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It's been four years since Simon made a little corner in Grace's life and three years since he made a proper home in his heart. Time is so, so fragile—given the state of things, most of the universe is also so, so fragile—and there was no point in delaying feelings, not really. Feelings that never waver, it feels right.
Grace's love for Simon doesn't change. It doesn't shift, shake, or fade, and he knows he'll be buried with Simon's name in his throat, etched onto his tongue. Grace doesn't think he saved Simon. Simon saved himself. Simon, who he rescued at the barest of minimums, tended to, sought after. Simon, who, in the four years he'd been here, might have rescued Grace, too. Four years is nothing, really. On Earth, that's a good set of college years. That's employee of the month status. Here, that's nothing. It's not enough.
Grace wants limitless time here. With Simon, with Rocky, Adrian. His students. With Simon and not a person to shake their heads at them. With Simon. Currently, in bed. It's chilly, the way Simon prefers it, but Grace feels warm with love. He listens to Simon's heartbeat hard, but steady. Content as he can be. It's only his second favorite noise. His first, of course, being Simon's voice. The way he hums in the mornings, too. Simon.
He feels giddy. Four years of this man in his life, leaving evidence of his presence in every part of existence around them, and Grace still feels like a teenage girl with a big ol' crush. Today was different. Most days weren't really. Similar in nature; sit at the ocean, teach, spend hours indoors—making up new board games, stretching, organizing. Today, though, Grace wanted to propose.
It feels early. On Earth, it'd be crazy. Wait seven, no, ten years at least. Like humans have all of that time, he thought. Four is enough for this act of love, but not enough for how he wants to love Simon. It's almost silly, really, how inconsequential this must be. He mentioned such a thing to Rocky, who only shook at him a little, and tapped, This is Rocky's. Rocky, too, had a wedding band. He's not sure why - or how - it shocked him. Rocky loved Adrian for centuries. Grace could love Simon for centuries, too, he thinks.
It wasn't nothing. Everything is—it's something. Down to Simon's preference in cups, or plates, spoons. His preferred choice of color, or how Grace styles his hair, it's everything. Grace knows wedding bands are not nothing, even on Earth, it's a sign of affection, deep affection. It's a sign of, I will forever love and be loved by this person. They don't need to hide such affections here. They don't need to let others know, either. It's not flashy, it's for them. A quiet reminder of what is and what eventually just—will be.
So, Grace knew what he wanted to do. He'd gotten in contact with some of Eridian's. Gathering Simon's size wasn't surprisingly not tricky whatsoever, really. Simon does that—he tends to miss things that may or may not be obvious. Then Grace remembers, Earth customs matter next to nothing. Simon never really had to experience this anxiety or marriage, or size collecting. Grace doesn't know his previous life to its full extent, but he knows the people around him were nothing really like the people of Earth. He doesn't know if that's comforting or not.
Eridian's are fast workers. The rings were done within hours after the request, given to him with excited chippering. A widened band with a stone cut, smoother than any stone he's found on the planet thus far. In the middle of Simon's band is a small, yet wide, blue gem, and a similar yellow gem in the middle of Grace's. They're perfect. Ideal. Blue, he learned, brought Simon great comfort. It's the direct opposite of what he used to know. It's the sky, it's the sea, it's your eyes, Simon told him once, it's everything.
Simon's breathing stutters as he wakes. He stretches slowly, almost catlike. Grace leans up, watching him slowly come to. Simon's eyes immediately meet Grace's. There's a small smile on his face and it makes Grace nearly melt into him.
He smiles. “Good morning, starshine,” Grace says, pecking the corner of his mouth.
Simon makes a happy noise, hand curving around Grace's arm to rest on. “Angel,” he says quietly. He swallows, then, “Angel.” louder, but content.
“Pretty day,” Grace replies, just as soft. “Wanna go for a walk?”
Simon's nose scrunches up. “Comfortable here.” he mutters, trying to drag Grace in.
He can't argue that. They do a lot of walking as is. Equally, they do a whole lot of nothing, too. “Well,” he hums. “Breakfast?”
Simon stills. “I can settle on breakfast.”
Grace's favorite part of the day has become breakfast. Even if the food is less than ideal comparatively, there's serenity in making food together, something that was seen in passing on Earth. Grace wishes he could show Simon Earth, but they made an agreement that this is home. Together, with the Eridians. So, they make their mediocre breakfast together daily, walk the same beach, wear the same clothes in rotation, and find everything in each other.
They eat their food across from one another, briefly speaking about previous lessons Grace taught the kids, about Simon's physicality, the work outs he does, mainly to keep his mind focused rather than his body in shape, really; just the small things of their daily lives.
Grace washes their dishes up and waters the plants before they head out. The few plants that grow alongside Simon; since his arrival, Grace and Rocky introduced him to the seeds, and showed him life, solidified, true, growing life. Simon gets sentimental over them. Rocky jokes it's their children. Grace doesn't see it as a joke anymore, silly as it is, but his whole life has been just silly. He can take a little more.
Simon has a habit of taking the cardigan Grace was once borderline obsessed with. Now, he's more obsessed with Simon in it. He looks so comfortable. So content. He slides it on and smells it in passing. Grace notices every time and it makes his heart skip. Eridian's have studied the human form and offered to make clothing best suited for them. They don't necessarily request anything special, though.
It took a long, long time before Simon first came out of the home when he first arrived. The beach scared him for half his time here, no matter how clear or gentle the water appeared, he kept his distance. Far, far away from it. He barely left the house, then. Instead, he guarded himself like a wounded, feral dog, waiting for nothing, but wanting something. Grace never prides himself on his patience, but he was thankful he had it for Simon. Even more thankful Rocky had it.
They walk the shore close to one another. Grace closer to the water, Simon beside him, arms nearly pressed to each other. Still, the ocean doesn't bring him great comfort. Grace offered to tell the Eridian dome team about it, maybe he could change it. Maybe it could be grass, a field, a dream for Simon, but he shook it off. No explanation. Grace assumed he wanted that. He does that a lot.
They sit in their usual spot. Somewhere between the stairs to home and the makeshift classroom, but never further away from home. Closer to home. The waves crash and fade into nothing at their feet. Grace keeps his hand between the two of them, beneath Simon's knee, just to be closer. Always closer. Simon keeps his leg closer to Grace's, too. The first time Simon had been so close, it was in case anything happens.
“So, I was thinking,” Grace begins, fingers threading through the small pebbles. “It's been a long time. Together. I mean, I guess not, it's short, but it's—not enough, to me, I want more time, more experiences, more, it makes me feel greedy, but, you know, humans, that's what we do—”
Simon's expression twitches a little. “Ry,”
“So, I can't really feel bad about it—see, I really, really love you, and, and we have so much to be, so much to share, and it's us, it's just us, there's an infinite amount of time between here and home, or Earth, whatever, but you're home, my home, it's right here, minutes away, a walk—”
“Ryland…”
“There's no way to describe it anymore, I just love you and it's, it's inside of me, it's me, it's more than me. I love you and I don't have to confirm it, not to myself, or others, I know it, I know it because you are—you're love, Simon, it's you, and—I, an Eridian helped me with it, you know, Mary, but—”
Grace reaches into his pocket, pulling out two rings. Their knees bump. He lays them flat out in his palm. Simon looks at him, his eyes are a little wide. Maybe it's part of his customs, too. The universe aches with familiarity.
“I know, I should like, be on one knee, and have a beautiful speech, and—Simon,” he stops. His hands are shaking. He looks up at him hopefully. “Please.”
Simon swallows. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, Ryland, I'm yours.”
Ryland sighs happily, a smile spreading across his face. He swallows hard and looks at Simon. Oh, Simon. He's always loved his eyes. One discolored, stained red, a mark of the beast. It's his own now, nothing claims it anymore. His scarred face and body. Ryland counted the ridges once, the ripples, the scars in effect. He lost count in pure admiration. Oh, Simon.
He takes Simon's ring and gently reaches for his hand, sliding it on the ring finger. Ryland misses it in admiring his husband, wow, but Simon gestures towards the other ring a few times. Ryland mutters a little oh, allowing Simon to return the favor.
Simon rolls it with his thumb, smiling down at it as if it were the most precious thing imaginable. Ryland fidgets. “Do you like it?” he asks.
Simon looks at him and hums. He holds Ryland's chin and leans in, pecking his lips over and over and over until Ryland giggles.
“I adore it,” he says against his lips. “I adore you.” he adds with one more peck.
Ryland feels like he could melt and melt, surviving purely on Simon's love. On him. “Simon Grace,” he mutters. “Sounds just right.”
Simon smiles. Ryland notices tears well up in his eyes before he turns his head away, but he doesn't let him look away, gently holding his face to guide his gaze back towards him. Ryland smiles at him, petting his hair back gently. He loves the way his hair has little waves. Always has.
“What's wrong, starshine?”
Simon grunts, leaning into his hands. “Grace,” he sighs happily. “Never had a last name. On—At—” he huffs.
Ryland moves in to be impossibly closer. He can feel Simon's heartbeat almost. “Beautiful,” he lets out, pecking his nose gently. “Simon Grace.”
He nods against Ryland. Grace, Grace, Grace.
“I've got you.”
Ryland's never been so sure of something in his life.