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“Okay, it's been a while since I’ve tried this,”
A simple, standard deck of playing cards was found tucked away with other assorted entertainment packed upon the Hail Mary the other day. Now, the cards sat equally split in the hands of Ryland Grace. He turned both sides inward carefully, hands steady as he looked up from the end of the bed which he sat on. “So you can’t laugh if I mess up. It’ll hurt my feelings.”
Simon watched his hands closely, his silence as confirmation. In all honesty, he had forgotten what “messing up” with cards even looked like. He couldn’t recall the last time he had seen somebody hold a deck of cards, let alone have time to properly shuffle them. Grace could have picked them up, thrown them on the floor and walked away, and as long as he assured him that this was actually the way to do it, he would have taken his word and kept his mouth shut.
And kept his mouth shut he did, as the man at the end of the bed pushed the cards down and together in an attempt to mix them. He watched as they fell loosely on top of each other in sections so large, Simon doubted any proper shuffling was being done. That's okay, maybe there was a process to this he no longer recalled.
One that involved the shuffler getting visibly frustrated at the sight of his work.
Grace frowned. “Well. That's not right.” he muttered, shoving the cards back in a pile they once were in before repeating his first steps over again. Split the deck, point them inward, and press down. Once again, he reached the same result. The cards lazily fell in chunks, stacking thickly rather than shuffling evenly.
Simon wondered why he was told not to laugh; this wasn’t exactly a comedic scene to watch, more of just a sad one.
It took Grace three more tries, all of which ended in a muffled “Jeez…”, before he gave up this method. Ultimately, the decision to use the method Grace referred to as “cutting the deck” gave way to real progress. He let the cards fall between each other, shuffling easily without any of the previous struggles. Just as quickly as it had left, a familiar, warm smile found its way back on the blonde's face. It's what Simon's eyes, unintentionally of course, lingered on.
“What now?” He heard himself ask. In all honesty, he wasn’t properly focused.
“Do you know any games?” was the question thrown back at him. “I don't know exactly how limited our options are with your. Situation,” a vague hand motion was given towards his left shoulder. “but there's definitely ones out there we can work with. Or maybe if you have your own “future card games exclusive to Mars stations” ones I've never even thought of before we can play those, which I have to admit would be cool but you.” He paused, catching himself before prying too much. “You don't have to share anything if you don't want to.”
“You can pick.” was all he said. Even though his skin crawled at the indirect mention, He couldn’t fault the man for not knowing the details of his past. The only person who could have explained that to him was Simon himself, after all. He hadn't exactly been elated at the thought of that conversation.
He knew there'd be a day where he would know, where he’d answer the countless questions Grace had curated for him over the past months. When that point was, however, he didn’t know.
He didn’t want to think about it. Not now, at least.
As sick as it made him, he knew there was no life where he could push it off forever.
With excitement Simon hadn’t seen in a while, Grace nodded. “Okay, okay. I can work with this.” This was, for some reason, an incredibly serious decision. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the bed, eyes bouncing between the cards, the floor, and the man who sat in front of him. Simon felt bad he wasn’t able to provide more than what was essentially a cop-out answer.
“How about War?”
He didn’t know what the options were, but that didn’t sound like it should have been one of them. “What?”
“The card game, War.” He laughed. Yeah, that made more sense. “Not like, actual war or anything. Does that sound familiar at all? I can explain it to you no problem, I’ve done it countless times.”
It was hard to look at the blond and want to say anything other than “go ahead, please explain this.” His stupid, stupid smile was still plastered perfectly on his face as his eyes lit up at the prospect of finally getting the chance to walk a person through this. He was excited over a card game, not to play it, but to explain it.
It was infectious.
“I don’t think I’ve played a card game in my life, Ryland.” The light in Grace's eyes was the brightest thing in the room. “You can explain it to me.”
As excited as he was, this clearly was not the expected response. “Ever? Really? Well, now I'm nervous you'll hate this.”
Simon had a feeling the man was lying about that. It was such a clear exaggeration made so clear by his demeanor; he was almost beaming as he spoke. Sure, maybe it was a little concerning that he had no connection to this pastime, or any at all, but it was an explanation that he seemed so thrilled to give.
He couldn’t dwell on his past for too long. Not here, not with the happiest person he's seen in ages. This seemed more important than a standard card game.
Grace began quickly dividing the deck once again. One card to the right, the next to the left, and the process repeated. He mouthed numbers to himself, keeping track of every card laid at a level of focus that, considering what was going on, was certainly excessive. Simon could do nothing but watch.
Trusting another person shouldn’t have been this easy. It took a welded submarine and the voice of a god to break down his walls even slightly, even then he was still much more than hesitant. The first few days with Grace had been rough, he'd admit that, but they had reached a state of relaxed normalcy not long after.
He had so much broken and ripped away from him, that it didn't feel right being able to sit so unguarded with another person he only recently met.
Realistically, he should be scared.
He should shut down conversations, the idea of even entertaining questions should be off the table completely, he should have taken his offer for a separate space of living as soon as he stepped foot on Erid.
If it was anybody else, he would have been beyond horrified.
Ryland Grace was not like a single person Simon had ever met before.
So there he sat, calm in the bed that belonged to the man he logically should fear, watching as gentle hands placed the final cards in two, even decks.
Maybe Simon could survive being wrong. He's done worse than this, after all.
“I picked this one for a reason, it's incredibly easy to figure out. My middle schoolers used to like it, and it took around ten minutes before they stopped asking me questions about how to play. So, it’ll probably take you a quarter of that, if any at all..” He extended one side of the split deck for the other to take. “You’re a smart guy, I’m sure you’ll be able to pick up what I put down.”
Smart. He let the word sit in his mind, now clouded by the praise that likely meant nothing to the other man. “I’ll try. You've got a lot of pressure on me, though.” He reached for his cards, the tips of their fingers brushing together. It was mindless, of course, Grace had brought his hand back as soon as he had reached it out. Too brief to be satisfactory. It felt selfish, wishing for the feeling to return. The only thing he now had in his hand was the lingering warmth of their touch and the thick, patterned cardstock of the cards. He hardly even remembered what these had even looked like.
“I loved them, but it doesn't take much to outsmart a middle schooler.”
Fair enough.
It was unconscious how Simon attempted to flip over his cards left in his hand. He was more than taken aback when Grace suddenly halted the game's introduction with a sudden lurch forward. Grabbing at Simon's hand, flipping it and the deck back down with a sense of urgency he hadn't seen since he first arrived on Erid.
“No- no no you don't look at them.” He was seriously wagging his finger in Simon's face over this. “The whole point of the game is luck. Sorry buddy, I can't demoralize myself by letting you cheat.”
“How the hell are we supposed to play then?” He pressed, "Don't I need to see what I'm playing with?”
He was hardly aware of how his selfish wish from before had become true. Grace had not bothered to move his hand even after the correction, still holding it carefully as he justified himself.
“Maybe if this wasn't War, sure. But not with this one, it's all up to the cards.”
Slowly, Grace brought his arm back to his end of the bed. The memory of the touch and the need to feel it again was a lot heavier than the cards he held. Part of him almost wanted to flip them over once more, to see if Grace had it in him to correct him again.
But the other man had fully begun his explanation at this point, and interrupting him for Simon's own needs was something he had done enough. So he set the want aside, trying his best to ignore the fleeting warmth and listened.
Thankfully it really was as simple as he had made it out to be; part of Simon worried he was exaggerating as to not overwhelm him. He now understood what Grace had meant, this was a game entirely up to luck. Looking at your cards, strategizing in any way, or interfering with your opponent was entirely off the table. All you had was the top card on your deck you weren't even allied to see. Pick it up, place it down, whoever has a card of higher value wins.
“One of us will eventually win over the entire deck, ideally not after an hour, and whoever does wins.”
“And what does winning get you?”
Scanning their surroundings, Grace searched both his room and his mind for anything that could have served as a prize. “...Does bragging rights work? We uh. I don't really have many options.”
Gentle hands swiped the top card, laying it flat on the quilt the two shared. “Does that even matter?” he laughed. “We’re playing for the love of the game, this is casual. Besides, if you're really looking for a reward, I'm sure Rocky would never let me hear the end of it if I lost to a first time player.” Kind eyes shifted towards the cards, Grace waited for his current opponent to mirror his actions.
Might as well start this. Deck sitting on the bed, he played his own card.
Seven of hearts Simon, five of spades Grace.
Those cards were a part of Simon's deck faster than Grace could register their numbers. He cringed; his speed was far from intentional. The fear of what he earned being ripped away still seeped into everything. Old, now nonsensical fears died hard, apparently. Equating promises of freedom to an incredibly simple card game almost felt unjust to himself.
Even if nothing alike, they still brought forward the same reaction. Maybe he was more scared than he thought he was.
Grace had definitely noticed. “Hm. Alright. I see how it is.” was his response, smile tight before matching his pace and playing another. It was almost relieving how this was an invitation to him.
Who was Simon to stop what he had started, intentional or not? He played his own.
King of hearts, six of diamonds. That stung a little.
With a speed similar to his opponents, Grace scooped up his winnings and played another. And Simon followed.
A sort of rhythm formed between the two, one card after another being placed and picked up, suddenly the game was much too serious for any conversation.
It was difficult to tell if Grace was truly as oblivious as he seemed when it came to his reaction. He probably thought it wasn't smart to ask, to ruin a moment that he was trying to make a positive one. He held back from asking questions he knew Simon wouldn’t want to answer, not yet at least. Maybe he thought it was purposeful. A weird form of competitiveness he had never seen from Simon before that moment. Maybe, because of that, it was a sign of progress to him.
Nine of diamonds, two of diamonds. Grace won.
Was Grace always this bright? The realization set in just now, but his smile hadn't broken once since they had begun. His golden hair had slipped out of place from looking down at his cards, glasses hung loosely on the edge of his nose. Simon knew he would make no effort to push them back into place. Which, at this point, was expected.
Three of spades, jack of diamonds. Simon won.
Was somebody like Simon even allowed to think that? Was he allowed to notice these features, sit still and just take them in? It all seemed too good for him. For as much as Grace had given him, there was so much Simon had hidden. He had no clue of his history past the point of “hey, bad things happened and I was involved.” Of course Grace never pried, he was far above that, so all Simon could do was tuck his crimes away in a corner and leave them unaddressed and wait for the day he was willing to share. It was hardly a matter of feeling less than Grace (though that was a difficult feat in itself, he doubted Grace was even capable of shoplifting). It was the misleading that irked him.
Five of clubs, seven of spades. Simon won.
There was a feeling he couldn't quite pin a name to when it came to Grace. He knew enough about the man's past, the Hail Mary, those who had shoved him to the ground for the good of a society he was no longer allowed to be a part of; his life was ripped from him no less than it was for Simon. So similar to himself, yet at times he seemed like the farthest thing from it. He was not letting something as simple as a game take his power, letting words from his past weigh down his mind in a space he knew was safe. He knew he was free from harm, he knew Erid was more of a home than Earth ever was.
And he was so willing to share that with somebody like Simon.
Three of clubs, seven of diamonds. Simon won.
He knew jealousy was not what fogged his mind. No part of him desired to take any of the courage Ryland had and claim it as his own. He was so uniquely resilient while functioning as if saving his universe was akin to a walk in the park. Compared him to a man who spent so long fighting his way out of orders said to benefit what little was left, it almost felt insulting to even think about.
But Grace, for what little he knew, never once viewed Simon as less.
Two of hearts, queen of spades. Simon won.
There was no longer a title of criminal tied over his head everywhere he walked- Grace had cut that tie as soon as he found a home on Erid. He was patient, never prying at his past unless it was Simon who insisted on confiding in him. And when times like that came, late nights full of panic and visions of crimson liquid dragging his body down, Grace listened. He listened as if Simon was the only person who mattered, like he was the only person who deserved to be heard.
Eight of clubs, four of spades. Grace won.
(Which, considering their current location which was apparently light years away from any other human life, was almost objectively true.)
Seven of clubs, king of diamonds. Simon won.
Grace was a school teacher, a scientist, a savior, somebody who managed to be astonishingly perfect in nearly every occupation he was thrown in. None of those were titles Simon wanted for himself, they were titles he wished he could sit and admire until he was finally able to figure out how Grace was capable of it all.
Ten of diamonds, five of hearts. Grace won.
Admiration, that was the word. He admired Ryland Grace like no other. No brother, no captor, no figure in Eden held a place as highly in Simon's mind as he did.
Nine of spades, nine of hearts. For the first time, no winner.
It was jarring. Snapping out of the daze he was once in, Simon questioned the person he knew would enjoy explaining. “What does that mean?”
Grace practically jumped from where he sat once the sight of the matching cards were registered.
“That, Simon, means we have war.” Suddenly, Grace wanted to pretend this was much more serious than it actually was. He had dropped his voice, low and hushed, attempting to enhance the scene that laid in front of them as if this was as serious as a real war. It hardly matched his appearance, leaned over cards sprawled out over a bright multi-colored quilt. A man in a “I had potential” shirt had no right to talk like that. A quiet laugh escaped him.
Dork.
“Alright, even though this is the entire focus of the game, it's still just as easy.” He flicked three cards individually off his pile. He placed them face down, one behind the other, lifting his hands from them as if he was scared they'd move on their own. “Whenever we play the same card, that's war. You take the top three cards from your deck, and lay them out like how I have them.”
He paused, signifying that Simon should probably follow his steps while he shared them. He gladly obliged. Three cards lined up behind the first, he glanced up and waited for instructions.
It all made him look so. Perfect. To the point it almost hurt. This setting was so natural for him, between his joy in explanations and guidance while they played, it was almost overwhelming. was clear this time of leisure was something he had silently craved as they had finally moved past the days of rough, disorienting first conversations. Simon's heart almost sank at the idea that he had been the one to deter days like this, that he was the one to deprive Grace of this joy.
a man like Simon shouldn't have been allowed to gaze at a man like Grace.
But he was, thank god he was.
“Take another card,” slowing down his movements in an attempt to build suspension, Grace pulled yet another card from his stack. He held it closely to his chest, refusing to look at it. “And we'll play them at the same time. Whoever has got the higher card wins, they take all the cards and we keep going. That's war, simple.”
Oh yeah, the card game. He mimicked Grace's movement, making absolutely sure he avoided viewing his card. (Though, part of him wished he had attempted it. Maybe it would have resulted in another physical correction from the other.)
After a nod, and quick count down, the two threw their respective plays down onto the comforter they sat on.
Six of spades, ten of hearts.
“Shit.” A loss for Simon.
Grace wasted no time before shoving his prizes towards his pile. “So much for beginners' luck. This just kind of seems cruel.” That thought didn’t exactly hold him from gleefully flipping the cards he won.
“‘Thought looking at the cards was a big no?” It should have been his turn to reach across and grab his hand.
Grace hummed, as if his own clear correction had somehow slipped his mind. “I give a pass for when you get the cards in war. Also, I'm uh. Curious. To see what I got.”
He forced a sigh, a poor attempt at hiding a growing smirk at the sight of his winnings. “Ohh… this was a hard loss…” He flipped up an ace previously belonging to his opponent. He was definitely right. “Have fun trying to win this back.” His voice carried sympathy, but once again, he was doing a really shit job at hiding that smile.
There was no real insult behind his words. It was hard to imagine being capable of pushing his voice past this point; The concept of Grace being anything close to mean, even in a competitive sense, was lost on him.
Still, Simon wasn't used to it. Failure being met with anything close to positive felt just unnatural. There was a part of his mind that was still prepared for something more, somebody to mock his loss, to instill a punishment of some sorts. But he knew he would never be met with anything of the sorts. The only words thrown at him was the attempted boasting of his opponent. This wasn't a task, an order, a part of a punishment- this was a game with a man that Simon was sure was awaiting some form of verbal punch back.
He had a feeling this entire game was another step in the process towards a more insightful conversation between them. As if his guard had not fallen so much already, Grace still felt like he needed to do more.
He was so unaware of how much trust Simon already had in him.
Sitting still and waiting for something bad that will never come wouldn’t help him learn.
“I will.” He threw down another card, not waiting for Grace to finish reshuffling his own. “Don’t act like you know where this is going.” Suddenly, he was smiling just as much as his opponent.
“You're right, you're right.” Grace pulled his own card in response. “You could at least let me savor this moment, though.”
Might as well lean into something he knew would never hurt him.
Simon learned very quickly that he was not exactly a fan of war.
Sure, the joy Grace clearly got out of the game was more fulfilling than any win could be, but Jesus Christ, he was losing badly. They had been going back and forth for countless rounds at this point and his deck sat at a quarter of the size it once was. It seemed every other play, even if just by a card a number higher, he had to fork it over to Grace- who had become increasingly more smug as the rounds had gone by.
Four of hearts, six of clubs. Finally, Simon won.
It's not like he could do anything about it, either. He was a logical person- in some way, shape, or form there was a method behind what he did. That could not apply to War. There was no strategy he could make his way into, there was no path he could plan out, everything was up to whatever laid on top of that deck. He should have known this was how the game would play out; luck was not exactly his best friend until just recently.
Three of diamonds, two of clubs. Grace won. Seriously?
Maybe all the luck left for him in the world was spent on this one man. The same man that was currently kicking Simon's ass in War. Speaking of which.
If Grace wasn't so stupidly perfect in every way, Simon would've thrown his cards right in his face multiple times. He had well over half the deck in his hands at this point and he hardly seemed to care. “It's anybody's game” he had snickered out, just after collecting his winnings from his third victorious war in a row. Luck aside, statistically this felt impossible.
And he was absolutely correct about the Ace. He was convinced that the same card he had lost had beaten him no less than five times at this point. Of course, that could have just been one of the other four aces Grace totally had.
Eight of Diamonds, Jack of hearts. Guess who won.
Out of all the astounding feats Grace had accomplished, this was by far the most irritating.
“Are you fucking cheating, Ryland?” It was an empty accusation, sounding more like an exasperated laugh than anything really serious. He had no clue how he would, and rationally knew he wasn't, but this was insane. And Grace totally knew that.
“It hurts me that you would even think that about me.” He laughed, casual as ever, laying down yet another card. “It’s anybody's game right now.”
Five cards compared to the forty seven Grace held; this did not feel like a game that was "anybody's."
What was he to do other than play?
“Whatever you say.”
Six of clubs, six of hearts. Huh.
He had a feeling where this was going.
“Im getting very happy you didn't know you had these until now.” He spat, still laying down three of his last four cards. Clearly, not that upset about it as he made it seem. “If I had to sit through recovery while you kicked my ass in this game I think I would have gotten worse.”
“Seriously? Is me winning really that bad? I'm getting pretty nervous to show you games you can actually try to win at…”
“Yes, it is actually. I need that alien to harass you instead of me so damn bad.”
Three cards on each side of the bed, one remained in the hand of Simon. At this point, playing his final one felt like ripping off a bandage. The joy Grace got from this was irreplaceable, they absolutely would be playing again, but this loss was more annoying than anything. Forgive him for wanting to get it over with.
Four of clubs, Queen of Diamonds.
“Shit.” Same position from earlier in the game, only this time, there were no cards left to reshuffle. “Seriously? Are you kidding me?”
Grace had thrown his hands in the air, smiling a mile wide as if saving the world was no longer his biggest victory. “Holy moly,” was all he got out before bursting into a fit of laughter.
“You totally knew that was going to fucking happen” The loss weighed practically nothing on Simon. It was impossible to view anything negative with how elated Grace was. His happiness burned bright, radiating off him like the sun itself. It felt so natural to make that comparison.
“You have all of my good cards and you have for like ten minutes at this point- this was not anybody's game, liar.”
Grace nearly ran himself out of breath. “What's wrong with keeping the mood up? What if-” God, he was seriously toppling over himself over this. “What if I played like a two and you had an eight? Then what? Would I be so mean and evil if that happened?”
“Probably, dick. Now I'm pissed.” His own smile said otherwise.
Grace understood the message that expression, so upsettingly rare from Simon, sent. It held more weight than his words, they both knew. Simon knew if what he said had any truth to it, Grace would have cut his celebration short immediately.
“I think you’re lying.” He shifted, leaning himself back fully on the bed as the cards sat untouched between them. “You’re a sore loser, I’ll remember that for next time.”
They drifted back into the silence they once were in, Grace finally getting off the high of winning as his laugh changed to a gentle, quiet hum. Neither of them bothered to poke at the other more than they already had.
Loss was something that had never felt this welcomed. For all that he had thrown at Grace, and that he definitely will continue to throw at him, this was still vastly different from any other point of failure in his life. There was no feeling of dread pinning him down where he sat. His insufficiency did not suffocate him, he hardly felt bad at all. He knew there was no chastisement waiting for him once he snapped out of this moment of bliss. Weight he didn't know was even pressing him down had been lifted, even breathing suddenly felt much easier than before.
For the first time, it felt okay to lose.
He wondered if Grace knew how much this meant to him.
The blond laid sprawled across the far end of the bed, face still flushed from his celebratory laughing fit. His eyes were clearly searching for something, and he was struggling to find it.
If he wasn't supporting his own weight, Simon would've reached his hand out to his. He would've asked him to tell him everything, share to him anything he questioned and he would listen just as he did- like he was the only person in the universe that mattered. It should have been his turn to listen, return the countless life saving favors, to take steps even further away from the man he used to be and finally bring forward more value than appeasing those damned rival stations he never wished to think about again.
But before he could, before he could show how unfathomably grateful he was, Grace found what he was searching for.
“You know, back on Earth, I’ve talked about my last class of kids before all this, right?” A silent nod, he definitely had. He had loved those kids. “Yeah, I thought I did. I just, I’m just thinking about my student Abby with this game. Smart kid, almost annoyingly smart. She was the type to finish her lessons much earlier than any other student and well. If she wanted, I’d play cards with her. And she absolutely loved War.”
He laughed at the thought, though any joy in it was fleeting. “Smart kid.” He repeated, expecting nobody but himself to hear. “I always suggested she pursue the honors program once she got to high school. I wonder if she ever did.”
“You don’t know?” Anything to break what Grace expected. Anything to show he was listening.
“I was unconscious in space even after all my students graduated, and communication from the Hail Mary didn’t exactly reach facetime. Video calling, sorry.”
For the first time since his struggle with shuffling, Grace's smile fully faltered. His eyes had stopped their search, settling on their target- the Earth shaped knitted ball he kept close at nearly every moment. “I wonder if she remembers me.” He thought aloud, “I wonder if any of them remember me. Not as a hero or anything, but as Mr. Grace. You know, the cool science teacher.”
Not as a hero, but as a teacher. Not as a hero, but as an everyday man. Somebody normal.
“You’re a very difficult person to forget.” He hadn't heard his voice this soft in years. “I don't think they could if they tried.”
He wanted to be normal. He wanted to survive.
Everything had begun to make sense now, this was far from just a card game to him. A core part of his identity was tied to this game so tightly that just the act of playing it gave way to homesickness Simon had never seen before. And out of all people, he was the man lucky enough to be included in that identity.
His chest twisted at the thought. Something so honorable for a man like him- It was hardly deserved.
Leaning forward, Simon lessened the gap between them. He kept distance, silencing every voice insisting that it was still just too much. Every voice that wanted to grab this man and hold him knowing it would never be close enough. Every voice that wanted to make it so clear how much he truly did matter, whatever that took.
Grief had overtaken a face that could have just previously lit up a pitch black room. Glossy eyes met his, a voice just shy of cracking spoke once more.
“Thank you, for this.” He motioned at the cards, completely disregarded between them. “This means a lot to me, I hope you know that.” There were words on this tongue he couldn’t bring himself to say, and Simon understood. He heard all he had ever wanted to hear.
“I feel the same way. Thank you, I mean. Not just for the cards. For everything. You have no idea what this means to me.”
You have no idea what you mean to me.
If any other person embraced Simon without warning, If any other person had wrapped their arms around his waist, tucked their head under his own and cried, his shock alone would have resulted in their body thrown across the room.
But Ryland Grace was not like a single person Simon had met before.
It was difficult to recall the last time physical contact was done without either ill intent or out of necessity. Physical mistreatment at the hands of C.O.I. officers came from a place of pure malice, that was not a new revelation. They hated him despite his innocence that he could prove to nobody aside from himself, and they took any opportunity to make it known before being torn from a pit of hell and thrown into another one.
When Grace had first discovered him, of course they made contact, but having your body frantically carried to medical attention was nowhere near this. This wasn't coming from a place of survival anymore.
It's just what they needed.
His arm slowly found its place on Rylands back. The past seemed so small now, so irrelevant. Simon knew that wasn't the case. He knew this wasn’t right, nobody's fault but his own. To take in the affection of a man who he had left unaware for far too long.
Mindlessly, his fingers ran through golden hair. If it was selfish to allow this man to sit in his arms while oblivious to Simon's past, to take in whatever love Grace was willing to give him, he would accept that. He could apologize for this and more when he told him everything.
For now, however, Simon would gladly sit in this bed as a selfish man.
Once Grace had calmed down, pained sounds of homesickness no longer audible, it was Simon's turn to reflect.
“There were no ‘future card games exclusive to Mars stations.’” He sighed, hand still tangled in Grace's hair. “There was never any time for pastimes after the Quiet Rapture. If we did have games, I sure as hell wasn't allowed to play any.”
“That's upsetting.” Was Grace's muffled response.
“It's how life was. Didn’t really know anything else until this.”
Grace pulled away, just enough for their eyes to meet once more, just shy of Simon needing to pull him back in. “We’ve got all the time in the world now. You’re going to learn so many card games you'll be sick of it.”
Hard to believe that.
“Shit, I’ll take this over what they had me doing back there.” Completely true. Even if he was doomed to lose these games over and over, the value this had for Grace more than made up for it. Admittedly, it was also incredibly funny to watch a grown man over involve himself in an elementary level card game.
“Then we have so much to catch up on. Please Simon, If you need anything ever please, please tell me. I'll make it happen. I mean as long as I say it's coming from me I'm sure I can get Rocky to help with anything. I'm sure if this is too small for you we can arrange something where you have more space-”
“No, no I like this.”
The room was bright once again. “That's definitely fine with me.”
He didn't care about losing this game. He didn't care if he lost every game after this. Loss was something he couldn’t fear anymore. With the arms of his savior wrapped around his waist, even winning just seemed so trivial at this point. If Simon was a worse man, he would have kissed him right at that moment.
“Can we play again? Obviously not now, but at some point?”
A man he admired like no other just nodded, their eyes locked in a soft gaze. “Of course.” A smile that could light up a room. "I would love to."