Chapter Text
It was early. The simulated sunlight shone brightly in Simon's closed and tired eyes. He grumbled and pulled the quilt over his head, scooting closer to the warm body next to him. Except, there wasn't anyone, only the quickly cooling warm patch of bedding at his side. Why was he even up now? Right, Grace's stupid job. They were the only two people on an alien planet where all their wants and desires would be granted at the drop of a hat. And yet his stupid partner still chooses to spend his days doing unpaid, unthanked labor. God, Simon loved him.
Simon got out of bed slowly, wrapping the thick quilt around his shoulders and dragging it along the floor as he shuffled to the living room. He spotted Grace on the couch from the hallway, sipping from his mug as he looked over his tablet. Simon quickened his pace at the sight, only stopping briefly at the edge of the couch before flopping onto Grace's lap.
“Morning angel” Grace greeted, his voice still a little rough from sleep.
“mmm” Simon grumbled before wrapping his arm around Grace's waist, trying to steal as much body heat as possible.
“...why so early?” Simon mumbled into Grace's chest. Simon already knew the reason, he just wanted to keep Grace talking, somewhat hoping to keep the conversation going until class had already ended and both had no other choice but to spend the rest of the day together. Grace's morning voice was also just very nice to listen to.
“Class today,” Grace answered, beginning to stroke through Simon's hair. “Speaking of which, I have to go in a bit,” Dammit, “You doing anything today?”
“Mmm…” Simon thought for a bit. He’d already done most of the greenhouse work yesterday which didn't leave him many options. House could use some tidying though, especially the dishes, they'd started to pile in the sink. “not much, pr’ly j’st clean” he settled.
Grace hummed in reply, still methodically playing with Simon's hair and lightly scratching at his scalp. Simon felt a soft wave of nostalgia hit him, a distant memory of when he was very young back on mars. His mother gently holds and caresses him late into the night, sometimes humming a song Simon can't remember anymore. Soon, everything that worried or frightened him seemed so small and meaningless, and he’d drift off in her arms, wrapped in warmth and safety through the night.
But just as Simon was getting comfortable, Grace attempted to get up and leave without a word. Almost on instinct, Simon pushes Grace back down into the couch and playfully holds him there while he struggles. Once Grace realized physically breaking out wouldn't work, he moved onto bargaining and reasoning. Simon let him talk for a bit before deciding he’d struggled enough and let go, flopping on to the other side of the couch. Grace began grabbing things off the coffee table and gave a quick kiss to Simon's head before heading out the door.
The house fell sadly quiet once Grace closed the door behind him and Simon was reminded of how udderly alone he was in here. Falling back asleep felt weird now, wrong almost. He got off the couch and walked to the bathroom, deciding to shower and change before getting to work on cleaning the house.
The living room and office weren't too bad, mainly just disorganized with miscellaneous papers and books sprawled all over. The bedroom was pretty easy as well, just some clothes here and there. The main issue was the dishes in the sink, something Simon was putting off for last. Well, there's no avoiding it now as literally everything else in the house has been tidied, even the cleaning supplies at the bottom of the sink.
Simon groaned a bit as he got up to face the dishes in front of him. It wasn't the worst task in the world, but god was it annoying. Simon took a plate out of the sink, placing it in front of the soap dispenser on the countertop before pressing down on the nozzle and watching the soap squirt onto the middle of the plate. He quickly ducked the plate under the running faucet, then placed it back on the counter and grabbed the sponge on the opposite side of the sink to begin scrubbing the soap into the plate. This was going to take a while.
Simon let himself drift away in thought while rinsing off the soapy plate and grabbing another one from the pile. When was grace coming back again? Simon knew a half-day was coming up, but was it for today or tomorrow? Grace had told Simon that morning but of course he hadn't listened-
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!”
Dark red consumed Simon's vision. There was a faint scent of iron in the air and the only sound was metal rumbling and scraping against itself. The small window in front of him filtered any light that came in a deep blood red as the moon's ocean water slowly ran down the sub. He was trapped. Encased in a metal tomb he’d volunteered himself in. They said he’d be freed when he got the sample, that was the deal. But it was a trick, of course it was, why else would they seal him in? Resource scarcity? How much extra metal would it have actually taken to make a hinge or two? None of that mattered now.
He was dying.
A sharp pain in Simon's hand jolted him out of his trance. He looked down to find the plate he was scrubbing had shattered beneath his palm. When did he break it? He didn't even hear it crack and practically crumble underneath him by the look of the broken pieces. The soapy water that covered the ceramic plate was turning to a light orange. Simon took a quick glance to his palm.
“...Shit” Simon mumbled to himself at the sight. There was a small ceramic shard in the meat of his hand, maybe a centimeter long, but was bleeding a lot. He dipped his hand under the faucet for half a second before grabbing a nearby cloth and held it firm. Simon let the towel fall as he brought his palm to his mouth and ripped the shard out with his teeth. It hurt like hell and tasted like sand and iron. He spat the piece near the rest of the broken plate and picked up the cloth once to soak up the blood. The first-aid kit was probably in the bathroom-
The medkit. Some bandages, a tiny water canister and rubbing alcohol. They had meant to send simon down to his death, was this a form of psychological torture? Dangling the smallest hope of survival in front of him, so slim it was pathetic, for what? And, god, why did he drink the alcohol? His wounds were burning from sweat and bacteria and his mouth tasted like acid. He forced himself to keep it all down, throwing up just meant losing fluids. Did that even matter anymore? What was the point?
He was dying anyway.
Simon had somehow made it to the bathroom and was now looking behind the mirror. There it was, the first-aid kit. The xenonite container looked so much like the medkit in the sub. It contained a lot of the same stuff most likely. He could practically smell the alcohol just looking at it. Simon slammed the mirror cabinet closed, rattling the contents inside. Getting a chance to see his face now, Simon looked for something, anything that told him these visions were lying to him. There was still a faint line from the corner of his mouth to his left ear. Right, Grace and Armando had to patch him up when they found him. Apparently he appeared with a lot of “mutations” like an extra mouth on his cheek. Simon brought his hand up to the scar, tracing his fingers along the line. The indent was shallow now and didn't hurt anymore but it was there, that's all Simon needed. He started to feel himself calm down.
While looking at the scar, Simon noticed something move behind him in the mirror. He only saw it for a moment but in his gut he knew. It was that thing from the sub, the one covered in teeth and boils that looked human, it had to be. It followed him off the sub and had been living here for months now, hadn't it? Waiting in hiding for a chance to drag him back to the blood ocean. Simon whipped his head around to face the empty shower now in front of him.
…He was going crazy. Of course no one was with him, he probably just saw a piece of his hair shifting in the mirror… Right? He started to feel himself shake. He needed to leave, Now. Simon strided out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and moved straight to the bedroom. Once inside, he shoved his back against the wall and fell to the floor in a ball. His heart was beating so fast his chest hurt and his lungs burned from hyperventilating. Simon tightly grasped his shirt collar, searching for anything to hold on to. All their voices cycled in Simon's head. All the names he never chose.
“SHUT UP!” he shouted at the empty room.
But why Simon? Why lie to yourself further? This whole house, whole planet is just another one of your delusions, isn't it? Be logical Simon, what's more likely? You get saved in the nick of time by an unknown force that transports you to another universe of talking rocks, or you lying on the subs floor, unconscious and choking on the blood slowly filling your coffin? They try to call out to you, wake you up, but you refuse to leave the dream. All these months here have just been the radiation eating at your brain, picking apart your memories and rearranging them, right? Your brain is failing and dying, why not just end it here and get it over with?
This is just your last seven minutes. Your life was so miserable you can only cherish fake memories.
Simon felt as his body shook and hyperventilated and cried, but he couldn't feel anything. His chest burned and ached but he felt nothing. His hand was throbbing in pain as it bled into his shirt collar and he felt. Nothing. He was just a brain piloting a meat suit, feeling every nick and scrape and burn but it never truly touched him how it was supposed to. He was just… there. Waiting for his body to stop. Just waiting.
“Hi angel.”
Simon turned to see something next to him, crouched down and smiling gently. It shifted and took the space next to him, back against the wall like Simon.
“Can you talk right now?”
It was only then Simon realized he couldn't, he felt as if he swallowed a rock and talking was impossible. So, he shook his head.
“Can I touch you?” Grace asked.
Simon felt so disconnected from everything, like watercolor bleeding outside its line art. Pressure might help, so he nodded. But his senses felt so heightened now, even the smallest unpredictable graze may feel like touching a live wire, so he quickly shook his head after.
“How about you touch me?” …huh. That seemed really nice actually.
Simon slid down the wall to grace, cuddling into him the same way they were that morning. Grace held him close and started playing with his hair and Simon squeezed back tight. He was desperate for that warmth and safety again, to forget everything that happened in his absence. To forget how scared he is of his own mind. Simon felt himself start to shake again. He wanted to cry.
“Can you open your eyes for me angel?” Simon hadn't even realized he closed them to begin with, but clung to Grace and squeezed his eyes tighter at the prospect. Right here was fine, he’d rather be safe in a potential delusion where he’s being held and cuddled than open his eyes to see it was all fake. The hand in Simon's hair moved down to gently cup his face and tilt it toward Grace's.
“I know it's hard but please, Simon, I promise you're okay” Grace whispered. So Simon tried squinting at grace, he hated how worried he sounded as he begged Simon. He was rewarded with thanks and kisses.
“Now what are five things you can see, you don't have to tell me, just think about it.” Grace was trying to walk him through a grounding exercise. Simon picked his head up and blinked up at Grace.
Five things he could see, huh? First he notices Grace's eyes, they were a deep stormy blue and so loving behind his glasses. Those damn glasses that spent more time falling off Grace's face or getting stuck in his hair than being of any practical use. His hair was a bright dirty blonde color that was starting to fade grey, his beard and stubble following suit. Simon's eyes then drifted down to Grace's lips, how soft they seemed and how he only ever received kindness from them. Soon enough those stormy eyes became too much for Simon so he turned his head and focused his gaze onto the door next to them.
“Do you have them?” They were basic but, yes he did so he nodded. “Four things you can touch now.” The position he was in wasn't the best for the task at hand, so Simon sat up and shifted into Grace's lap and ended up straddling him. Simon's hand rested on Grace's shoulder, it was solid and sturdy. He slid his hand down to Grace's left hand that rested on his hip. It was soft and warm. Simon slid his hand up the cardigan sleeve again, noting how the fibers stung a bit against his scabbing wound. Simon's hand made its way back to Grace's shoulder and nestled into the back of his hair. Grace smiled so genuinely up at Simon as he leaned into the touch. Simon then felt his throat tighten and eyes water and he dove to hide in Grace's neck.
Simon… hadn't expected that to happen. Maybe a quick glance and check in to see if they could move on but no. It was so natural too, like Simon just being there made Grace happy. It was almost annoying how shocked Simon was since it was so small. Why did this affect him so much?
Oh. This was real. Grace was real and here and actually holding Simon. Simon had ended up assuming that because he could tell what may happen next, and logically guess correctly, that this was just his brain continuing the delusion it wanted to believe was true.
This was real.
Simon here, right now, was real.
And he was alive.
“Ry-” he strangled out before sobbing into Grace's neck. Grace reacted quickly and held Simon closer and tighter.
-
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
Simon and Grace were in the kitchen now, seated at a corner of the dining table. Simon had his hand out for Grace to treat as Simon looked away. He shook his head at Grace's question.
“Well, anything in particular you want me to know about?” Grace tried again. He finished wrapping up Simon's hand at that point and was staring at him now.
“... alone… water sounds… medkit…” once he finished, Simon glanced back at Grace. Grace seemed captivated almost, in deep thought trying to decipher what Simon meant. Grace's eyes quickly glanced at the first-aid kit in front of them, realization soon dawning. He quickly grabbed everything sprawled on the table and placed them hurriedly back in the box. He slammed the lid once everything was inside and placed the kit in his lap, utilizing his sleeves in an obvious attempt to conceal what he was holding. Grace looked back up, a bit flustered now and Simon giggled at the display.
“Tired.” Simon admitted while getting up. Grace got up faster at the sight and rushed to the bathroom. Simon heard the mirror cabinet open and shut in quick succession before Grace came back to Simon's side all in the time it took for him to properly stand up and push in his chair, arms now empty. They walk to the bedroom and climb into bed together, Simon snuggling close into Grace's arms. Grace places a hand in Simon's hair and starts humming. Simon soon realizes it's not a random tune Grace knows but Eridian. Simon can only pick up bits and pieces with his quickly tiring mind but thinks it means:
.You are safe now, my love. Sleep well