Chapter Text
Simon is awoken by some noise in his house.
Ughh fuck what is it…
There's clinking of glass and faint whispers.
He jolts up, already stretching hand to where he keeps his baseball bat, underneath… couch? He’s not in his bed.
It doesn't take much time to remember why. Grace is taking his bed. Or, most likely, was. Still too bizarre of a thought.
He makes himself relax and decides that he may as well check what’s the cause of the ruckus (it was loud enough to wake him, hopefully nothing serious).
Looking at the clock he cringes. Why the hell would he be up so early??
He walks to the bedroom to find nothing, so he checks kitchen… There he is.
Grace is standing with his back leaned on the table, a mug in hand (one with abstract yellow, green and brown splotches), staring at something in the counters area like it was his nemesis, while mixing something (must be one of his teas, Simon doesn't drink coffee) with a spoon.
He is more disheveled than usual — hair sticking up on one side (he keeps trying to smush it, but it goes back anyway), hazy eyes, clothes rumpled. His clothes. It’s a bit big but short on him. Looking good still. One more reason why the invitation was a good idea.
He is still standing in the doorframe, unnoticed so far, but he doesn't want to be caught staring. He deliberately makes shuffling noises and knocks on the door, “announcing” himself.
Grace, predictably, turns sharply, sloshing liquid in the cup dangerously. “Jeez!.. Sorry, sorry… I didn't hear you walk in here.” He stares at nothing for a few seconds before adding, as if only remembering it now, “Good morning.” He smiles softly. That is nice to see.
“Hi to you too. Slept well?” He stretches, trying to shake off the sleep. It has a consequence of Grace staring at him abashed, blush creeping in. Yeah, should wear a t-shirt instead of his usual tank top next time. Will hide the scars. Sure, if “next time” happens.
He recovers fast enough, “Erm, yes, thanks again for… thanks.” Good, he didn't apologise this time. Nice to see he can influence him in a positive way.
Now to some actual questions. “So what the f– rick are you doing awake so early? It’s seven in the morning!”
“Is that early? Sorry if I woke you up– yeah, I definitely did– I just usually wake up by now? Y’know, have work to do?”
“Yeah, but did it have to be so early today? I mean, doesn't staying here save you, dunno, a half-hour?”
He was obviously not thinking about it before: the calculations are visible on his face, and Simon’s suspicions are proved by rapidly souring Grace. He cannot believe how quickly he got used to this brilliantly intelligent and plainly inattentive man’s ways. He quietly laughs.
“Just don't forget it next time. But hey, at least we have more time to make some food.” That seems to make him perk up.
It was unexpected how much Grace liked his cooking, when to Simon that was just the simple, fast-to-make meals that lasted for days. Food was rarely a thing to enjoy, just a practicality. He wasn't gonna starve, so may as well learn how to cook decently. Apparently that came in handy now.
He goes to check what ingredients he’s got left, and also looks at what could be the source of that noise earlier. Everything seems to be alright, except for a teabag lying on the counter and the kettle not being on its stand; so he turns back to Grace.
“So what happened here? Y’know, before I woke up?”
Grace immediately turns gaze to the kettle, annoyance obvious as he explains. “I just wanted some water, and this traitor– why is it so loud? I didn't even turn it on, just took some yesterday's boiled water, and it screamed at me– no, don’t you dare laugh at it!” Well then stop being so adorable while being angry about a fucking kettle. “I barely even woke up, and already had to go through all that panic, and it ended up waking you up! See how evil that thing is! I thought that would be more quiet than using the microwave, but I guess not.”
That got Simon bemused. “Why’d you use a– why was there a choice between those two? You wanted some food warmed up too?”
“What? No, i wanted to drink something, and, see, usually i’d make coffee, or tea, sorry, i rummaged a bit– but I didn't want to be loud, so I couldn't use microwave, so i just tried to get plain wa–”
“You couldn’t– I’m sorry, don’t you have a kettle like normal people?” He hopes he conveys the incredulity well enough.
Ryland Grace (oh no that is absolutely warranted) doesn't even have the shame to sound anything but genuinely confused, “Um, no? I don't really need it wit–”
“Ryland. I swear to God, if you say ‘microwave’ one more time…” He hopes he doesn't have to finish that, because he doesn't actually have anything in mind. He isn't even that mad, it’s just a deeply ridiculous concept and he was never equipped to deal with it being delivered by this man this early.
He sees him rethink something. He also sees him battle with his no-doubt-very-funny-joke thought. Then he solemnly proclaims, “Okay. I couldn't possibly betray my radiant host’s trust. I surrender in this heated argument.”
Wha– okay?? Why the compliments though… and a weird choice of words.. it wasn’t really an argument or heated…
…
Wait a fucking second.
He looks up at the other, who is oh so close to bursting into laughter. This is war. He needs a weapon. He reaches to the top of the fridge for it. As if premeditated.
Grace stops laughing and sets his mug on the table. He raises hands defensively. “You won’t.”
“Like hell.”
“I’m the guest.”
“For now. I can do it later. Wanna pick a time? Like when you will be leaving later today. Or no. It can be random.” He feels the victory and it’s sweet. “So, what will it be?”
He is given time to think, and he decides wisely. “Do it. Now.”
“You know what you did.”
Grace expected it, but he still shrieks at water hitting him. He knew it worked on cats, but apparently not only them. God bless water sprays.
In the aftermath of this childish event both parties were now left to their own business: Simon had to mop the floor, and Grace was drying his glasses. They both still were laughing. It was fun. Spending time with Grace was fun. They just… fit together. Understood the cues. It was ecstatic to have someone like that in his life.
“Hey, you probably need that redone,” Simon points at the abandoned cup.
“Yeah, you mind?” Grace holds it out to him.
“No problem, you want.. Grace. Were you stirring plain water that whole time?” Because that’s all that there is besides the spoon.
“No, it has sugar in it.” Here is his trademark apologetic smile. “I didn't plan this well.”
He wonders how was he surviving till now. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe the universe put them together for this specific reason.
He proceeds to look for ingredients and make tea. At least one of them should stay sane in these trying hours.
***
He decides on making an omelet with vegetables. Grace tries to help, but for now is put on washing duties. When he’s done, he just stays nearby, perched on a counter. With proper tea.
He hands him things, too. He’s decent at that, but needs direction. Right now he’s trying to find the correct spices.
“...there’s one greenish, but it’s in a short jar. The only other that’s like what you said is on the wrong shelf.”
He’ll have to look himself, or he’ll burn the food by the end of this game. Putting the spatula away, he steps toward Grace. Who doesn't move, his vision obscured by the cupboard door. Simon moves him by the waist with his left hand and, opening the other door, fishes out the correct jar. Looking up at Grace he wants to comment on that, but he’s already red, so he shuts up. Maybe he should check his blood pressure though, he’s blushing a lot. He’s pretty like this, but he wouldn't want him collapsing there.
He opens the window just in case he needs cool fresh air.
After the food is done, they eat in silence, interrupted only by Grace commenting on how well things work in the mix and overpraising Simon’s skills.
He only half-listens. One of the reasons being that he can't let it get to his head. Grace is likely still feeling guilty (stupid) or he’s not awake enough to be an adequate judge. Not doing this now. But he is enjoying the food (meaning not only in words), so maybe he could be making more and sharing. It’s basic, but it’s good enough. The logistics of that can be figured out later.
…
He sends Grace off with some of the rice packed. He’ll return the container later. He shows where the side door is (may be useful sometime in the future), and watches him go.
Then Simon goes to the living room to take the sheets away and then to his own, to get ready for the shift. All he has to do is put on the uniform and put his hair out of his view.
Then he has an additional step of not tripping over some bags. Not his.
Shit, and Grace already left. Is it important stuff? He won’t be calling while the other is on the road, so he sends a message for him to see at school. In any case he is close enough to bring it there on his break. Or Grace will get it.
He gets a call when he’s opening the shop’s main door.
“Simon, hi, thanks for telling me, and no, that’s not very important. Well, for today I mean, don't throw it away or something, hah,” he probably just got there, he sounds like he’s walking, “but maybe I’ll get it today? In the– Oh hi, Susie, yes, everything's fine!– in the evening? I’ll just swing by and take it, no need to get there yourself. Sorry, I'm rambling again. You still here?”
“Yes, ‘course. And yes, evening is fine. Usual time? Or are you busy today too?”
“Um, I shouldn't be? But I'll text you. Around seven?”
“Sure, around seven. Will be waiting.”
“Good, me too. Uh, I mean– nevermind, have a good day, bye!–” he ends the call.
…Simon is left here with all that now.
He busies himself with usual things to do around the shop, but as he runs out of them, he comes closer to thinking about the call again.
And after sitting down for ten minutes he comes to accept that he is really screwed. Because with all the domesticity of this morning and that exchange he realises, that he has promptly fallen in love.
And the last thing he wants is to pull Ryland Grace in all this.
Unfortunately, he doesn't think he has any control over this anymore.