Chapter Text
He doesn't know where he's at. The hallways are not lit enough for him to see everything, and with how tall the walls were, shadowed by the darkness, he couldn't ignore the deep-rooted fear in his chest. Groans and slowly hisses from pipes and from beyond the walls felt like monsters waiting to eat him.
“Hello? Is anybody there?” He calls out, trembling and shaking as he feels frozen in his feet. He can't move. He can't go anywhere. “I really don't like the dark.” He whispers, eyes darting back and forth the hallways, pressing his back against the wall. The metal is too cold and too sharp against his back. He wonders what kind of place he found himself in.
“What're you doing out here?” He hears another voice whisper. He jumps out of his skin and his scream is all whistles as he turns to his left. Standing there, looking around is another kid. Hair falling into his eyes as he stares right at him. “You know you can't be outside after curfew. If the Father found out-” he interrupts himself, reaching for his hand. “Come on. We're going to bed.”
He can't find it in him to tell the other kid no, mostly because he was so alone before. There'd been no one else in these dark, strange hallways. As if they were hiding, in the shadows. Just waiting for him to turn his back on them.
“I don't like it here.” He whimpers, tears clouding his vision.
He wipes his eyes and the kid turns back to look at him, shaking his head, mumbling, “I know it sucks but what other choice do we have? Everything's gone.”
Once they make it to a door, the other kid pushes the door open, just a smidge, and he slips through. He's guided through, ducking this way and that and finally to a little corner with a little cot. They both sit on it, listening to every snore and rumble in the room.
“I wish we could turn the light on.” He mumbles to himself, pulling his knees to his chest as the kid next to him huffs.
“Would ya quit your crying already? I don't know why you keep running off when you're scared of the dark.” The kid says, as quietly as they could when there's a snuffle. A pause in the snoring.
In the next second, the snoring continues without a care to any listening ears.
“Listen, if you get scared again, just wake me up. We'll both get in trouble if we're out after curfew.”
“...okay.” He whispers and they both scoot towards the middle of the bed, reaching out and holding the other's hand. There's something missing, something huge. He knows it, it's a puzzle piece.
He squeezes his hand. “Simon?” He whispers into the dark, fear still lingering.
The kid turns his head to look at him, face scrunched up, “What?”
The piece slides into place.
“Are we gonna be okay?” He asks, and Simon- this is Simon, he knows now- doesn't answer. The silence answers in his stead, er, the lack of an answer does, it's not really all that silent with all the snoring and whistles and whatnot. “We'll be okay.” He mumbles to himself, leaning harder into Simon's side, more for his benefit than anything.
“We'll be okay.”
…
..
…
“Simon, what are we doing here?” Grace’s question goes unanswered, watching like a helpless fly on the wall as Simon leaned against the wall, taking in the scene. The room they were in reminded Grace of the chapels in hospitals except this room had been filled to the brim. As much as there was space, there were people crammed into it. He’d been pressed against Simon’s side, and yet, despite multiple attempts to reach him, he doesn’t respond. Just the clenching of his jaw to tell that he was hearing, just not listening. His attention is locked on the man in the front, his hands spread out palm facing the ceiling.
“My sons, I know you’re eager. I know that these ghosts you see tell you that things will be alright. I see them too. It is the Tree’s blessing, a gift to us for us to cherish those long gone after the Rapture.” He doesn’t understand. He knows in some capacity that with this being a chapel, that there would be some worship, and he’d never been the religious type himself. This man on the other hand, in all his talking and… preaching, he would be the last to consider this man holy.
“But just as the Tree gives us this gift, we have to show that we can keep it. That we have earned the right to see past the veil. If we do not rise to the occasion every time, with every new problem we face every single day, then the Tree, just as it has given us this gift, will take it away.” Simon’s eyes, that have been locked on the man the entire time, shifts towards Grace. His heart pounds heavy in his chest, thuds against the booming voice of this man. Grace glances between the two, between this stranger and Simon, and he can feel the ice-cold horror wash over him as he sees Simon resign himself. Without ever moving, he has handed the leash around his collar into hands that will only beat him down.
“Simon, you don’t believe this man, do you? I’m- I’m not a ghost, I’m here with you. I’m alive.” He whispers, tugging at his shirt, ignoring the preaching and instead, trying to reach Simon again. He’d been distant, he couldn’t put his finger on it, but he wasn’t talking to him as much. Not like when they’d been younger. “Don’t listen to him.”
“And I know,” the man up front speaks louder, his voice booms like a clap of thunder, “I know your ghosts will have opinions, and as much as it is a gift to see our loved ones, remember that’s all they are. They are ghosts and have the fortune to not worry about food, to not worry about safety.” Grace’s breath is caught in his throat. “They are a comfort but they are not alive. It is up to us, up to you, to make the right decision. It is up to you to heed my words and live by them. To live by the Tree.” Everyone, including Simon, murmurs a saying back. Mumbled too fast and too quietly for him to figure it out.
“Simon, he’s lying to you.” He whispers, his voice meek, desperate to be heard despite it. Simon refuses to look at him.
“You have your duties, you know what to do.” The man speaks, and the room breaks. People empty out and it is becoming increasingly clear that Simon, whatever his responsibilities were, were with the man. Simon pushes off the wall and approaches the man, even as Grace objects.
Simon joins a half-circle of others, standing with his head cocked to the side. Grace stands right behind him, looking and waiting as the man regards each of them with a sliding, passing glance. “Right, let’s get to work.” His words rumble like a landslide, devastating as they follow the man out of the room. Simon doesn’t even look back at him. He’s left alone in the chapel.
…
..
…
Grace takes in a deep breath, eyes blinking wide awake, as he struggles to breathe. His chest rattles with every greedy gulp of air he takes, coughing into his fist as some of it catches in his throat.
When it calms down, when he can finally breathe after what feels like an eternity of trying to breathe and trying not to die breathing, he settles. Somewhat. He stares up at the ceiling, aware somewhat of the open window. They’ve been leaving it open for the little cool air that slips in and the cacophony of waves lapping at the rocky shore. It helps.
The more pressing issue is the body next to him. It’s Simon, he knows it is. He also knows Simon is stiff and sitting awake but he’s trying to convince himself if he doesn’t move Simon won’t know he’s awake, despite his fit moments ago and his currently open eyes.
“Are you good?” Simon speaks up, his voice rough with sleep. It scratches an itch Grace didn’t know he had but at this current moment, he’s got other things he has to wrestle with. Like processing dreams that didn’t actually seem like dreams that involved Simon himself. He was not good but then he’d have to talk about it and why would he do that ever?
He gives a jerky nod, finding it in him to flash a thumbs up and a shaky smile. They both drop after a second, his mouth twitching and his hand flat on his stomach.
They don’t say anything. Simon eventually lays back down and they’re both staring up at the ceiling, wide awake.
Grace is well aware of his hand, and is well aware of how Simon’s hair is pulled off to the side. He is all too aware of the both of them breathing, of the waves crashing and how his hand itches to hold something he can’t have.
His fingers twitch.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He does remember the bed dipping with the weight of a person leaning towards him and gentle fingertips brushing hair out of his face. His skin burns with happiness.
…
..
…
Ever since their talk on the beach, the way he sees Ryland has changed. He’s no longer just a ghost clinging to him, even if he sees double sometimes. He’s real. This Ryland that he knows, the one who has nightmares and cries and trips over nothing and snores and whistles, he’s real.
He breathes out as he stares out the window, his hair falling down the sides of his face. He side-eyes the pieces, distracted from his inner monologue. They’ve gotten longer than he’d ever known it could. Before this place and before the SM-13, he’d been in a cell and the rations there had been far and in between. His hair fell out in some places, and grew thin in other spots.
Here, he could already feel the difference. With the consistent food he was getting, not to mention the showers he’s taken, no matter how difficult it feels to get through sometimes, it feels much better. Even if there’s a wash of shame and guilt that comes over him after eating and showering, he feels physically better than ever. All of this, of course, is possible through Ryland.
Sure, the Eridians found him but without Ryland, they wouldn’t know how to help. And then of course, what Rocky has told him, when it was clear Ryland wouldn’t after their trip to the beach and the rock formations.
Rocky told him about the mission. How their stars were dimming and they had to go find out why and fix it, how alone they both were until they found each other. How the predator ate his fuel and left him stranded. How Ryland gave up going home, and later, admitted that he knew he wouldn’t have enough food for the trip back to Erid. And it all pieced together even more.
He gave it all up. He gave everything. He wasn’t supposed to survive the trip to Erid and he went back for Rocky anyways. A man who called himself stupid and a coward, he’s heard all about Ryland’s tendencies to spiral and seen it first hand, gave his chance of going home to go save his friend instead.
“Can never give enough to Grace, will never be enough.” Rocky had told him and he had agreed. He doesn’t know what he could do to help around here, he doesn’t know if there is anything for him to do other than take resources, and he’s sure that even if he did, no matter what it was, it would never be enough to what Ryland has given him already.
It’ll always go back to him.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Ryland asks, popping his bubble of thoughts. Simon turns to look at him from over his shoulder where Ryland stood with two cups of something steaming. It smelt sweet.
“Fucks’ a penny?” He grumbles, taking one of the offered cups.
“A little coin, practically worth nothing. Just another saying.” Ryland says and then he trips and stumbles into a ramble and Simon’s chest unfurls, breathing feeling easier whenever Ryland talks and talks. He answers every question he has, even the ones he doesn’t ask, and he fills the silence. Never giving his brain a chance to think and he likes it that way.
Then after the second or third swipe at his forehead, Ryland huffs and sets the cup down. “My hair is getting way too long,” he complains, pulling down some hair through his fingers till it's pulled taut and touches the tip of his nose. “I think I’m gonna trim it, what do you think? Think I should go bald?” Ryland says, peeking through his hair and gives him this cheeky smile.
The answer is easy to say, “I like your hair.” Because he does. He always has. It’s always been… nice to look at. How golden it got in the light, how soft it always seemed to be. And he touched his hair twice, when they hugged and when Ryland had fallen asleep in his lap. Softer than anything he’s known.
Ryland’s face flushed pink and he pulled the hair more over his eyes, as if he was hiding from the compliment, “that’s nice of you to say but what do you think? Trim, yay or nay?”
Simon hums, glancing from his squinting eyes to the hair in question. It was getting longer, some places a little uneven here and there. He said as much, “could trim it, yeah. Fix it here and there.” Without thinking much about it, he lifted his hand and tugged at one of the strands that were especially long. “Right around here, it's longer than everywhere else.”
He drops his hand and averts his eyes when he looks into Ryland’s glittering pair. Why are they so goddamn blue?
“But that’s just my opinion. Do whatever.”
Apparently whatever included having him close by the restroom, where he stationed himself with scissors, to help him get the longer bits. When it was clear he didn’t want to cut his hair and fuck it up, Ryland had set up the computer he had and looked up a video to help and they both found out how to at least not make him look terrible. Bunch of fucking angles.
In the end, Ryland swept up the hair and saved some of it for the Eridians, Ryland didn’t explain that one much and he’s okay with not knowing. Then as they were about to leave the restroom for the moment, he turns to look at him.
“Did you- did you want to cut your hair?” And of course before Simon could answer that question, “I mean, not that you should cut your hair, I think your hair looks really pretty but I didn’t want to leave without giving you that option but if you don’t want to then of course we don’t have to.” Ryland’s rambling seemed off, this time around. He didn’t look him in the eye, which he didn’t care that much about, but he kept looking at his hair, specifically at a spot towards his neck.
His hand reaches up and drags his fingers through the end, somehow ending Ryland’s word vomit.
He had a couple of questions. Plenty of them about everything. After he got used to the concept of a different universe or reality, in which he actually hasn’t sat down and thought about it more than a fucking second but that’s something else, he was curious about everything in this universe and the Earth Ryland got to know. The computer Ryland had given him to look through all the media and the files and something called the internet, gave him lots of answers.
However, he wanted to know exactly what caused his hair to change colors? He has a gut feeling but he doesn’t exactly want to dive into that one. He assumes Ryland has an idea and he’s itching to either touch it or figure it out or both. He’s a scientist, through and through and the things he’s seen, written down and all the thinking he does, for his classes and extra projects he helps Rocky and other Eridians with, only confirms it.
And despite the curiosity eating at his skin, and feeling like he has the answer right at his fucking fingertips, he doesn’t ask.
“Could cut the dead ends off, make it even I guess.” He says, pulling his hair to his eyes and seeing the shine of color in a strand.
“Well, step into my salon, you’re not allowed to sue me by the way.” Ryland grins wide and sweeps his arms to the side, moving back to let Simon back into the restroom. Simon glances in the mirror and at Ryland, who taps his fingers and his thumbs together before he stands straight and darts out of the bathroom with a clumsy drive. He comes back with a chair before Simon could wonder what he left to grab. “Have a seat, if you want.” Simon could see the split-second where Ryland doubted himself and was about to start retracting his offer so he sat down before Ryland could continue running his mouth.
“Just the dead ends. Not too much.” He says, now unable to see in the mirror where he sits. Sort of for the better. Until there’s a bit of shimmer and the Ryland Grace he knew for the longest time appears, sitting with his legs crossed in front of him.
“Yes boss, anything you say mister boss.” Ryland says, and he starts by putting some hair up with a clip. The first few minutes are silent as he works on cutting and the Ryland Grace in front of him starts blowing raspberries, tugging at the newly-cut hair. Then he turns his attention to Simon.
“This is good, we’re spending time together. You’re doing great, Simon.” The Ryland Grace in front of him gives him two thumbs up and a grin. The skin around his nose and mouth twitches as he holds in the urge to tell him to fuck off. He thinks he knows that too. “Have you thought about asking him yet?” Ryland Grace asks him and he glances to the side, hoping that he’d go away. “He might not be brave enough to take the leap, without a bit of guidance. Without a little nudge.”
If he can give up Earth, his home, to save his best friend from dying a slow painful death, surely he can pull it together and tell him the truth.
He knows that Ryland had been lying that day on the beach.
Rocky told him as such, told him that he’d only just explained the concept of soulmates to him and that he confirmed that he didn’t have one die on him. But then he grew quiet and told him to talk to Grace himself so it just felt like-
Fucking pointless.
If he knew, if Ryland knew, if fucking Rocky knew, and he didn’t even know about this shit until Simon showed up like a goddamn stray, what’s the fucking point of talking to him? If they both knew they were soulmates, and Ryland had known from the start, why bother lying? Why let him think that he didn’t have one or that his soulmate died when he just fucking showed up?
But then again.
He knew exactly.
He knew exactly why Ryland didn’t want him. He knew all too well.
So here they are. At the world’s worst standstill and they just kept moving past it. Like it doesn’t even fucking matter.
Then again, Simon doesn’t and he still gets more than what he ever deserved.
Lots of wrestling with this knowledge.
The Ryland Grace in front of him stops smiling and gives him this look, like he knows what’s going on in his head. Which is probably possible. He doesn’t really know.
Ryland works quickly, his head feeling lighter and lighter with every snip. Bit by bit.
When he comes around to face him, he holds the strands down. “Did you want bangs?” He asks with a lop-sided grin.
It feels like he’s choking on nothing when Ryland smiles at him, but he just gives him a frown. “Fuck no. Just the ends.” Ryland nods and then brushes his shoulders free of hair. Snips a little more here and there.
In the end, when he stands, he can see the different colors of his hair more clearly. Before, his hair had grazed his shoulders, uneven and splitting. Now it barely touched his shoulders and yeah, Ryland should stick to science, he’s not the greatest. But he doesn’t hate it.
He nods.
“Good job.” He says, patting Ryland’s shoulders as he passes him to get the little broom. He doesn’t bother watching his reaction, and doesn't want to see his expression when he touches him. It always felt as if he was tainting him. Tainting his grace.
When Ryland pulls himself together, he mentions a project he and Rocky were going to work on, rinses in the shower and dresses himself. Barely waves at Simon as he whines about being late to being early. Didn’t make any sense to him but what does he know? He turns to the window again, watches him run down the steps and meet Rocky at the bottom. He drags his fingers through his hair. A strand catches on his nail when he pulls his fingers free. He knows what it is.
He knows it shines a bright blue.