Chapter Text
The waves are loud.
The sand crunched under Grace’s feet as he inhaled sharply. Seafoam brushed against his toes. He’s pretty sure there are grains of sand in his hair. He can taste it, too. How it somehow got in there, Grace isn’t sure. He didn’t care.
The sun glimmered over the horizon, reflecting over the deep blue sea. The air smelled of sea salt, and the constant cold wind ruffled his already messy hair.
Seagulls cawed overhead. There were probably some on the ground as well, terrorizing tourists for their food.
Where were the tourists?
Grace didn’t see another person for miles. Weird. It’s a Californian beach! There were like statistically three surfers for every quarter of a square mile. Actually, there weren't. Grace made up that statistic on the spot. But still! It was a cloudless sunset, a far cry from Grace’s beloved fog! This place should be littered with people, umbrellas, beachchairs, and dogs without leashes! There was nothing.
A chitter from beside him distracted him from his thoughts. Not a chitter. A low, vibrating tune of content. Grace smiled softly. “What’cha thinking, Rock?”
Rocky pattered over, slamming one of his limbs into the rocking sea, as if trying to grasp the water and hold it tight. Grace snorted. “Rocky, it’s just water.”
“Cold. Very very very very cold.”
Grace huffed, making idle shapes in the sand and watched with mild fascination as the water washed it away. “For you, maybe. For us, it’s really not.”
“How deal with cold cold cold question? Bad. Cold bad.”
“We’re used to it, I guess. I mean, what else could we do? Die?”
Rocky looked up at Grace “Yes.”
“Ouch. Rude.”
“Not rude if right.” Rocky whistled as he bounded back to Grace. His claws left little imprints on the sand.
“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”
A bumpy, jagged surface brushed against Grace’s arm. Grace nearly flinched before realizing it was just Rocky.
For some stupid, instinctual reason, Grace thought Rocky would be cold. Not cold. Cool would be more accurate. Grace knew Rocky wasn’t cold. He just wasn’t prepared for how warm he was.
It was like standing next to a hearth on a cold, snowy day and just soaking in the heat. Grace couldn’t help but wrap one arm around the Eridian.
Rocky trilled in alarm. “What this, question?”
“A hug. Real hug. One not through a xenonite bubble. Kinda. Half of a hug. It’s a human form of affection. We wrap our arms around each other and just hold. It’s used in many greeting contexts and as platonic, romantic, and familial forms of affection. The warmth feels nice to us, I suppose. Our body evolved to release endorphins when we do it to encourage it, probably as a way to get us to like stay warm and reinforce social bonds. Humans are very touchy-feely animals. It’s so weird. And unnecessary. But, when you're naked in the African savannah with fleshy soft skin and the nights are really cold, you'd probably want to stay close to others, wouldn't you?”
“Why need touch when you have words, question? Humans very weird. Person still there.”
“I dunno. I mean, other hominids– and definitely other hominins, but they're all dead– also groom each other all the time. Chimps pluck out bugs and lice and stuff from their family as bonding. Humans do the same with our pets, but never tell another human that. I mean, there’s nothing more intimate than having your back against someone who could theoretically kill you at any moment if they so pleased. If they cared about one another, then they would protect the sick and hurt so that the species would survive longer, thus more offspring, thus more humans. It's strategic. And annoying. Espeically considering we don’t really need to do the protecting all by ourselves anymore, when there are doctors and longer life expectancy rates. We don’t have predators anymore. It’s stupid.”
Rocky pressed closer to Grace. “Grace dumb.”
“Hey–!”
“Grace dumb dumb dumb. Is culture. Is safe. Human need safe in past. Safe make happy now.”
Grace sniffed softly. Goddamnit, he wasn’t going to cry. Then Rocky would make fun of him for his face being all leaky and that would be incredibly irritating. “Never thought of it that way, I guess. Back on the Hail Mary, I didn’t have anyone too… y’know… and it sucked. Top ten worst feelings in the world, just under eating coma slurry and taumoeba.”
“Here now. Can wrap other humans.”
“Who the hell would I hug? I’ve got nobody but you.”
Rocky wrapped a limb around Grace hesitantly, as if mildly unsure how to approach this new, unfamiliar concept. “Goes both ways, question?”
Grace made a noncommittal noise. “Typically, yeah.”
Rocky’s carapace tilted up slightly as he trilled in delight. He used another limb to hug Grace more tightly and hold him close.
Grace’s first observation was that Rocky was warm. It was probably the sole thing his stupid hindbrain had latched onto. Warm meant fire. Fire meant food. So really, why wouldn’t it? There were other things— infinitely more important things— to notice. Like how, for instance, Rocky wasn’t putting his entire weight onto Grace. Any force he applied was carefully measured and calculated to make sure that Grace didn’t get crushed by the weight.
But, most importantly, Rocky was warm, especially under a fully luminous sun.
And the bunks on the Hail Mary were cold.