Chapter Text
Grace knew he was in a dream.
It was something about the familiar, unearthly smell, something about the shifting of the not-quite light, something in the strange passage of time.
Grace knew he was in a dream, but that didn’t make his heart race any less when he saw another human in front of him.
A human. A real human being.
(Well, not real, but Grace hardly cared.)
The other human, a man that looked to be about his age, was sitting on hard, metal ground with both wrists shackled above his head to a sturdy metal wall, and his feet also bound with cuffs with a very short chain attaching to what looked like a nearly unmovable metal ball. A prisoner?
Grace's eyes flitted over the man’s body next. He wore a thin long-sleeved shirt of tan linen that did nothing to hide the bulging muscles in his arms and torso, and his pants were thicker, but Grace couldn’t imagine his legs would be any less toned. A small strip of fabric tried but truly failed to hold back matted, black, wavy locks that hung over the man’s face to his shoulders.
The man’s eyes immediately flickered to Grace’s when he realized he wasn’t alone, and bore a gaze of pure contempt, disgust, and terror. The man’s chest heaved, and as soon as Grace focused on the movement and wondered if he was going to speak he noticed a cloth gag bound tightly around his mouth. Grace couldn’t tell if it had been there all along or if it was one of those strange, sudden appearance magics that dreams often conjured. If it was the latter, Grace hadn’t meant to, for the record.
Suddenly, he couldn’t stand it any longer— being able to look at another human, to be a few feet away, yet not be able to touch— and lurched toward the other man, nearly stumbling on his own feet in an attempt to sit next to him. Immediately the man jerked back, deep brown eyes blowing wide as he struggled desperately but in vain against his restraints.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Grace soothed, but his own voice shook with anticipation because he was right there, “I’m not going to hurt you.” The man didn’t believe him, obviously, because when Grace reached out a quaking hand the man let out a yell muffled by the gag and rattled the cuffs above him so hard Grace flinched. The man’s eyes lighted with hope at that, and he rattled them violently again. But this time Grace was expecting it and didn’t move. The victory in the man’s face instantly vanished, now replaced with pure, unyielding fear and regret.
Grace felt immeasurable pity for the man, but he felt he could let himself be selfish this one time— it was only a dream, after all— and so Grace was determined to touch him.
He reached out a hand again.
This time, the man did nothing but strain with all his might away from him, a small, accidental whimper escaping his covered lips. (Grace would have removed the gag first thing but for fear that the man would surely bite him.) As soft as he could, Grace placed a tentative hand in the other’s hair. The man had squeezed his eyes shut by then, and flinched violently at the touch. Grace didn’t remove it, though, too entranced with the way the man’s hair moved under his fingertips. He scooted a fraction closer in revelry, which made the man in his grasp pant harder. Grace’s heart twisted, but still he stayed— he wasn’t going to hurt him, he only wanted to feel, and was that so heinous a crime?
Grace eventually moved to running his fingers gently through the locks, making sure to be extremely gentle as he pulled apart the knots. In a few minutes the dark strands were nearly tangle-free, and Grace transitioned to scratching his fingers softly against the man’s scalp.
On Grace’s first pass the man shivered, but Grace thought sadly that he didn’t think it was the good kind. Nonetheless, he kept running his fingers all over his scalp, pushing the man’s head forward after a minute to be able to properly get the back. Finally, the man seemed to be relaxing a little, arms not so tight, shoulders not so drawn, head lulled peacefully down, and so Grace let his fingers slide to the nape of his neck, scratching once or twice experimentally.
The man let out what seemed like an involuntary, pleased hum, but then tensed immediately afterward, realizing what he’d done. Grace’s heart still warmed, though. “It’s alright,” he whispered again, “you’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you.” The man stayed tense, still not believing him, but as Grace scratched methodical circles on his head, paying special attention now to the nape of his neck, he eventually relaxed once more.
Unfortunately, Grace’s fingers began to burn with the repeated motion and slowly, regretfully, he pulled away. For a moment the man’s head followed his retreating hands before jerking to attention as they finally left. Surprised, questioning eyes found his. Why’d you stop? They asked. Grace found his hands pulled toward them.
The man’s eyes widened again as Grace’s fingers drew closer to his face, leaning back until he couldn’t anymore and then squeezing his eyes shut. Grace’s palms finally met skin, cupping the other’s cheeks gently, and oh!— he almost fell right into the man’s lap with the wave of relief and happiness and comfort that washed over him at holding another human in his hands. He let out a short, crazed little hiccup of a laugh. The other man seemed to feel the same, for he was staring at Grace now, eyes large but for once not frightened, simply staring, simply oh.
Even when Grace been on Earth he hadn’t had contact like this for… since Linda. It had been years. And now, in a spaceship ever utterly alone with absolutely no way home— well, he’d given up on ever feeling this feeling again.
Given up wasn’t the right word.
He had distracted himself.
Distracted himself with the mission and Rocky and their plans for when they reached Planet Adrian, with chains and explaining radiation and learning about eridian festivals.
He didn’t know what would happen if he gave up.
He thought it might break him.
Grace ran his thumbs slowly and softly over the man’s rough, scarred cheeks, and the man hurriedly squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow defensively at first, but after only a moment of Grace’s careful caresses his eyes fluttered lazily open again. He only seemed to only be able to hold Grace’s gaze for a second before he had his eyes find a place to rest behind him. Grace didn’t mind, not really, but he thought he liked losing himself in those impossibly mocha pools. He thought he could stare into them forever. He thought he wanted to stay here, like this, forev—
Grace woke up with shiny trails of tears staining his cheeks.