Work Text:
"Simmons, I just found the greatest thing in the history of great things."
"If it's not the 20 V connector I need to keep this shoddy wiring job from frying Kimball's computers then I'm reaaaaally not interested, Grif."
Simmons was in his civvies (smeared in oil and dust, disgusting), body halfway laying inside one of many large computer modules of the Command Center for New Armonia. His lower body was splayed out on the floor, and Grif was now lightly kicking his leg. Why was this his day.
"No, Simmons, Simmons. This is serious. You need to see this. Also you're a nerd. But that's also why you're going to like what I have."
Despite the temptation to continue working, the tinge of genuine excitement and childlike glee peppering Grif's tone had him reconsider.
Grif continued kicking his leg. "Simmons, Simmons, Simmons, Simmons, you're gonna freak out I swear-"
Simmons attempted to sigh dramatically, inhaling computer dust before he could pull it off, immediately choking and hacking. He took a moment to support himself on his elbows and cough after shoving himself out of the wall.
"God- damnit Grif, what is i-" He peeked an eye open and blanched.
Grif was hovering over him with a smile that crinkled his eyes, looking at him with intense anticipation.
His gaze lowered to Grif's hands, carrying an old as balls copy of what appeared to be Star Wars episode IV.
"No."
"YES."
"No way."
"Yes way? Mmmm?"
"How- how-"
"Of course of all the movies to find in the wreckage of Chorus it'd be fucking Star Wars right?"
The most awestruck smile was slowly spreading over Simmons face as he stood up, eyes locked on to the box. Even in Blood Gulch they had one TV and a total of four shitty war propaganda movies and a television set that only worked half the time and eventually died after the third year.
Valhalla had a better screen and Legally Blonde, which was a vast improvement, but there was only so many times you could watch that movie.
(3,473 times, thanks to Donut, so actually a lot of times. But still).
And Chorus- well, Chorus had been an active war zone for at least two decades; no one was thinking about movies besides how much they missed movies. Now that Charon Industries had been destroyed, people were building a semblance of a life, taking off armor, trying to get back into recreational stuff. But this was big.
Simmons loved Star Wars. He used to have a Princess Leia action figure that he slept with every night so she'd protect him from nightmares before his dad found it and threw it in the garbage.
Grif's eyes were locked on to Simmons's reaction, a lazy smirk stretched over his face in a blatant attempt to disguise his own excitement. "Yep, you love me."
Simmons barked out a laugh, but then his shining eyes jerked up to meet Grif's in exasperated endearment and responded, "Grif, I love you."
Oh.
It sort of slipped out, it was a joke, Grif could tell. In the split second moment it took for them to both hear the words, Simmons face had gone beet red.
But the smile remained- a rather determined choice factor on Simmons part to act like everything was fine and that that was a perfectly normal thing to say. Grif knew Simmons didn't mean it like that, of course, and Simmons knew that Grif knew that, which meant that Simmons could pretend he wasn't as embarrassed as he obviously was that he had said that and they could both move on and yeah, guys say that to each other. Psh. Duh.
But his own internal monologue sounded like those assholes who go "no homo" and yeah, Grif was pretty fucking homo, to his own utter chagrin at the moment, but Simmons wasn't, or at least, wouldn't ever admit it to himself, let alone have feelings for Grif.
The moment (such a short moment, but to Grif it felt like a decade, like a decade of waiting for something to happen that he was trying not to hope for in the first place, like a whole damn decade of waiting-) passed, and the cyborg's eyes flew back down to the old disc Grif was clutching like a lifeline. "But you're an idiot," Simmons continued, continued from Grif, I love you that Grif's mind played on repeat, shh, shut up brain, god damn it.
Fortunately, Grif was already getting distracted by Simmons plucking the dusty box from his grasp, admiring it like it was a gift from the gods, because he was a nerd (a nerd with that look in his eye that was downright loving, and Grif loved it, and he loved that he had caused this horribly embarrassing situation and this stifling train of thought).
Simmons muttered half to himself, "Like, who the fuck has a TV that can play an old 20th century DVD? Forget common, that shit hasn't been accessible by any means for half a century now. I guess we could rig something up but I don't really have the resources at the mo...ment. Uh."
Grif had entirely forgotten himself and was grinning wider, leaning into the space between them that Simmons had already largely minimized upon initial approach.
Whispering in much the same way that Caboose did when he was really excited (that is, with a little too much volume to properly distinguish it as a whisper to begin with), "That's the next surprise."
Simmons blinked.
"...No."
"Mmmmmmmyyeeeeeeep"
"No way."
Grif started walking backwards, staring at Simmons with a shit-eating grin. Simmons eyes were huge.
"You're totally kidding. There's no way you have a way to play this. Is that disc even real? Are you shitting with me right now?" Simmons said.
"Totally real."
"Oh my god. If you're shitting with me I'm gonna kill you."
"Swear on my sister's life."
"That's- That's entirely fucked up but I definitely believe you oh my GOD."
Grif was almost out the door. "Finish your dumb nerd stuff and then meet me at the back of the mess hall when you're off duty. Don't forget the disc."
Simmons was so giddy and caught up with staring at Grif sauntering out of Kimball's office that he nearly had a heart attack when he realized that he was in Kimball's fucking office still and he hadn't finished what he was doing. "Shit-fuc-God damn it Grif!"
But he was laughing and sort of flailing around looking for his gloves and the pieces he needed from the toolbox left forgotten on the ground.
Grif walked a lackadaisical pace down the hall, fortunate that he could disguise his pacing as relaxed, rather than a way to draw out how long he could hear Simmons laughing and muttering to himself.
They had done stuff like this before. It wasn't a big deal.
Grif told himself this as he kept his back to the wall of the mess hall, grin completely overtaking his face under his helmet. It was really just his helmet; he was in an old civvy sweatshirt otherwise. Some soldiers still walked around fully armored, but in his opinion, it was overkill. AND too much work. He was only wearing the helmet because it was useful. Like lights, and a clock, and perimeter, and helmet radio, and hiding really heinous smitten smiles.
They had chilled out and done dumb stuff all the time before, just the two of them. Hell, that took up like, thirty percent of their lives; doing dumb stuff together when there was nothing else going on. It was nothing new.
Grif, I love you. But you're an idiot.
He turned the corner to where the main entrance was; a shabby building in the middle of their makeshift New Armonia. With the curfew set the streets were deserted, leaving the worn dirt alleys between tight-knit warehouse and base buildings only dimly illuminated by flickering light. Fortunately, this mess hall didn't have a backdoor that wasn't always bolted shut, and no other entrances that Grif could fit himself through besides the front entryway. On the bright side, he knew how to bribe every guard that had ever been stationed there.
At least, he usually was able to. As he approached the doors he noticed the illuminated sheen of aqua...teal...whatever armor. Tucker had his head resting in his hand, sitting outside looking bored out of his mind.
As Grif approached, he bit back the urge to groan in annoyance. Tucker was cool, yeah, but he could do without any innuendos for tonight.
He called out, "You are really desperate if you're trying to pick up chicks in a dark alley, dude."
Tucker visibly perked up upon noticing Grif, then sighed in relief. "Oh my GOD, finally something to do. At least you had the fuckin balls to show up, dude. I've been sitting here for aaaaages."
Grif made a confused strangled noise. "They're expecting me? Who ratted me out? It was fucking Palomo wasn't it?"
"Yep, fuckin Palomo," Tucker said, good-naturedly. He tilted his head back against the wall and clasped his hands together, mocking in a voice an octave high, "I'm sorry Captain, I can't keep the secret any longer!! I won't take any more bribes, I'll be a good soldier!"
Grif crossed his arms. "Please never do another impersonation, I will leave right now."
"Good! I'm supposed to keep you out. Go away."
"Who the hell is gonna know anyway, you could just walk away! I'm taking like, one bag of popcorn."
Tucker did a tilt of his helmet and scoffed. "Wow, nice try, but I'm getting an extra WEEKS worth of data on the community servers for keeping you out. And they're sure as shit gonna know I didn't do my job if I let you in and you eat the entire cafeteria. As you do."
Grif squinted. "Again, one bag of popcorn. Also, I can get you TWO weeks of internet usage. I kid you not," he added, noticing Tucker's implied dubious gaze, "Two weeks, if not three for you to do whatever the fuck you want with your frankly unhealthy porn addiction."
Tucker had a good rep on Chorus, and was a (damn dirty) blue, so having him in charge of fending off a red on the simplest guard duty ever was probably a smart decision. But Grif knew Tucker, and Tucker was easy. In more ways than one. Ew.
He wasn't even lying about his offer; Simmons could do his stupid hacking bullshit or something and get Tucker as much data as he wanted.
Real-life Tucker didn't seem fazed though. "No way dude, every day I do this I get something else. AND I don't trust you to deliver. They reaaaally don't want you stealing all the food. So there's no way you're getting through me, I am hard as fuckin steel. Bow chicka bow wow."
Grif checked the time. He only had five minutes before he met up with Simmons. It wasn't a big deal, it wasn't anything any different than any other time, it was all fine, but he wanted this night to be cool. And that meant that they NEEDED popcorn damn it.
"Okay Tucker. That's fine. But I'm meeting up with Simmons in like, five minutes, and he CAN get you those two weeks. Hell, I'll push for four. You need enough data to talk to your kid over video cam? I got you solid. I'll let you win this little battle every day for the next week. That's everything I can actually reasonably offer, AND whatever they offer you for five more days. Last chance, blue."
Tucker was quiet for a moment.
He had him. He knew he had him there.
After a long moment, the blue responded with a tilt in his voice. "What'r'you meeting up with Simmons for? You know it's like, curfew, right?"
Oh Jesus fucking Christ. Any other time he could come up with some snappy remark, throwing people off of the jokes and the teases, ignore them like it was nothing, but not today. Not when "Grif, I love you" had been playing on repeat for the past four hours, interrupting every intelligent train of thought he could muster.
"Uh," Grif responded, and knew he had fucked up immediately.
Tucker was wearing his helmet, but Grif could see it, dammit, he could see that fucking grin slide over his face as the tingling flush flooded his own, see the wave of sexually-imbued teasing coming like a tidal wave. What an asshole.
"New TV AND popcorn. You guys havin a cute little movie night?" Tucker added, like an asshole. Tucker could just ruin everything with this.
"Th-It-" Grif started, and stopped, and attempted, and Grif, I love you, and fuck the night was ruined.
But then Tucker stood up, chuckling, and said "Wait a sec."
Tucker disappeared into the mess hall with a quiet creak of the manual door.
Grif fidgeted slightly, watching the doorway and looking left and right down the alley. After a few moments had passed he realized he was fiddling and walked over to lean his back against the wall, composing himself. Everything was perfectly normal, Tucker was just messing with him and Simmons had surprised him with the-
The whatever comment that didn't mean anything that need-not-be-repeated.
Grif allowed himself to smile about it a bit more anyway.
A minute later, Tucker walked out of the mess hall holding not one, but two bags of popcorn and a bottle of wine. An actual goddamn bottle of wine. Grif didn't care how shitty it was, it was god's fucking nectar in that moment.
Tucker shrugged. "My job's to keep you out. Doesn't mean I can't go in. I'll just tell em I got fucking bored and hungry because you didn't show up."
Grif was frozen in surprise.
Tucker, upon realizing he was being an upstanding human being, held it out for him roughly, probably embarrassed with himself. "Well? You gonna take it, gaywad?"
Grif took the items like they might not be real. He looked up at Tucker. "Okay, but just to clarify, what you think is happening isn't actually happening."
"Ahuh." Tucker responded, smile smothering his voice. "Sure dude."
Grif started walking backward. "You know I actually meant that I'll get you that stuff, right?"
"Yeah yeah I'm awesome I know, get to your gross date."
Grif turned and ran, calling back, "I'm not responding to that!"
Tucker called out louder at Grif's disappearing form, "That's just as telling! Wait, d'you need lube?"
"Shut the fuck up Tucker!" Grif called back, voice warbling.
He rounded the building and found Simmons just walking up to the backdoor, dressed in civvies-a worn but still fairly put together maroon button up (god forbid they ever stop color-coding themselves) and his military slacks and boots. His helmet was on as well, ultimately making him look like a goofball. Not that Grif looked any better in his own civvies and helmet.
Simmons stopped in his tracks upon seeing Grif, visibly startled. "Grif? Were you just actually running?"
He slowed down and came to a stop in front of Simmons, coughing and trying to catch his breath. He loosely held up the food and wine. "I was getting us this shit. Why are you late?"
Simmons chin went up snootily. "One minute and thirty four seconds late! That's way better than your track record. And I was finishing work, not stealing food."
God, he was gonna have to get in control of all of the dumb smiles destroying his face before he took off his helmet for the night; this was getting absurd. "Wow, so you were counting down the seconds? I knew you were a star wars nerd, but this is taking it to a whole new level."
Simmons actually coughed and looked around at the abandoned back alley they were in, warmly illuminated by the street lights. "Yeah, w-well it's a good movie."
Hm. Shyness was not the reaction Grif was expecting. Simmons seemed to finally notice what Grif was carrying and promptly changed the conversation. "Aw shit, Is that popcorn? And wine??"
"Hell yeah it is, time to get as wasted as this probably-fatal alcohol will allow." Grif said.
When New Armonia was being built up and reconfigured from a long-abandoned city structure, it was all designed to be a perfect balance of military preparedness and the first steps toward rehabilitating actual society and civilization as a whole. The reds and blues were honored with the first choices of on-planet housing, with the condition that they chose to share shitty flats made incredibly similar to military bunks, in an apartment complex made from a derelict, under-construction tower nearby the main base. But they could choose their rooms and their bunkmates, so, woo?
It wasn't too bad. Besides the giant hole in the wall on the second floor from some past explosion that hadn't quite taken out the supporting structure of the building, and how everything was metal and cold, it really wasn't the worst. The reds and blues were allowed to take anything they wanted from scavenging whatever was left from 'Scouting Missions' surveying and mapping out each part of the old ruins of the city. Which meant that every time they went out, someone would end up convincing the rest of their team to carry a fucking old couch or boxes of books or stuffed rucksacks of cracked coffee mugs and other bullshit, back for miles of walking.
Simmons had been working on Kimball's computers during the last scouting mission. Grif had found the television set and the old as fuck digital converter at an old electronics store of sorts and called dibs faster than lightning could strike.
All the reds and blues lived on the same level (it's not because they wanted to, they'd say; every other floor were just not up to their standards) and the hall was of course slathered in blues and reds and multi colored doors.
It looked, frankly, horrible and loud, but that fit their personalities. Also, they ran out of spray paint, so fuck it.
Grif and Simmons had rooms right next to each other, which had eventually devolved into one large flat, since in a dispute over another large hole in the wall between the rooms, they ended up making the hole a lot bigger and just taking a large portion of the wall between them out in the process. It was a weird situation.
It eventually became a joint living situation. They didn't talk much about the fact they were sharing a flat, and more just inching towards an acceptance of it.
Last week Simmons stopped calling Grif's side of the flat "Grifs side of the flat" and instead muttered "Grif, jesus christ, I'm not gonna clean up the place every day."
So they were at THE flat. Not 'OUR' flat quite yet. Grif was gonna give it a week.
The hallway was surprisingly quiet when they got to the flat, Simmons looking for his key card, momentarily setting his helmet on the ground in the process. They could hear Caboose talking loudly down the hall. Living this close to the blues was a learning experience. Caboose really truly never shut up until he was dead asleep. And then he would snore. Nothing was ever truly quiet.
Grif whispered at Simmons, dropping his helmet lightly on to the floor next to Simmons's. "Why are you getting your key dude?"
Simmons juxtaposed a snort with a whisper. "No way are we setting up a tv on that side of the flat. It's never clean, I can't even focus on the movie."
Simmons found his keycard, but Grif slid in front of him and covered Simmons's door in an instant.
"Nope, not tonight dude." Grif said, regretting the action he had taken immediately. In the process of blockading the door he had also drastically decreased the space between himself and Simmons. That was fine, but wearing civvies was a little bit. close. Everyone had worn armor so much that everyone was experiencing this feeling lately. Grif had had it a lot less; the intense level of vulnerability, but oh geez was he getting the full package now, with not half a foot between their faces and less between their bodies thanks to his measurable stomach.
Simmons seemed surprised by this, but covered it in exasperation, looking down at Grif. Jesus christ the nerd was tall. He loomed. "Grif, seriously."
He remained, undeterred, albeit hoping he wasn't obviously sweating and blushing or anything stupid like that. Thank god Simmons was actively shading him from the already dim lighting. "You either gotta go through me or go through my room."
He held up his own key card for Simmons to take. Simmons eyed it suspiciously (it was dark in the hallway but wow Grif was half a foot from Simmons face, and he looked so real that it was jarring, burnished hair and eyes shining in the low light, and how the fuck were they only in their civvies? It was stupid how scandalous this felt).
Simmons plucked the card from him (hands grazing by a square centimeter of skin and Grif didn't really care, but he noticed, which was too much on it's own) and eyed him, knowing he was up to something, before unlocking Grifs door and walking in. Grif followed behind quick so that he wouldn't miss the reaction.
Simmons hadn't bothered to turn on the light, already noticing severe differences in his sight. Grif flicked the lights on behind him.
They didn't have much. Each side had a respective bunk, built in drawers in the walls, a mini fridge for personal use that only actually worked half the time, and a small table already put there for them. Grif had added a substantial amount of things besides that, considering he was master of dibs, so his bed was comfortably covered in a few thick blankets and pillows.
He found a few native Chorusan plants and had scattered them in old jars around the area, especially on the incredibly small single windowsill. A picture of Kai and Dexter was magneted to the fridge; Simmons had managed to PRINT an old picture from the Chorus computers somehow, after they had finally connected to wide range internet. Simmons had given it to him for his birthday a month ago as if it wasn't a next to impossible feat where they were and with what resources they had.
Simmons had also printed a couple photos from Basebook that Donut had acquired over the years while he had been at it, as if using up limited paper resources wasn't already highly looked down upon and mostly illegal during the still-ongoing safety rationing. It was bordering on dickish. Grif nearly teared up from a terrible mix of pride and sincere thanks.
(He can't even remember what he said because he was trying not to tear up, but whatever it was it had sent Simmons into a pissy fit. It was a great birthday.)
Besides that, there were usually clothes scattered over a very old, worn out rug, car magazines and a few books he hadn't read left askew, and food left behind in the most unsuspecting of places.
Usually.
It wasn't anything special, but the food had been put away. The rug and floors had been swept enough to get the dirt and bits of crumbs out, and the books and magazines were set into an orderly pile, barely visible under the bed. The bed was actually made, and the table had an old as all hell flat-screen station with a few smaller devices plugged into it, stowed neatly behind the screen, with two clean mugs sitting adjacent.
Grif had called dibs on a couch that was actually in pretty okay condition, besides being old as balls and surviving a civil war. He had promised Caboose cookies to make him take it all the way to the flat. Grif may or may not have taken a nap on the couch while Caboose was carrying it.
Over all, it looked mildly crowded, and not perfect, but clean. Manageable. Cozy, even. Important part: Actually clean.
Simmons turned around and looked at him, deadpan. "Okay, what did I miss? Are you dying? Am I dying? Am I dead?"
Grif couldn't stop himself from smiling, wow, that was a big problem tonight. He rolled his eyes because it was the only thing he could do. "No, Simmons, no one is dying and/or already dead."
Simmons continued staring at him like he was waiting for the punchline, but Grif could tell how delighted he was. "No, naah, you got Star Wars AND a way to watch it, you get popcorn and alcohol, and you actually cleaned our flat." Ah, there it was. 'Our' flat. Maybe there WERE benefits to cleaning up every now and then. "What's the catch here."
It was hard not to note how nervous Simmons seemed about the answer to that question. It was pretty simple really. Making his way around the room, Grif nabbed the mugs and felt around for a bottle opener in the top drawer of his shelves. "Simmons, name the last time we actually got to sit down and not worry about a fucking war or freelancers or shit ready to kill us?"
Grif handed Simmons a mug. "Uh. Fuck, I don't know, like." Simmons thought about it while Grif struggled with opening the bottle. "I guess the couple nights we spent on the ship before we crash-landed here. And that feels like a lifetime ago."
Richard's face contorted into an amused grimace. "And that wasn't necessarily comfortable with sleeping under tarp and with SOMEONE'S mess-"
"And speaking of lifetimes ago, when was the last time we got to watch a movie?" Grif added, popping open the bottle with a small cheer.
"That was way back in fucking Valhalla."
"Eeexactly. AND, when was the last time either of us got to watch a movie we actually wanted to watch, while eating popcorn, without the imminent threat of attack? I mean, like, generally just- having a good time, when have we done that." He knew he was dragging that one on a little, but this was the point, after all.
Simmons huffed. He threaded a hand through his hair and Grif occupied his focus instead on pouring wine into Simmons cup. "Uh, fuck. Hah. Like never."
Grif stopped pouring with the cup halfway full. That wasn't the answer he was expecting. "Wait, never? You know I'm including like, pre-military in our hypothetical time-frame, right?"
Assuming Grif was done pouring, Simmons wandered over to the couch, still looking around like he was in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory and not an incredibly small flat made from a dystopian military bunker with not nearly enough things to really look at. "Nope, never happened. I never had friends over or anything. Fucking god knows I was too busy to go anywhere either. Not that I wanted to."
Grif thought about his lonely childhood and realized, sadly, that he always did have Kaikana, at the end of the day. And he'd had friends. Bullshit friends, of course, no one that stayed or cared or gave a shit, but they'd at least made a decent memory or two. And on the bad nights, Kaikana and him would sit with the fans on and all the lights off, playing movies on a tiny little television set, making up dialogue or simply enjoying it, falling asleep to the sounds of a hurricane and static.
His eyes drifted momentarily to the scattered Polaroid styled snapshots littering the mini-fridge; photographs absent of Simmons's past. He already knew all this about Simmons really, but whenever he was reminded of it, it left a weird spot in his chest.
Simmons seemed to notice a momentary pause in the conversation. "Uh, that's not weird, right? Like, it's not like I didn't have better shit to do."
"Simmons," Grif said, eyes turning back to him. "It's not that it's weird, it's that it's a goddamn injustice. Even better that this is happening right fuckin now. Sit the fuck down and I'll get a popcorn bowl. This is gonna be the best sleepover ever."
"I don't think it counts as a sleepover when you're roommates." Simmons said with a raised eyebrow.
"Simmons," Grif repeated,"Who is the sleepover expert here? That's right: Yours truly. It totally counts. Sit down!"
They did so. Grif climbed over the backside of the couch in a slothlike manner, causing Simmons to panic over the popcorn bowl. He grabbed it just before Grif fell into his seat in a sprawled mess. Simmons was sitting criss-cross applesauce.
"I already set the movie up so we just have to hit play. It's on the. the." Grif said, limply aiming a pointed finger on the play button of the converter player.
"Really, you can't press it? It's like six inches away Grif."
"I'm soooo tiiired from being such an amazing friend Simmons."
Simmons turned it on, then shivered.
"Dude, I'm cold too, grab like, everything on my bed."
"YES, your amazingness." Simmons drawled, but hopped up without further bother and tossed each blanket over to the couch one at a time so Grif could situate them.
"How do you have so many of these? How do you even get this cold? Don't I get colder than you? I'm stealing all of these later." Simmons babbled, tossing Grif a clump of heavy quilted fabric.
"You can steal ONE, I earned all of those through dibs," Grif replied.
"You don't EARN anything through Dibs, Grif, it's essentially a cheat code to avoid earning anything through hard work in order to attain it."
"Well, I definitely earned the skill of being so damn good at dibs, therefore I earned any positive consequences OF the dibs."
The redhead fwumped down and situated himself, taking half the blankets clogging up the generally small sitting space (Grif only was just noticing that this couch was pretty tiny, to his chagrin) and eyes locking on to the television screen. "That's completely relative to-oh my god, that's the main menu, oh my god click play click play-"
"H-hold on! Jesus!" Grif laughed, grabbing the popcorn and tapping the forward arrow on the converter.
He sat back and relished the legitimate comfort of the couch, the warmth of the blankets and the feeling of being illuminated by nothing more than the screen in front of them, Simmons sitting a foot away wrapped up in his own blankets, eyes glued to the screen.
Suddenly Simmons was looking his way with a scolding smirk on his face, and Grif felt like he may have been caught staring.
"Uh, seriously though," Simmons said. He seemed to chicken out of his own attempt at eye contact and returned his gaze to the TV, still smiling. Simmons was doing an especially wider range of smiling today. "Thanks for, uh, whatever the fuck this is. All of this stuff. This is cool. It's nice."
That was a bit of a heavy load for Grif to absorb and calculate a proper reaction to that was at least imbued with some form of apathy. That is, without seeming like an asshole.
Sure, they weren't amiss to genuinely expressing that they care about each other as Actual Friends every now and then, but it was still a little embarrassing grounds for them to cross with each other, for some reason. He assumed that it was just an unfortunate hurdle of being two people who had Gone Through Shit TM and could either get used to it or feel comfortable with avoiding it altogether. Either was fine with him, but it did prove a hassle when Grif was feeling Especially Completely In Love With Dick Simmons and having an especially hard day managing it.
Meanwhile, there was also the content with which Simmons occupied his words and how he was expressing them. Grif was glad Simmons had come back from his betrayal from red team; he would have stood out like a sore thumb over at blue base with his face always looking like a tomato. Was that weird right now though? Did Simmons seem especially embarrassed for saying thanks? That seemed out of character, Grif thought, unless "Whatever the fuck this is" was an implication for something else.
"uh," he said quietly, unaware of himself.
Whatever the fuck this is
Grif could have sworn his heart literally skipped a beat. Wait.
He leaned back, avoiding eye contact, but very notably could see Simmons watching him from the peripheral. He tried his best to look relaxed. "Yeah dude, whatever it takes to get you to be lazy for once."
Whatever the fuck this is
Grif hoped he wasn't blushing himself at the thought he had just developed, stomach churning from embarrassment. No, Simmons was not implying that Grif had just set up a date night for them. No, Simmons was not saying that he was okay with that. It didn't matter that by all analytical social means that Grif could fathom in the moment that that's exactly what that seemed to mean. It just wasn't; his perception was skewed. He'd been paranoid all day about being obvious, so anything that could be twisted in that direction would be in his head. That was all. It would make even more sense later, he was sure.
Simmons was quiet a moment longer than usual. Granted, that was not much, considering their usually instantaneous response times, but still microscopically noticeable. "Oh, well I'll be sure to be lazy more often if it means you'll clean up for me."
Grif blinked and looked over to Simmons, who was supplying a very wide "I win" victory smirk.
"Oh, god damn it, that is not gonna work. I am not letting that be a thing." Grif said, as Simmons eyes flipped to the TV again.
"AAA ITS STARTING." Simmons announced, loudly, eyes glimmering and immediately forgetting the conversation. Thank god. Grif was gonna have a hernia.
A LONG TIME AGO, IN A GALAXY FAR, FAR AWAY...
Grif liked Star Wars too; there were a couple good sequels, but the originals were so old that he had only seen them once. Only a nerd like Simmons would watch the oldest science fiction obsessively.
A silence descended upon the screen, before the title appe-
"BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" Simmons shouted, causing Grif to freeze in his seat like a deer in headlights, "BADADAAA, BADADA DA DUM DA DA DA DA DUM DUM DA DUM DUM DA DA DA DUM DUM BUM BUM BUM BAAUUUUM BAUUUUM BADADADAAAAAAAAA DAAAAA-"
By the time the prologue was rolling across the screen, Grif was hunched over laughing breathlessly. Simmons gave up trying to read it out loud after Grif's laughter tumbled over from hilarious to undeniably infectious.
They could always rewind. Shame that if they kept having to rewind, the night would never end.