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Simon was far from the man he was when Ryland found him. There was the obvious things, of course. He wasn't covered head to toe in blood that was mostly not his own. (Though a lot of it was) He wasn't irradiated to degrees that should have killed him long before he was found in the first place. He wasn't constantly shifting between a screaming, violent mess and a horrified, crying one. He had his moments, but generally he wasn't so unstable. He wasn't so… scared.
That was a big one. He wasn't always calm, far from it, in fact, but he wasn't always afraid. Generally, he felt he was safe. Grace had proved long ago that he meant no harm. That he wanted to help — perhaps one of the only people Simon had ever met who both wanted to and would. Rocky just the same. That was a different barrier to cross. He wasn't surprised by his existence; he wasn't sure he would be surprised by anything's existence after that thing in the blood ocean, but it was frightening all the same. He couldn't understand him, and when the translator was on it was broken sentences. He was tougher than any person. But once he trusted Simon, it was easy to show that he wanted to help.
And the Eridians were kind. He didn't often see them, nor they, him, but they had done a lot for them. They made their planet livable for the pair with great care that they would be safe. They helped create food that would sustain them long term, as well as other materials for anything they could imagine. When he did meet them, they were excited. He didn't yet understand Eridian well, certainly not like Ryland, but he knew enough to catch a few words and understand their tone. They were beyond happy to have the pair on Erid.
…And then there was the man himself. Ryland Grace. He was… weird. Brilliant, but weird. All the things he knew about were things that Simon had never seen or had the care for. He could have been lying about every science-y thing he said, and Simon would have no clue. Not that he would do that. He was awkward, too. He laughed nervously when he wasn't sure what to say. He asked questions like he wasn't sure he knew the language. He offered things with the hesitancy of a man who wasn't used to caring for another person. And that was fine. Simon had never taken care of anyone, so Grace was doing far better than he was.
Ryland was the reason he was so comfortable. He was patient. That was the biggest reason. He didn't force him to do anything. To talk about anything. He knew most everything by now, but it had never been something he pressed. He allowed Simon to talk about it in fragments as they came up. As he wanted to.
It was was what Simon wanted a lot of the time. It was overwhelming often. He had never been in a position to choose or even think about what he wanted. The only choice he made was to go in that ocean for his freedom, and near immediately his choice didn't matter in the slightest. He imagined if he hadn't agreed he still would have been sent down. As a convict, well, there was no choice at all. Everyone else chose when and if he ate, drank, or slept. They chose what was done to him. There wasn't much choice on Eden, either. The one choice he made on Eden got him blamed for something far more than he was made aware of and… led to everything that happened after. It was a lot to have so much choice in his life. Often, he preferred that Grace made them.
But there were things he wanted.
He wasn't sure what to call what he and Ryland had. That wasn't what mattered to him, anyway. To either of them. They cared deeply for each other. They pulled each other out of nightmares. They made sure the other wasn't thinking too much about past events they had no control over. So what if fingers lingered at the base of a neck a little too long when they hugged casually? So what if their eyes softened at every smile? That didn't mean anything. Well, it meant everything, but they didn't have to give a name to what that was.
But Simon couldn't pretend that the lingering touches weren't something he leaned into like a lifeline. He had never known what it meant to be touched kindly. For the longest time, he was convinced that it wasn't possible. That the memory of his mother holding his face and kissing his forehead when he was yet to be able to speak was something his fever-ridden mind made up after one too many hits to the head in prison. That the briefest embrace before sensuality was simply something he came up with the cope with the cruelty that riddled most of it.
But Ryland was kind. His arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and Simon couldn't breathe. His fingers brushed his as he passed him a mug and something warm welled up in his chest. A playful shove after a joke gave him a smile he wasn't sure what to do with. Nothing about his touch was cruel. It was intentional and full of a gentility he had never known.
But it made him crave it. He wanted more.
So now they sat in bed. After Rocky found they weren't sleeping together, the Eridians got very scared, and eventually they conceded and shared the ridiculously large bed. Simon lay on his side, arm propping up his head while he looked at Ryland who sat against the head board while he talked. He was so beautiful. His smile was so real. His hair was such a stupid mess. His glasses were almost never properly on his face.
"—Which I just thought was hilarious, but I don't think it translated well when I tried to explain it to him. He just kinda…" He trailed off as he met Simon's eyes. He noticed his staring, then, and coughed to give himself an excuse to break eye contact. "…What's up?"
He looked back up towards him, but couldn't keep his gaze. "What?"
"Just look like you're thinking about something." He smiled, playfully reaching over to push his left shoulder, but he paused and moved to rest it there when Simon pushed back into it. Whatever joke he had never passed his lips. "Simon?"
He moved to lay on his back, and Grace pulled his hand back. Good. He wasn't sure he could handle the feeling of skin touching his when it wasn't the intensity he thought about.
"It's nothing." He said after a moment. "Just… tired."
"I'll watch you sleep." He offered. It had become second nature to them after being on Erid for so long. The idea of sleeping alone was just as ridiculous to them, now, too. He opened his mouth to say something, but a small sound almost akin to a whine was all that came out. Ryland frowned. "Simon."
It felt like his skin was burning. It hurt in a way he didn't know if he could describe if given all the time in the world. His own hand resting on his abdomen through the layers of his shirt and cardigan was a combination of too much to handle and far less than he wanted. He'd felt like this before. The best he could do was curl himself up as tightly as possible until he fell asleep and hope that when he woke the feeling would be gone.
He reached his arm across his chest and gripped the scarred flesh at the base of the left side of his neck. It was… something at least. "I'm fine." He murmured. He moved back to his side so he could point his face towards the mattress and avoid looking at Ryland. "You don't— have to watch. I'll, um—" His hand found the ends of his hair. God, if he could just… "You can go do something else."
He faltered. "…Do you want me to?"
No.
He couldn't say it, though. He tried to. His mouth opened and closed several times, jaw trembling, before he managed to barely shake his head.
"Okay." He said. "I'll stay." He wasn't looking, but Simon could feel his eyes burning through his scalp anyway. "…You should talk about it." He said after a moment.
He almost said no. He almost spat out something along the lines of "it's none of your business" and let that be that. But it really was burning, now. Worse, even. The possibility was so close to him. Ryland was so close to him. Whatever it was, it was so strong that if he didn't find a way to fix it and fast he really did feel like he was going to die. He didn't feel like he belonged in his skin. Like he needed something else to be there. A person briefly entered his mind.
Simon dug his fingers into the skin at his neck and flinched. After the years it was still sensitive. "I, um." Okay, he was doing this. He was talking. He was saying it. He took as deep of a breath as he could allow himself without breaking into sobs. To his credit, Grace didn't say anything. "I just— I don't really feel…" he paused, stammering, "…right? Any, um, touch is, like, awful. But not— not because it's bad it's just— it's not enough. It's too much. I don't know. I feel like I'm dying, and I just—" A single, broken noise broke through. There wasn't anything else to be said, really.
Grace didn't say anything at first. It was awful. Silence where Simon was shaking and shoving his nails so hard into scars that he thought he might open wounds long healed. He could hear him breathing. Then, he got up. He was on Simon's right. Or… was when he was on his back. He supposed technically he was in front of him considering the way he was facing. It didn't matter. He stood and walked around. For a moment, he thought he was going to leave. That he wouldn't even respond. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed his back was facing.
"Can I touch you?" He asked after a moment. "Not— not, like, in a weird way. Like, literally touch you. Like, um, a hug or…?"
"Please." If he had any sense left in him he would be embarrassed for such a desperate response, but he didn't have the strength to think about anything more than the searing need to have anything against him.
Ryland took his hand first, peeling it away from his neck and just… holding it for a minute. He ran his thumb slowly up and down the length of his fingers. Then he let go and moved to lay behind him. His hand moved to his shoulder, down the length of his bicep. It graced over where the arm ended as not to hurt it and landed on his waist. Simon inhaled sharply and heard Grace open his mouth, but before he could even ask the question he forced himself to relax, allowing himself to lean into it. His hand slid down. Over his waist, across his stomach, resting on the other side. He felt like he could hardly breath, and tears pricked the corners of his eyes.
"Simon." The voice was so quiet. So gentle. He didn't answer. He couldn't. "Do you want to turn around? Face me?"
He didn't say anything, but slowly Simon turned to his other side. His knees were pushed up, not quite high enough to be at his chest. He tried stretching them out, but it just didn't feel… secure. So he moved them back. Grace's hand was around his back now. He moved his other arm under his neck, wrapping his hand up to push his fingers through his hair and hold the nape of his neck. He pulled Simon's face into his chest.
That was it. He was sobbing now. It was ugly. Shaking and sniveling and wrapping his arm around Ryland so tightly he vaguely wondered if he could still breathe. He hardly could, face pressed into his shirt while he got snot and tears all over it.
"Hey," he murmured, "hey, it's okay. You're okay."
His nails gently scratched at his scalp. He carefully kissed the top of his head. His hand ran soothing circles on his back. Fuck. Fuck. Holy shit, why was he so goddamn nice? How was he so kind? Why did he want to do this for him? Just the thought alone made him cry harder. He was so, so gentle. Simon felt so unbelievably secure wrapped in his arms. Safe. The arm around his back was so steady; it held him together while every inch of his body felt like it would shatter. The fingers running through his hair were filled with so much gentility that it felt soft.
He wasn't sure how long they sat like that. A long time. Definitely. Long enough that by the time he had stopped crying he was more on top of Ryland than beside him, his face nestled into the crook of his neck while one of his hands carded slowly through his hair and the other ran up and down his back. Their breath came in sync, chests rising and falling into each other.
And Simon was… calm.
"Thank you." It was so quiet he wasn't sure it would register as sound, but it must have because he responded.
"Thank you." He said.
He laughed. "For what?"
Grace briefly squeezed him tighter. "I've wanted to do this for a while, honestly. I wondered what it would feel like."
Simon smiled into his neck. "Me, too."
"Good, I hope." He said it with a chuckle. "I like it, anyway."
He snorted. "I did not just spend thirty minutes—"
"Longer."
"—However fucking long that was—"
"Language."
"—Sobbing into you because I didn't want to!"
Ryland laughed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Yeah, I know." There was a moment of silence, but it was comfortable. "…Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." He paused. "Maybe."
"Okay." The hand in his hair moved to tilt his chin up, resting it on his chest. It went back to his hair. "Tell me."
Fuck, was he pretty.
"I don't know." Great start. "I've just… I haven't exactly had many opportunities for touch to be… nice. Just a lot of hitting and being hit. Even my mother—" He choked on the word. It had been decades since he spoke it aloud. "I don't know. Sometimes I'm not even sure if she was real."
Both arms were wrapped around him now, and he managed to pull him impossibly closer. "Yeah. I mean, not on the hitting thing, really, but… yeah. I didn't really know anyone, so… not a lot of opportunities to touch people. My parents— well, it's been a long time since they cared about that." He gave a morbid sort of laugh. "Long time since they've been dead, too."
"You make me so happy."
He wasn't sure where it came from. He hadn't meant to say it. But he meant it. He really, really did. The joy he felt with Ryland was something he wasn't sure if he had ever felt in his life, and certainly not in the past… at least twenty-five years.
So he didn't regret it.
"Thank you, Simon." The voice was quiet. Small. "You make me happy, too."