Archive of Our Own

Several months ago, Simon had been swallowed by a sea monster.

The thought still struck him as absurd whenever it surfaced. Some mornings he woke expecting rusted steel walls around him, the stale recycled air of the SM-13 filling his lungs and the constant groan of strained metal vibrating through the hull. He expected darkness. He expected the oppressive weight of an ocean that wanted him dead. Instead, he woke to sunlight spilling through windows and the distant sounds of people moving through the settlement. The transition from one life to the other had been so abrupt that there were still moments when Erid felt less like reality and more like a dream his exhausted mind had conjured during those final moments beneath the blood ocean.

The first few weeks had been the hardest. Everything had felt wrong in ways Simon couldn't properly explain. The open spaces made him uneasy. The endless sky above him felt unnatural after years spent enclosed by metal walls and reinforced glass. Even now, months later, he occasionally found himself staring upward for no reason other than the fact that a sky existed at all. Not a viewport. Not a monitor. Not a camera feed broadcasting an image from somewhere else. An actual sky stretching endlessly overhead. Sometimes he caught himself looking at it simply because he could.

The soft whir of servos drew his attention downward. Simon flexed the fingers of his prosthetic hand, watching the artificial joints move with smooth mechanical precision. The arm wasn't perfect. Nothing would ever replace what he had lost. There were still moments when he reached for something and expected to feel fingers that were no longer there. There were still mornings when phantom sensations lingered long enough to leave him frustrated and exhausted. Even so, he couldn't look at the prosthetic without feeling a surge of gratitude.

Adrian had built it for him. The giant blue Eridian could have easily left Simon to struggle through his recovery with one arm. Instead, he'd dedicated countless hours to designing, adjusting, and improving the prosthetic until it worked. Adrian never treated the effort as anything remarkable, either. Whenever Simon attempted to thank him, the Eridian simply shrugged and insisted it wasn't a big deal. Simon suspected that was a lie. Building a functional replacement limb for a traumatized human stranded several light-years from home seemed like a fairly significant undertaking.

Not that Simon was particularly good at expressing gratitude. Or anything else, for that matter.

The people of Erid were kind in a way that sometimes felt overwhelming. Adrian checked on him regularly. Students waved enthusiastically despite Simon's tendency to respond with little more than a nod. Even Rocky occasionally sought him out to ask questions that somehow managed to be both deeply invasive and completely sincere.

Simon tolerated it. He helped where he could, learned the settlement's routines, and made himself useful whenever possible. In return, everyone largely respected his boundaries. Nobody forced him to talk about Earth. Nobody pressed him for details about the prison. Nobody asked what had happened aboard the SM-13 or why he had been alone inside that rusting coffin of a vessel. Whether they had agreed not to ask or simply sensed his reluctance, Simon didn't know. He appreciated it regardless.

Grace, however, was perhaps the most remarkable example.

Most people would have demanded answers eventually, would have grown frustrated by Simon's silence, but Grace never seemed bothered by it. If Simon wanted to talk, Grace listened. If Simon didn't, Grace simply carried on the conversation himself, filling the silence with stories about students, scientific projects, bizarre memories from Earth, or whatever happened to be occupying his mind that day. Somehow, he managed to make Simon's lack of participation feel less like a problem and more like a perfectly acceptable way to exist.

It should have annoyed him. Instead, Simon found it strangely comforting. Which was unfortunate, because he already had enough complicated feelings where Dr. Ryland Grace was concerned. The most embarrassing of those feelings stemmed from the simple fact that Simon had once looked directly at the man and concluded he was an angel.

An actual angel.

A celestial being sent to guide him into whatever awaited after death.

In fairness, Simon had been severely injured, half-conscious, and recovering from being swallowed by a giant alien eel. His judgment had not exactly been operating at peak capacity. That knowledge did little to lessen the humiliation.

Grace remembered. Simon knew he remembered because he himself remembered the look on Grace's face during those first confused conversations. The scientist simply possessed enough mercy not to mention it. Ever. Not once had Grace brought up Simon's insistence that he had died. Not once had he reminded Simon of the questions he'd asked or the assumptions he'd made. He had accepted Simon's eventual realization with nothing more than a gentle smile and a quick change of subject.

Like an angel.

The worst part was that the more Simon learned about Grace, the less the comparison should have made sense. 

Grace was not divine. Grace was clumsy. He misplaced tools constantly. He forgot where he left his students’ homework. He became distracted halfway through explanations and wandered onto entirely unrelated topics before remembering where he'd started. Simon had personally witnessed him walk into a doorframe twice in the same afternoon. The man was incapable of maintaining an organized workspace for longer than twenty minutes and seemed to possess a supernatural talent for losing important objects directly beneath his own nose.

And yet, Simon's gaze drifted across the courtyard before he could stop himself.

Grace stood near one of the classroom buildings, speaking animatedly with a group of Eridian students. Sunlight caught in his hair, turning the blond strands almost golden as they shifted in the breeze. The color reminded Simon of the sunlight reflected across water in the biodome, bright enough to draw attention without even trying. His eyes were an impossible shade of blue, vivid and clear in a way that made Simon think of old photographs of Earth's oceans. They seemed too bright for a universe that had spent so much effort proving itself cruel.

Then Grace laughed. The sound carried faintly across the courtyard, followed immediately by a smile that transformed his entire face. Simon looked away, but it was too late. The damage had already been done.

The stars had always been beautiful. Simon had spent years yearning to see them through the reinforced windows on space stations. Now, when Grace let him onto the Mary, he would watch distant points of light burn silently against the darkness. They had been constant companions during long stretches of isolation, offering a reminder that something existed beyond the rusted walls surrounding him. Yet none of them had ever felt particularly personal. 

Grace somehow did. Every smile seemed genuine, directed entirely toward whoever stood in front of him. There was warmth in it, an openness Simon rarely encountered in other people. The comparison was ridiculous, and Simon knew it. Grace was one awkward scientist who couldn't keep track of his own belongings, not some celestial being descended from the heavens. Nevertheless, Simon found himself thinking of starlight whenever he looked at him.

It was a growing problem. 

Lately, Simon had started noticing things he probably shouldn't: the way Grace's eyes crinkled whenever he laughed, the way excitement transformed his entire posture whenever he discussed something he loved, and the way he instinctively made extra food because he worried someone might still be hungry. He seemed incapable of passing another person's problem without trying to help solve it.

Simon's attention sought him out in every crowded room. Grace bent slightly to help one of the younger students gather a stack of books on the ground. He said something that made the child laugh— or, what could be considered a laugh in their melodic language— and a moment later, he glanced up. 

Their eyes met. Simon immediately looked away. Unfortunately, not before Grace spotted him. A familiar, pleased smile spread across the scientist's face, as though seeing Simon standing there was enough to improve his day. Grace raised a hand in greeting. Simon hesitated before giving a brief nod in return.

It should have been enough, but it wasn't. Grace's smile widened anyway. For reasons Simon refused to examine too closely, his pulse skipped once inside his chest.

A few days later, Rocky sent Simon to find Grace.

The assignment itself was simple. Rocky had been attempting to translate a section of old human educational material and had become stuck on a phrase that apparently made perfect sense to humans and absolutely no sense to Eridians. Rather than spend the next three hours debating linguistic inconsistencies, Rocky had shoved the problem toward Simon and informed him that Grace would know the answer.

Simon suspected Rocky had ulterior motives. He couldn't prove it, but he suspected it. Either way, he found himself heading toward one of the classroom buildings shortly after the final lesson of the day had ended. 

The hallways were quiet. Most of the students had already gone home. The usual chatter and footsteps had faded into distant echoes, leaving the building strangely peaceful. Simon followed the familiar route toward Grace's classroom, one hand tucked into his pocket while the fingers of his prosthetic arm tapped lightly against his thigh.

The classroom door stood partially open. Simon knocked once against the frame.

No answer.

He frowned and stepped inside. The room was empty. At least, it appeared empty at first. Then, movement caught his eye. Grace stood near the far side of the room, facing a bookshelf with his back turned. Several stacks of books were arranged across nearby desks, and he appeared to be sorting them into categories. There was nothing unusual about that.

What was unusual was the small white objects tucked into his ears. They were smooth and rounded, connected to nothing Simon could see. Some sort of communication device, perhaps. Before Simon could examine them further, Grace swayed sideways.

Then he spun.

Simon blinked.

Grace was dancing. It was not impressive, not even competent. He was simply moving. One foot tapped against the floor while he shelved books. His shoulders bounced slightly in rhythm to something only he could hear. Every few moments, he hummed under his breath and performed what Simon could only describe as an enthusiastic but deeply questionable attempt at choreography.

The sight was so unexpected that Simon forgot to announce his presence. He simply stood there watching.

Grace grabbed another stack of books, turned, took three dramatic steps backward, pivoted, pointed at absolutely nothing, then resumed shelving as though the entire sequence had been perfectly normal.

Simon stared. The scientist looked ridiculous. There was no other word for it. This was the same man who had saved two species from extinction. The same man who had crossed interstellar space. The same man who taught advanced science to students. And he was currently shimmying beside a bookshelf.

A strangled sound escaped Simon before he could stop it. Grace froze. Slowly, almost fearfully, he turned around. Their eyes met. For one horrible second, neither of them moved. Grace dropped three books. The crash echoed through the room. The white devices disappeared from his ears so quickly that Simon almost missed the movement.

Grace looked ready to launch himself directly into the nearest sun. "Oh my god, Simon. How long have you been standing there?"

Simon considered the question, crossing his arm while leaning against the doorframe. "Long enough."

The answer produced exactly the reaction he expected. Grace closed his eyes. His shoulders sagged. One hand covered his face. "Oh no."

Simon couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from twitching.

The scientist pointed accusingly. "You're enjoying this."

"A little."

Grace groaned. The sound bounced around the classroom while Simon felt an unfamiliar warmth settle somewhere in his chest. It wasn't quite amusement.  Grace always managed to make things feel lighter somehow.

After several seconds of visible internal agony, Grace bent to collect the fallen books. Simon hesitated. Then, before he could reconsider, he stepped forward. "Need help?"

Grace looked up so quickly that Simon wondered if he'd imagined hearing correctly. "What?"

"The books."

For a moment, Grace simply stared. Simon almost regretted asking. Then something softened in Grace's expression.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Actually... yeah. T-That'd be great."

The smile that followed wasn't particularly large, but it felt genuine enough to make Simon immediately look elsewhere. Together, they began sorting the remaining books. Grace explained the organization system while Simon carried stacks between shelves. It wasn't difficult work. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable either, though Grace seemed determined to fill it anyway.

Every few minutes, Simon caught him glancing over. The scientist would immediately pretend he wasn't. Simon pretended not to notice. Grace remained visibly embarrassed throughout the entire process. 

Eventually, Simon pointed toward the white devices resting on a nearby desk. "What are those?"

Grace looked relieved to have a safer topic. "Oh. Earbuds."

Simon waited. Grace blinked.

"Right. Earth thing. Sorry." He picked them up and held them out. "They play music."

Simon frowned. "Music?"

"You know. Songs."

"I know what songs are."

"Good. That would've made this explanation a lot harder."

Simon rolled his eyes. Grace grinned. The scientist spent the next several minutes enthusiastically explaining recorded music, playlists, headphones, earbuds, genres, and approximately fifty other concepts Simon hadn't asked about. By the end of the explanation, Simon understood perhaps half of it. What he did understand was that Grace had apparently been dancing alone because he liked listening to music while he worked.

The realization should have made the situation less strange. Instead, it somehow made it stranger. "You dance to organize books."

Grace looked offended. "I don't dance to organize books."

"You were dancing while organizing books."

"It is in my heart."

Simon laughed. The sound surprised both of them. Grace's eyes widened. Then his expression brightened immediately. 

For some reason, that reaction lingered in Simon's mind long after he left. The dancing itself wasn't what bothered him. Grace hadn't been performing for anyone. He hadn't been trying to impress anyone. He'd been completely alone, convinced nobody was watching, and somehow he'd still found enough joy in a boring task to dance around a classroom like an idiot.

For someone who had spent years isolated in space, years carrying the weight of two species on his shoulders, Grace still seemed capable of finding happiness in the smallest things.

Simon didn't understand it, but he found himself wanting to.

That was how it started. A few visits became several, then several became routine. At first, Simon invented reasons: Rocky had another question, he needed a tool, he was delivering supplies, or he wanted clarification on something. Eventually, the excuses became increasingly transparent, even to himself.

Sometimes he simply showed up. Grace never seemed bothered by it. In fact, the scientist always looked oddly pleased whenever Simon appeared. Over time, the silence between them became easier. Grace would grade assignments while Simon repaired equipment nearby. Simon would read while Grace prepared lessons. Occasionally, Grace hummed under his breath while working, completely unaware of it.

Simon didn’t catch him dancing since that one moment, though. Still, he was happy just to be in Grace’s space, even if only from a distance.

The next incident occurred six days later. Not that Simon was keeping track. The fact that he knew exactly how many days had passed since the classroom incident was entirely coincidental and certainly not evidence that he had spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about Ryland Grace dancing between bookshelves.

Adrian had sent him to retrieve a replacement filter from one of the storage buildings on the edge of the biodome. It should have been a simple task. Walk in, find the filter, leave. Simon wasn't expecting company, and he certainly wasn't expecting Grace.

The moment he stepped through the doorway, however, he heard humming. Simon stopped. The sound floated through the room between shelves packed with tools, spare parts, and supply crates. There were plenty of people in the settlement who hummed while they worked, but only one person did it with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested he was currently having a wonderful time all by himself.

Slowly, Simon pushed the door open wider. Sure enough, Grace stood near the back of the room with his back turned. The familiar white devices were tucked into his ears, and a clipboard rested in one hand as he moved between shelves, taking inventory. 

At first glance, the scene appeared perfectly normal. Then Grace took three exaggerated steps sideways, spun in a circle, pointed dramatically at a box of replacement wiring, and continued writing on his clipboard as though he hadn't just performed an entire sequence of movements for an audience consisting exclusively of storage supplies.

Simon stared. Apparently, organizing books hadn't been the exception. This was just something Grace did.

The scientist drifted through the aisles with an ease Simon found oddly fascinating. There was no self-consciousness to it, no hesitation. Grace clearly believed himself to be completely alone, and that certainty made every movement feel effortless. 

Simon found himself lingering in the doorway longer than necessary. The prison had taught him that being alone and being lonely were essentially the same thing. Grace seemed to operate under an entirely different set of rules. Somehow, after years stranded in space and years carrying responsibilities large enough to determine the fate of an entire species, he had retained the ability to find genuine joy in sorting inventory.

The concept was baffling to Simon.

Grace shuffled a crate into place, made a small turn that looked suspiciously like a dance move, and continued humming. Then he spun around. Their eyes met. Everything stopped.

The humming died instantly. Grace froze mid-step, one hand still resting on the clipboard. Simon could practically see the realization spreading across Grace's face as he replayed the previous thirty seconds and recognized exactly what Simon had witnessed. Without a word, Simon slowly began closing the door.

“I see you dance in more than one place,” he teased.

He wasn't trying to be cruel. In fact, he considered it a kindness. The door was nearly shut when Grace's voice exploded from the other side.

"YOU COULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING!"

Simon paused. After a moment, Simon reopened the door. Grace stood exactly where he'd left him, looking as though he wanted the floor to open beneath his feet and swallow him whole.

"You saw nothing," Grace said immediately.

"You were dancing."

Grace blushed. "I was organizing."

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Does organizing include spinning in place?”

Grace's expression remained completely serious for approximately two seconds before cracking. "Okay, maybe there was a little dancing."

"A little?"

"A moderate amount."

Simon folded his arms. Grace sighed dramatically. "Fine. A lot."

The admission seemed to physically pain him. Grace set his clipboard aside and rubbed both hands over his face while Simon searched the shelves for the filter he'd come to retrieve. The silence should have felt awkward. Instead, it settled comfortably around them.

Grace then lowered his hands and looked over. "You know, most people announce themselves when entering a room."

"Most people don't dance in storage closets."

Simon found the filter. Grace groaned. The sound was so genuinely offended that Simon felt laughter threatening somewhere in his chest. He managed to suppress it, but apparently not quickly enough.

Grace narrowed his eyes. "Was that almost a smile?"

"No."

"It was."

Simon ignored him and inspected the filter instead. The scientist looked far too pleased with himself. After a few minutes, Grace returned to sorting inventory, though Simon noticed he was noticeably more restrained now. The dancing had disappeared. The humming had softened. Every movement seemed more deliberate under observation.

For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Simon found that disappointing. The problem was that Grace had looked happy before he'd noticed someone watching him. Simon hadn't realized how rare that was until he'd seen it. He collected the filter and headed for the door.

"Simon?"

He glanced back. Grace stood between two shelves, one hand resting against a crate. The embarrassment had mostly faded now, leaving only a hint of pink lingering across his cheeks.

"If you catch me again," Grace said carefully, "maybe don't stand there for five minutes first."

Simon considered that. Then he shrugged. "No promises."

The horrified sound Grace made followed him all the way down the hallway, and for the rest of the afternoon, Simon found himself smiling whenever he remembered it.

The greenhouse incident happened two weeks later.

By that point, Simon had stopped pretending the previous encounters were isolated events. Grace danced. Apparently, it didn't matter whether he was organizing books, sorting supplies, grading assignments, or doing whatever it was he did when nobody else was around. Give him those strange white devices and a task that required minimal concentration, and sooner or later, he would begin moving.

Simon had accepted this as a fact of life. Much like gravity. Or Rocky asking deeply invasive questions at the worst possible moments.

The greenhouse was quiet that afternoon, filled with the soft sounds of running water and rustling leaves. Rows of flowers stretched beneath the curved glass ceiling, vibrant patches of color breaking up the endless green. Simon stood between raised garden beds, watering a section of young plants while enjoying the relative peace. 

It was difficult not to enjoy the greenhouse. The scent of damp soil and growing things seemed to settle some of the restlessness that never fully left him. Living things surrounded him on all sides, thriving because they wanted to thrive rather than because machinery and desperation forced them to continue existing.

The familiar sound of a door opening drew his attention toward the far end of the greenhouse. Grace stepped inside, carrying a tray of gardening supplies tucked beneath one arm. Sunlight streamed through the glass overhead, catching in his blond hair and turning the strands almost gold. He paused near the entrance and glanced around the room, apparently confirming he was alone.

Simon was hidden behind several rows of taller plants. Grace never noticed him. Simon wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

The scientist set down his tray and reached into his pocket. A moment later, the now-familiar white devices appeared. Simon sighed quietly to himself. Of course. Grace slipped them into his ears and immediately became oblivious to the existence of the outside world.

For several seconds, nothing happened. Then one foot began tapping against the floor. A few moments later, his shoulders started moving. Simon immediately recognized the warning signs. Sure enough, Grace began dancing.

It started small. A sway of his hips while examining a flower bed. A slight bounce in his step as he moved between rows. Then, as whatever music he was listening to apparently reached a particularly compelling section, all restraint disappeared. Grace spun around a cluster of lilies, pivoted around a watering cart, and sidestepped between flower beds with surprising grace for someone who usually possessed the coordination of an overturned ladder.

Simon stared. What kept catching Simon's attention was once again the happy expression on Grace's face. There was a lightness to him that only seemed to appear when he believed nobody was watching.

Grace twirled around a flower bed, bent down to inspect a plant, then straightened and nearly walked directly into a wheelbarrow. He avoided collision at the last second and shot the inanimate object a deeply offended look before continuing on his way. 

A laugh escaped Simon before he could stop it.

Grace didn't hear it.

Unfortunately, Simon was distracted enough that he failed to notice the hose shifting in his grip. The nozzle twisted, and a powerful stream of water shot upward directly into his face.

Simon jerked backward with a curse as icy water blasted across his eyes, hair, and shirt. Within seconds, he was completely soaked. Water dripped from his chin. His clothes clung to his skin. The hose continued spraying wildly until he finally managed to wrestle it back under control.

The commotion was loud enough to attract attention. Grace turned, saw Simon, the hose, and the fact that Simon appeared to have somehow lost a fight against gardening equipment.

The dancing stopped instantly. The smile vanished. The white devices disappeared from his ears.

"Not again," Grace said at last. He covered his face with both hands. "Oh no. No, no, no."

Simon wiped water from his eyes. "You dance in greenhouses too."

The sound that emerged from behind Grace's hands suggested he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this moment.

"It wasn't supposed to be the takeaway from this situation."

The scientist looked moments away from digging himself a hole and burying himself in it. Simon felt laughter building in his chest again, stronger this time. He tried to suppress it. He really did. Unfortunately, the sight of Dr. Ryland Grace standing in the middle of a greenhouse, clutching a pair of earbuds like they had personally orchestrated his humiliation, proved too much.

The laugh escaped before he could stop it. Then another followed. And another.

Before Simon realized what was happening, he was actually laughing. Not a quiet exhale through his nose nor the faint hint of amusement he occasionally allowed himself. The sound startled him almost as much as it startled Grace.

The scientist froze. Slowly, cautiously, he peeked through the gaps between his fingers. His ocean-blue eyes widened. "Was that a laugh?"

Simon immediately attempted to regain control of himself. It didn't work. Another laugh slipped out.

Grace stared. "That was a laugh."

Simon finally managed to stop, though the smile remained stubbornly fixed to his face. The warmth in his chest lingered too, unfamiliar and strangely pleasant. He couldn't remember the last time something had made him laugh that hard.

Grace continued staring. Then, very slowly, the scientist's ears turned red. Simon blinked. The redness spread down his neck. Grace immediately looked away. 

The realization hit Simon all at once. Grace wasn't embarrassed about being caught dancing anymore. He was embarrassed because he'd made Simon laugh with his own antics. The thought settled somewhere warm inside Simon.

A familiar urge surfaced, one Simon hadn't indulged in for a very long time: the urge to tease someone. "You seem proud of yourself."

Grace whipped around. "What?"

"You've been smiling for thirty seconds."

"I haven't."

"You look like you won something."

Grace opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then, a visible pout appeared on his face. Simon nearly suffered a second gardening-related accident. The pout lasted only a few seconds before Grace caught himself and sighed dramatically.

"There is no winning with you." The expression remained, however.

Cute, Simon thought automatically.

The realization arrived so casually that it took several seconds to fully register. He had just described Dr. Ryland Grace as cute.

Simon decided not to examine that, for the sake of his own sanity. Grace gathered the gardening tools he'd brought with him and began making his way over. The scientist had mostly recovered by now, though a faint blush still lingered across his ears.

"Fine," Grace said. "If you're going to stand there and judge my dancing, you can at least help."

"I am helping."

"You're watering one section."

"At least the plants are watered."

Grace glanced at the soaking-wet ground around Simon, then at the soaking-wet man. "Overwatered, maybe."

Simon chose not to respond. Instead, he gave a half-hearted glare to the blond. Grace smirked, clearly liking the slight upper hand he finally had.

Together they moved through the greenhouse, working their way between rows of flowers and vegetables. Grace explained what needed trimming, which plants required support, and which flowers were currently thriving. Simon listened while helping where he could, occasionally asking questions when something genuinely caught his interest.

As usual, Grace became animated the moment the conversation shifted toward something he enjoyed. His hands moved constantly while he spoke. He pointed toward different plants, crouched to examine leaves, and launched into enthusiastic explanations about pollination, growth cycles, and various species Simon had never heard of before. Every answer somehow led to three additional facts.

Simon wasn't entirely convinced Grace knew how to give a short explanation. Not that he minded.

The greenhouse filled with the sound of Grace's voice as the afternoon stretched on. Sunlight filtered through the glass ceiling overhead, painting golden highlights across blond hair that had escaped its usual attempts at organization. Every now and then, Grace would brush a strand from his face without interrupting his train of thought, only for it to immediately fall back into place again.

Simon kept watching, as usual. He watched the way Grace smiled whenever he discussed something he loved. He watched the excitement brighten his eyes whenever he shared a new fact. He watched the way his entire face seemed to come alive when he became passionate about a topic.

Most people looked at plants and saw plants. Grace looked at them and saw stories, connections, and wonder. For someone who had seen more horrors than most people could imagine, he still approached the world with an almost childlike sense of curiosity. Simon couldn't understand how someone managed to remain so kind after everything. He couldn't understand how someone remained so hopeful.

More importantly, he couldn't seem to stop wanting to understand. He was happy because he was standing in a greenhouse talking about flowers. And somehow, for reasons Simon was beginning to find increasingly concerning, that made him happy too.

Grace turned toward him in the middle of an explanation about lilies. "...which is why the pollen has to be handled carefully— Simon?"

Simon realized he'd stopped listening several sentences ago. "What?"

Grace smiled. The expression was soft and warm and entirely too easy on the eyes. "Were you paying attention?"

Simon held his gaze for a moment. Then he nodded once. "Mostly."

Grace laughed, shaking his head. Simon felt himself smiling again before he could stop it. This time, he didn't try.

The problem began slowly.

At first, Simon only noticed Grace's dancing when it happened to occur directly in front of him. Eventually, however, the accidents started becoming suspiciously frequent. The strange thing was that Simon began anticipating them.

It wasn’t consciously at first. He would simply notice himself taking routes that happened to pass by Grace's classroom. He would linger near places the scientist frequented. If he heard humming somewhere in the distance, his attention immediately shifted toward it.

One afternoon, Simon found himself sitting near the classroom window while Grace organized papers at his desk. The scientist was humming quietly again, tapping a pencil against the tabletop in time with some imaginary rhythm. The tune was ridiculous. Grace was ridiculous.

Without meaning to, Simon smiled. It was just a small curve at the corner of his mouth, but that was enough. Grace looked up immediately. Scientist's observational skills, Simon decided. There was no other explanation for how quickly Grace clocked his unusual behavior.

Their eyes met. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Grace smiled back, wide enough that Simon could see the tips of his canines. The expression transformed his entire face. His eyes brightened, laugh lines deepening at the corners as though happiness itself had suddenly become visible.

Something inside Simon's chest squeezed painfully. Grace looked unbearably cute.

The realization struck Simon with all the force of a physical blow. His heart swelled. Simon, suddenly convinced he had made a catastrophic mistake, looked away so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash.

Then came the first time Grace offered him an earbud. 

Simon almost said no. Not because he didn't want to hear the music. That was the problem. He did far more than he cared to admit.

Over the past several weeks, music had become one of those things that existed permanently alongside Grace in Simon's mind. If Grace was humming, there was music. If Grace was dancing, there was music. If Grace had one of those white earbuds in, there was music.

The music had become a mystery, a private world Simon could see but never enter. Lately, he'd found himself wondering about it. He wondered what songs made Grace smile to himself while grading assignments, made him dance through greenhouses, or the song that could make someone who had survived everything Grace had survived look so carefree.

The curiosity had become increasingly difficult to ignore, which was probably why he found himself sitting beside Grace on the beach one evening after lessons had ended. Warm light spilled from the artificial sun behind them while the sky overhead slowly darkened toward twilight. Somewhere nearby, insects chirped among the trees.

Grace sat beside him on a stone bench, one earbud resting in place. The other was loose in his shirt pocket. Simon had caught himself staring at it several times. Apparently not subtly enough. Grace looked over and then looked down at the unused earbud.

A slow smile spread across his face. 

Simon immediately knew he was in danger. "What?"

"You want to know."

"No."

"You do."

"I don't."

"You absolutely do."

Simon glared. Grace grinned. Unfortunately, the scientist had become increasingly difficult to intimidate over the past few months.

"Simon."

"What?"

"You've looked at this thing six times."

"I have not."

"Now seven."

Simon considered leaving. Grace looked delighted by this possibility. Instead, the scientist carefully removed the earbud from his shirt and held it out. The movement was casual, yet Simon's stomach immediately tightened.

"Here."

Simon stared at it. The tiny white device resting in Grace's palm was waiting. A surprisingly large part of him wanted to refuse. The earbuds felt oddly personal now, more than they had any right to be.

Grace's expression softened. "No pressure."

The words were gentle. 

Simon hesitated for several long seconds then accepted it. Something bright flickered across Grace's face. It was the kind of expression people wore when they were happy about something they hadn't expected to happen. Simon tried not to think about that.

Grace shifted slightly closer until their shoulders brushed. The contact was brief. It still sent Simon's pulse stumbling over itself.

"Okay," Grace said quietly. "Ready?"

Simon nodded. The earbud settled into place. For a moment, there was only silence.

Then music flooded his world.

Simon froze.

It had been years. He had heard music before, of course: passing hymns, background noise, and fragments from speakers, but this was different. The sound wasn't distant. It wasn't incidental.

It surrounded him.

It filled his ears, wrapped around him. For the first time in years, Simon was simply listening. The opening notes flowed through him.

Then the vocals began. They were warm, bright, and alive. His chest tightened unexpectedly. Beside him, Grace thankfully remained silent because Simon wasn't entirely sure he could explain what he was feeling.

The evening air drifted around them while music continued to fill the space between them.

Eventually, the first song ended. The silence that followed felt strangely empty. Simon found himself speaking before he could stop himself.

"What's that one about?"

Grace looked over. The smile that appeared was small. His voice lowered slightly. "That one's about leaving home."

Simon listened. Much like everything else he loved, Grace explained the lyrics in great detail. At some point, Simon became aware of how close they were sitting. Their shoulders touched whenever either shifted. He could feel the warmth radiating from Grace's side. Moving away would feel deliberate.

The scientist immediately perked up at a new song. "This one is just fun."

"Just fun?"

"Sometimes songs don't need a deeper meaning."

The song proceeded to prove him correct. By the end of it, Grace was visibly resisting the urge to dance. Simon found that deeply entertaining.

Then another song played. And another. And another.

Hours seemed to slip by without either of them noticing. Some songs were lively. They sounded like Grace— bright melodies, fast rhythms, lyrics full of movement, energy, and joy. Songs that made Simon think of classrooms and greenhouses and sunlight catching blond hair. They explained exactly why Grace couldn't sit still whenever he listened to them.

There were slower songs, too. They carried an ache Simon recognized immediately. One in particular left a hollow feeling somewhere beneath his ribs. When it ended, neither spoke for several seconds.

"That one's sad."

Grace laughed softly. "Yeah."

"You listen to that voluntarily?"

"Sometimes."

"Why?"

Grace considered the question.

Then looked toward the stars overhead.

For most of Simon's life, people had been difficult to understand. They lied. They hid things. They wore masks depending on who happened to be watching. The prison had only reinforced that lesson. Grace was different.

When Grace danced, there was no performance. No expectation. No carefully constructed image. It was just him. Simon found himself seeking that out more often than he cared to admit.

"When I was in space..." Grace then began quietly, "There weren't a lot of normal things left."

Simon listened.

"The mission was everything. Every day was another problem to solve. Another disaster waiting to happen. Another way things could go wrong." Grace glanced toward the darkening sky overhead. "Even after I got to Erid, it took a while to stop thinking like that."

The usual humor had disappeared from his voice. In its place was something gentler, more honest. "Music helped."

Simon remained silent. Grace smiled faintly.

"It reminds me of Earth. Not the big stuff like governments or science or saving humanity." He laughed softly. "It reminds me of normal things. Driving with the radio on, walking through a grocery store, and hearing songs at parties. Y’know, stupid everyday moments nobody thinks about until they're gone."

Simon swallowed. He understood that feeling far more than he wanted to. 

Grace sighed. "Sometimes when I get overwhelmed, I put these in and listen to music for a while. For a few minutes, there aren't any missions. There aren't any responsibilities. Nobody needs me to solve anything." His smile grew a little warmer. "It's just music."

The words settled heavily between them.

Simon thought about the SM-13. The endless darkness. The groaning metal walls. The constant pressure that had seemed determined to crush him long before the ocean ever had the chance. He thought about how survival had consumed every waking moment, reducing life to a series of calculations and necessities. Eat. Repair. Monitor. Survive. Repeat. There had been no room for hobbies. No room for joy. No room for anything that wasn't directly tied to staying alive one more day.

He thought about all the things he'd lost, all the things he'd never get back. Most of all, he thought about how few moments in his life had ever belonged entirely to him, moments where he wasn't someone's prisoner, responsibility, or problem. Moments where he was simply allowed to exist.

"I get it," Simon said quietly.

Something akin to relief flickered across Grace's face.

"Yeah," Grace said.

The song continued playing through the shared earbuds, filling the silence with gentle instrumentals and low, thoughtful vocals. Simon found himself listening more carefully than before. Not just hearing the music, but actually listening to it. There was something strangely intimate about the experience. The sound existed in a space that belonged only to the two of them. No one else could hear it. No one else could intrude.

For some reason, the moment sent warmth flooding through Simon's chest. The realization arrived without warning, brutal in its simplicity.

Simon's stomach dropped. He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what it was, and he immediately rejected it. There was a terrifying, impossible problem. Somewhere along the way, the awkward scientist who danced through greenhouses and organized books to music had become important to him.

The realization should have felt exciting, but it was awful. Grace meant wanting something good, kind, and gentle. Simon wasn't entirely sure he deserved any of those things.

The old doubts surfaced immediately. Everything he'd lost. Everything he'd done.

Grace was brilliant, compassionate, and patient, the sort of person who somehow managed to make every room brighter simply by walking into it. Simon wasn't. The comparison felt unfair to both of them.

A quiet panic settled beneath his ribs. Fortunately, Grace remained completely unaware. The scientist had already become distracted by the next song beginning to play. "Oh, this one's fantastic."

Simon looked away before Grace could notice whatever was happening on his face. The music continued. Grace continued smiling, and Simon spent the rest of the evening trying very hard not to acknowledge the fact that he was hopelessly, irreversibly falling in love.

The first person to realize something was wrong was Rocky. Which would have been less embarrassing if Rocky possessed even a single social filter. Unfortunately, he did not.

Simon sometimes suspected that Rocky's greatest scientific achievement wasn't saving two species. It was discovering entirely new ways to make conversations unbearable.

The disaster began aboard the Hail Mary. The corridors were narrow, the ceilings felt too low, and everything smelled faintly of metal, machinery, and whatever Grace had attempted to cook most recently. Grace and Rocky were currently working in the control room while Simon occupied himself nearby. Rocky was adjusting several instruments while Grace sorted through data displayed across multiple screens.

It was supposed to be a routine afternoon. Then Grace made the mistake of listening to music. The familiar earbuds sat in his ears while he worked. Grace's foot began tapping against the floor. Then his shoulders started moving. Then he leaned sideways to grab a tablet and unconsciously added a small spin.

The realization no longer surprised Simon. He watched for perhaps three seconds before returning his attention to a nearby console. Unfortunately, Rocky also noticed. The Eridian's head slowly turned. He focused on Grace, then Simon, then Grace again. Simon immediately felt dread settle into his stomach, the kind that usually preceded catastrophes.

"Question."

Grace looked up from his monitor. "Hm?"

Rocky's voice echoed through the control room. "Why does Simon stare at you when you perform strange movements, question."

Grace choked. His water bottle slipped from his hand and bounced across the floor. Simon briefly considered opening the nearest airlock and launching himself into space.

"Rocky!"

"What, question"

Grace's face immediately turned red. "He doesn't stare at me."

Rocky looked at Simon, then at Grace, then back at Simon. "Incorrect statement."

Grace made a sound of pure suffering while Simon devoted his full attention to the nearest wall. Unfortunately, the wall offered no escape. 

Rocky continued. "Simon watches whenever you move rhythmically."

"I hate that description."

"You are moving rhythmically, statement."

"That's not the point."

"What is point, question."

Grace opened his mouth, paused, closed it, opened it again, and somehow failed to produce a single coherent response. Rocky waited patiently while Grace somehow turned even redder. "Simon just likes being around me."

The words escaped before Grace could stop them. Silence immediately followed. Grace froze. Simon froze. Even the Hail Mary's ventilation system seemed to freeze.

Rocky tilted his head. "Why, question."

Grace visibly malfunctioned. "Oh no."

"Why does Simon like being around you, question."

"Rocky."

"You are distressed, observation."

"Rocky."

"You are making unusual noises, observation."

"ROCKY."

The Eridian considered this for several moments. "Interesting observation."

Grace buried his face in both hands. Simon almost felt bad for him. Rocky studied him for a moment longer before delivering the killing blow.

"Should tell friend Simon about feelings, statement."

The control room went silent. Grace stopped breathing. Simon stopped breathing. 

Rocky appeared completely satisfied with himself. "Communication improves relationship success rates, statement."

Then he simply turned back toward his instruments as though he hadn't just detonated a bomb in the middle of the room. Grace remained frozen for nearly thirty seconds before slowly lowering his hands. His face was still bright red. Very carefully, he looked toward Simon.

Simon immediately found the ceiling fascinating, then the monitors. Literally anything except Grace. Neither acknowledged what had happened. Rocky hummed happily to himself while continuing his work, completely oblivious to the devastation he had caused.

The silence stretched long enough to become noticeable, then longer still, until it was almost impossible to ignore. Eventually, Simon sighed, and across the room. Grace sighed at exactly the same time. They both froze. 

Rocky looked up and observed, "Interesting synchronization, statement," before returning to his work, while Grace groaned and Simon almost smiled—almost. 

The tension eased slightly after that, not enough to disappear completely, but enough that breathing no longer felt like a complicated social maneuver. Several minutes passed before Simon spoke again, and even then, it felt like something he couldn’t take back once it left his mouth. 

“You never asked.” 

Grace glanced up from the console. “Asked what?” 

Simon immediately regretted it, but continued anyway, because there was no graceful way to stop now. “The angel thing.”

For a moment, Grace just stared, then his expression softened. “Oh.”

Rocky looked up again, but neither of them acknowledged him this time. Grace leaned back slightly against the console and said quietly that he had figured if Simon wanted to talk about it, he would. The answer should have surprised Simon, but it didn’t. It sounded exactly like Grace, giving space even when curiosity must have been burning in him.

Simon looked down at his prosthetic hand instead, at the metal fingers Adrian had built for him, at the life he had somehow managed to keep despite everything that had tried to take it away. 

When he finally spoke, his voice came out quieter than intended. “When I woke up… I thought I was dead.” 

The room seemed to shift around the words, growing still in a way even Rocky’s presence couldn’t disrupt. The last thing he remembered was the eel, the darkness, the pain, and the certainty that this was it. Then waking up here, in this place he didn’t recognize, with unfamiliar light and unfamiliar sounds, and Grace standing over him.

“I thought you were an angel,” he admitted, the words landing heavier than he expected. 

Grace let out a small, surprised laugh at first, like he thought it was some kind of joke, but it faded the moment he saw Simon’s face. The realization hit him then that Simon wasn’t exaggerating or teasing, and the amusement drained away, replaced by something quieter, more careful. Simon looked away as he continued, because it was easier than holding that expression. 

It wasn’t about what Grace looked like. It was the fact that Simon had genuinely thought he was done, that someone had finally come for him, and that Grace had been the first kindness he had seen in what felt like a very long time. 

“I thought I’d died,” Simon said quietly, “and honestly… that made more sense than surviving.”

Silence followed—not heavy, not uncomfortable, just the kind of silence that happens when something important has been said and no one wants to break it too quickly. When Simon finally looked up, Grace was staring at him with something soft and unguarded in his expression, no pity in it at all, just understanding. 

Then Grace said quietly, “I’m glad I wasn’t an angel.”

Simon blinked. “Why?” 

Grace’s smile turned small, different from his usual brightness. “Because then I would’ve had to leave.” 

And for a moment, neither of them could look away, something shifting between them in a way neither of them fully had words for yet, but both of them clearly felt.

Then Rocky ruined everything. “Friend Grace and friend Simon heartbeats are currently synchronized, statement.”

Both of them jumped. Grace nearly fell out of his chair. Simon briefly considered opening the nearest airlock. 

Rocky, entirely pleased with himself, added, “Very romantic observation, statement.”

“ROCKY!” Grace yelled.

“Yes, question?”

Grace covered his face. Simon stared into the void. 

Rocky made a satisfied clicking sound and concluded, “Suspicion confirmed, statement,” as though he hadn’t just shattered the emotional atmosphere of the entire universe.

The aftermath of Rocky’s observation lingered far longer than either of them cared to admit.

Neither of them mentioned it again, which was its own kind of agreement. But in the pauses— in the way Grace hesitated for half a second before speaking, the way Simon found himself lingering just a little longer when Grace was nearby— both of them seemed increasingly aware that something had shifted, even if neither of them was willing to give it a name yet. Simon told himself he didn’t need to name it.

Names made things real, and real things could be taken away. But avoidance, as it turned out, was only a temporary strategy when the problem kept smiling at you like Ryland Grace did.

It finally came to a head a few days later, in the same classroom where everything had started feeling inevitable.

Grace was alone after hours, as usual. The room was dimmer now, lit mostly by the soft glow of a few overhead lights and the faint spill of hallway illumination through the open door. He had one earbud in, the other probably in his pocket again, and he was moving between desks with that same complete lack of dignity Simon had come to recognize as dancing. 

It was still objectively terrible, half-focused, and more enthusiastic than skillful. But it was also unmistakably him, completely himself in a way Simon had started to realize was rare and dangerously appealing.

Simon stood in the doorway for a moment before Grace noticed him. When he did, he didn’t stop. Instead, his face split into a grin.

“You know,” Grace said, swaying slightly as he stacked a few books, “normal people would either join in or leave.”

“I’m not normal,” Simon replied.

“Fair.”

The music kept playing. Some upbeat thing with a ridiculous rhythm that made absolutely no sense to Simon but apparently made Grace incapable of standing still. Grace kept organizing, still half-dancing as he worked, entirely unconcerned with the fact that Simon was watching. That in itself felt like a shift. A few weeks ago, he would have been mortified. Now, he just seemed comfortable.

That realization tightened something in Simon’s chest. He stepped forward. Grace glanced over again, still smiling, still moving to the beat. “So. Are you just going to stand there judging me again?”

“No,” Simon said.

A pause. Then he walked closer and held out his hand.

It wasn’t a calculated gesture. Simon didn’t do this. Physical contact had always been something associated with necessity or danger or loss, but now his hand was simply there, open, waiting, like it had decided without him.

Grace stopped mid-motion. The dancing faltered. His eyes dropped to the hand, then flicked back up to Simon’s face.

“…What?” Grace asked softly.

Simon shrugged, trying very hard to look like this was nothing, like it didn’t matter that his pulse felt loud enough to shake his ribs. “You look stupid doing it alone.”

Grace’s entire face went bright red.

“Oh,” he said faintly.

Simon immediately regretted everything. Every decision leading to this moment suddenly felt like a mistake. He considered retracting his hand, leaving, pretending this had never happened, becoming one with the floor tiles. But Grace didn’t move away. Instead, he looked at Simon more carefully this time, the humor slowly slipping into something gentler. “You sure?”

A beat passed. Simon exhaled.

“You’ve been making a fool of yourself for months,” he said, because apparently subtlety had died somewhere along the way. Then, quieter, almost reluctantly honest, “Figure somebody should help.”

For a second, Grace just stared at him. Then he laughed. Simon felt it hit him harder than it had any right to.

“That might be the nicest insult I’ve ever received,” Grace said.

He took the hand. Their fingers brushed first—hesitant, careful—then settled properly. Simon immediately became aware of everything at once. Warmth, contact, the fact that Grace was there, actually there, not at a distance or across a room or behind a console, but close enough that Simon could feel the small shifts in his grip as he adjusted.

Grace then pulled the other earbud from his pocket and gingerly placed it in Simon’s ear. The music filled his head. 

Grace tugged him forward slightly, laughing again. “Okay. Fair warning. I am very bad at this.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Oh, you’ve noticed.”

Then they were both moving, which was generous phrasing for what was mostly stumbling. Grace tried to guide him; Simon tried to follow; neither succeeded particularly well. They stepped on each other’s feet within the first minute. A book slid off a desk. Someone’s chair nearly got knocked over. Grace laughed so hard he had to stop entirely for a moment, leaning forward with his forehead almost against Simon’s shoulder.

“Okay,” he wheezed, “this is worse than I thought.”

“You started it,” Simon said.

“I did not start this.”

“You were dancing.”

“That is not—okay, fine, that is technically true.”

Another misstep. Another collision. More laughter. The awkwardness should have been unbearable. Instead, it wasn’t. It kept dissolving into something easier every time it tried to form, like it didn’t belong here anymore. And somewhere in the middle of it, Simon realized something with startling clarity.

He wasn’t waiting for it to end. He wasn’t planning his exit. He wasn’t preparing for the moment to collapse into something safer. He was just here. He was not surviving but living. The thought made his chest tighten in an almost frightening way.

Grace shifted closer again, still smiling, still breathing slightly out of rhythm, and Simon found himself matching it without meaning to. Somewhere between the music and the movement and the absurdity of it all, everything else got quieter.

Then Grace slowed. He looked at Simon like he was trying to understand something without words, like he’d been trying for a while and was finally close.

“Hey,” Grace said quietly.

“Yeah?”

A pause settled between them, thin and fragile, like the entire room had forgotten how to move. 

Then Grace lifted a hand and gently brushed it against Simon’s cheek. The touch was brief, almost hesitant at first, but it grounded everything in a way Simon didn’t have language for. It wasn’t just contact; it was recognition, like being seen without having to translate himself first. The room felt smaller. The music felt further away, reduced to something distant and irrelevant. Even the air seemed to hesitate with them, as if it understood this moment didn’t belong to anything outside it. 

Neither of them moved. The laughter faded into silence that didn’t feel empty so much as full, stretched tight with everything neither of them had said out loud yet.

Grace’s hand stayed there for a second longer than necessary, not quite trembling, but careful in the way people are when they’re holding something they didn’t expect to be allowed to touch. Like he was making sure this was real, like looking for the moment it might disappear if he stopped paying attention to it. Simon watched him for half a heartbeat longer, staring into those deep blue ocean eyes, then closed his eyes—not as an escape, but as surrender—and finally closed the distance.

The kiss wasn’t anything like the storms Simon had braced himself for. There was no panic in it, no urgency trying to make up for lost time, no collapsing certainty that demanded answers all at once. It didn’t feel like being overwhelmed. It felt like being allowed to breathe somewhere he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath for years. It was quiet in the truest sense of the word, not empty silence but shared stillness, as if everything loud in both their lives had finally stepped far enough back to let this exist.

Grace didn’t pull him in. Simon didn’t rush forward. It happened in the space between hesitation and decision, in that small, fragile threshold where choice becomes trust. Their movements were careful without being cautious, like both of them were learning a new language with their hands still uncertain but honest. There was warmth, not just from proximity but from something softer, something that felt like it had been building quietly for a long time without either of them naming it, finally allowed to surface without being chased away.

When they finally parted, it wasn’t abrupt. It unraveled slowly, like neither of them quite wanted to be the first to break the thread holding them there. Simon’s forehead lingered near Grace’s for a moment longer than reason would suggest, close enough to feel him still, close enough that the absence of contact immediately felt noticeable. The music was still playing. Somewhere in the room, something continued to sway to a rhythm neither of them was paying attention to anymore.

Grace smiled first, something small and shy that didn’t quite reach the confidence of his usual expressions but somehow felt more honest because of it. Simon exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months without realizing it, the tension finally leaving his shoulders in a way that made him feel slightly unsteady, like his body had forgotten what it was like not to brace for impact.

Then Grace moved again. It was subtle at first, just a shift of his hand from Simon’s cheek to the back of his neck, fingers curling there gently like he was testing whether Simon would pull away. 

He didn’t. If anything, Simon leaned into it without thinking, the instinct immediate and unguarded in a way that would have embarrassed him a week ago. Grace let out a quiet sound that might have been relief or amusement or both, and then pulled him in again.

This time, Simon didn’t hesitate at all. The second kiss was different in the smallest but most important way: certainty. Still not hurried, still not dramatic, but no longer tentative. It carried the quiet decision of something that had already been chosen once and didn’t need to be questioned again. 

Simon’s hand came up without thinking, settling at Grace’s waist to steady him, and Grace responded by leaning closer, as if the distance between them had become something neither of them had any interest in maintaining. There was no rush in it, just an easing into each other that made the rest of the room feel increasingly irrelevant. The music kept going, but it might as well have been coming from another universe.

When they pulled apart again, it was slower this time, too. Simon stayed close enough that he could still feel the warmth of Grace’s breath, and Grace didn’t immediately let go, his hand still resting at the back of Simon’s neck like an anchor he wasn’t ready to release.

Simon let out a short breath, then huffed something like a laugh, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “Did I seriously need a fucking sentient rock with legs to tell me you liked me?”

Grace blinked at him. Then he made a sound that was half scandalized, half offended, like Simon had just committed a crime against romance itself. “Hey!”

Simon’s expression barely shifted, but the faintest spark of amusement was there. “What? He’s observant.”

“That is not—he is not—” Grace started, then broke off entirely, shaking his head as if trying to physically dislodge the conversation from reality. “I cannot believe Rocky is going to be credited for this.”

“Oh, he’s absolutely getting credit,” Simon said, completely deadpan.

Grace stared at him for a full second, then smacked his shoulder, more flustered reflex than actual aggression, and laughed, breathy and disbelieving. “You are unbelievable.”

Simon didn’t move away from the touch. If anything, he looked faintly satisfied with himself, like this was exactly the reaction he’d been aiming for. “You started it.”

“I did not start—” Grace cut himself off, pointing at him like the argument had physically escaped him, then gave up entirely with a smile that softened into something fond. 

The music kept playing. Neither of them bothered to turn it off.