Simon.
“No,” Ryland said honestly. “I really don’t.”
Simon swallowed hard.
And then, slowly—carefully—he leaned back against him again.
This time Ryland wrapped an arm around his shoulders before he could overthink it.
Simon made the softest sound Ryland had ever heard.
Not quite a sigh.
Not quite relief.
Something deeper.
Something desperate.
Ryland felt it like a physical ache.
God.
Whoever had taught Simon he needed permission to be loved deserved jail time.
After that, physical affection became frighteningly easy.
Little things at first.
Simon hovering close enough for their sleeves to brush.
Ryland absentmindedly fixing strands of hair out of Simon’s face while explaining something in the lab.
Falling asleep shoulder-to-shoulder during long calculations.
Neither acknowledging how intimate any of it felt.
Until one evening Simon had another nightmare.
Ryland woke to ragged breathing and immediately sat upright.
“Simon?”
The bunk across from him was empty.
Panic flashed hot through his chest before he spotted Simon curled on the floor beside the door, knees drawn tightly against his chest like he was trying to disappear.
“Hey,” Ryland said softly.
Simon flinched anyway.
Ryland climbed down carefully, giving him enough space not to feel cornered.
“Bad one?”
Simon nodded without looking up.
His hands were shaking violently.
Ryland hesitated only a second before sitting beside him.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Silence stretched.
Simon’s breathing remained uneven.
Ryland could practically feel the terror radiating off him.
So, very slowly, he held out his hand.
Not touching.
Just offering.
Simon stared at it.
Ryland suddenly felt absurdly nervous.
Then Simon reached for him like he was starving.
Ryland barely had time to brace himself before Simon folded against him completely, clutching fistfuls of his shirt with desperate force.
The sheer intensity of it stole Ryland’s breath.
Simon buried his face against his neck, shaking hard enough that Ryland could feel it through both their clothes.
“It’s okay,” Ryland whispered automatically, wrapping both arms around him. “I’ve got you.”
Simon made a broken sound.
Ryland held him tighter instinctively.
And that—
That was apparently the final deathblow for whatever remained of Ryland Grace’s emotional defenses.
Because the moment Simon melted against him with exhausted trust, Ryland realized with horrible clarity that he was in love with him.
Completely.
Hopelessly.
The thought should’ve terrified him.
Instead it felt painfully natural.
Simon shifted slightly, still holding onto him like letting go might kill him.
“Angel,” he whispered sleepily against Ryland’s throat.
Ryland huffed out a weak laugh. “Buddy, I promise you I am the farthest thing from an angel.”
Simon pulled back just enough to look at him.
In the dim light his expression was soft with exhausted sincerity.
“You came back for me,” he murmured. “Angels do that.”
Ryland’s heart did something genuinely medically concerning.
“Oh,” he said faintly.
Simon blinked slowly, clearly half-asleep now, and pressed closer again without embarrassment.
Trusting.
Warm.
Alive.
Ryland rested his cheek lightly against Simon’s hair and stared at the ceiling for a long time afterward, hopelessly awake.
Because there was absolutely no coming back from this.
Ryland lasted exactly six days before he completely lost the battle against touching Simon.
Not in a dramatic way.
It started with hair.
Simon had apparently never learned that he could simply push it out of his face instead of suffering. So he’d sit there squinting at screens with dark strands falling into his eyes while Ryland watched from across the lab trying very hard to maintain normal human thoughts.
He failed.
“Hold still.”
Simon immediately froze.
Ryland gently tucked the hair behind his ear.
That was it.
Two seconds. Maybe three.
But Simon looked up at him with such startled softness that Ryland’s brain short-circuited on the spot.
“Oh,” Simon whispered.
Ryland became abruptly aware of literally everything.
The warmth of Simon’s skin beneath his fingertips.
How close they were standing.
How Simon’s eyes kept flicking helplessly to Ryland’s mouth before darting away again.
Oh.
Oh they were both having a problem here.
Ryland cleared his throat and stepped back too quickly.
“Anyway! Science.”
Simon stared at him in complete confusion while Ryland speed-walked directly into a storage cabinet.
Simon did not understand what was happening to him.
He only knew that every time Grace touched him, something inside his chest hurt in a way that was not entirely unpleasant.
It was unbearable.
Grace touched him casually, carelessly, like affection was something simple.
A hand at Simon’s back guiding him through narrow hallways.
Warm fingers brushing his wrist to get his attention.
Sleepy absentminded petting when Simon laid against him during movie nights.
Movie nights.
Simon had never had those before.
The first time Grace dragged blankets into the main cabin and announced they were “watching terrible Earth cinema for morale,” Simon thought it was some kind of joke.
Instead Grace spent two hours loudly explaining plot holes while Simon slowly curled closer and closer into his side beneath the blankets.
Now it happened almost every night.
Tonight, Grace was sprawled across the bunk rambling passionately about why sharks should not be able to survive tornadoes while Simon pretended to watch the movie.
In reality, he was watching Grace.
The animated movement of his hands.
The sleepy crease beside his mouth when he smiled.
The warmth of his body pressed along Simon’s side.
Grace suddenly looked over mid-rant.
Simon got caught immediately.
Their eyes locked.
Grace’s voice stopped.
The silence stretched.
Simon should look away.
Instead he found himself staring harder.
Grace’s expression shifted slowly into something softer. Warmer.
“Oh,” Grace said quietly.
Simon’s pulse stumbled.
“What?”
Grace stared at him for another long second before smiling faintly.
“You look at me like I hung the stars.”
Simon’s throat tightened painfully.
Because the terrible thing was—
Simon did.
Grace had crossed an ocean of death to pull a condemned stranger from the dark. He spoke gently. Listened carefully. Held Simon through nightmares without complaint.
No one had ever treated Simon like something worth saving before.
“You are kind,” Simon said softly, like that explained everything.
Grace’s entire face went helpless.
“Simon,” he said weakly.
The movie continued playing unnoticed in the background.
Neither of them moved.
Simon could hear his own heartbeat.
Grace glanced down once—quickly—at Simon’s mouth.
Then immediately looked horrified with himself.
That expression did something dangerous to Simon’s self-control.
“You want to kiss me,” Simon realized aloud.
Grace made a sound somewhere between a cough and a dying engine.
“Oh my God.”
Simon stared.
“You do.”
“I— okay, listen—”
“You want to.”
“Yes,” Grace blurted finally, covering his face with both hands. “Jesus Christ, yes, obviously I want to kiss you.”
Simon stopped breathing.
Grace peeked through his fingers, looking genuinely miserable.
“But,” he continued rapidly, “you’ve been through approximately seventeen thousand traumatic experiences and I don’t want you feeling pressured because you’re isolated and emotionally dependent on me and—”
Simon kissed him.
Very badly, admittedly.
Mostly because he had no idea what he was doing.
But Grace went completely silent beneath him.
For one horrifying second Simon thought he’d made a mistake.
Then Grace grabbed his face with both hands like he was something precious and kissed him back.
Simon made a startled noise against his mouth.
Warm.
Soft.
Careful.
Grace kissed like he approached everything else in life—gentle curiosity mixed with overwhelming emotion.
Simon felt dizzy.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard.
Grace stared at him like his brain had left the solar system.
Simon touched his own mouth slowly.
“Oh,” he whispered.
Grace laughed suddenly. Soft and disbelieving and fond enough to make Simon’s chest ache.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Oh.”
Simon looked at him for a long moment.
Then, quietly:
“Again?”
Grace visibly melted.
“C’mere”
Simon went immediately.
Of course he did.