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“Grace. The brakes. Grace. Grace!”
Rocky’s panicked voice isn't helping Grace’s own panic because oh my god there’s a silhouette of a person walking in front of them and they’re too close. He steps on one of the pedals, accidentally accelerating for half a second before he stomps on the brakes like his life depends on it. Or, well, the life of the person in front of them. Because it does. Probably.
Thunk.
The sound of impact isn't that loud, really. It’s not that dramatic of a noise, a little anticlimactic even, but in the silence of the car it’s practically deafening. Grace’s hands are frozen on the steering wheel.
“Ryland Grace, did you just hit someone with my car.” Rocky’s voice is ice cold.
“I-I didn't mean to!”
“Yeah, but you fucking did!” Rocky moans in despair, moving to undo his seatbelt. Grace follows suit, fumbling a lot more than Rocky but he does get it off at one point. He turns off the car and hops out.
Just in front of Rocky’s car is a man getting up from the floor, grunting. “Are you okay?” Grace cringes at his own words. He’s not okay, he just got hit by a fudging car. “Can you stand?”
The man gets up fine, Rocky hovering behind him in case he falls over but his demeanor almost makes it seem like the accident was nothing more than a minor inconvenience with the way he stands up pretty easily.
“Just peachy,” he replies, and now that he’s up to his feet Grace’s nervous eyes are able to assess him a lot easier.
The first thing he notices is how built the man is. He’s got a good figure and could very easily beat Grace up in a fight. Maybe not both Grace and Rocky at once, which is good, because that means if he decides to beat the heck out of Grace for, you know, hitting him with a car, then Grace might at least have a fighting chance. Or more accurately, a running chance.
The second thing he notices is the fact that he’s missing most of his left arm.
And his heart stops.
Holy shit. Did Grace do that? He looks around, and sees red liquid on the floor. Blood. It has to be blood. Ryland Grace has just amputated a man.
He passes out.
———
“Oh thank god, you’re waking up.”
“Rrrocky..?” He slurs his words. His head is throbbing, particularly the back. He grimaces as he blinks slowly, trying to adjust to the parking lot’s lights that are suddenly too bright.
He’s mostly on the floor, his head laying on someone's lap, probably Rocky’s. “Th.. hhhuh? Wha.. what happened…” He tries to get up, but fails, landing on Rocky’s lap again. It doesn't help his headache.
“You passed out.”
The unfamiliar voice makes his eyes shoot open, finding the source. The man from earlier is standing a few feet away.
“You’re…” Grace’s brain lags a bit, trying to remember what happened before he lost consciousness. The sequence of events slowly flash into his brain, from Rocky suggesting he practice driving again, to the bickering in the car, to him… hitting a man!
“Oh gosh, your arm!” He scrambles, fighting his headache, trying to get up to his feet. He loses his balance a few times, but Rocky is there to lend a helping hand as he finds his footing. “Are you not.. bleeding out? What? We should get you to the hospital! Or something!”
The man frowns. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Your—” Grace points at the missing limb, only to frown.
It’s... fine. Well, it’s not fine in that it’s mostly gone, but it’s healed. Amputated long ago. There’s no fresh blood or bone or muscle tissue, just scarred skin.
His face turns pale. “Oh, fudge.. I thought…” Grace turns to look at the other man’s face, his head tilted and frowning.
“Did you think that tap amputated my arm?”
Grace groans and covers his face. “I— look, I saw blood on the ground!”
“Blood?”
Him and Rocky turn to the ground in front of the floor, and sure enough, bright red liquid is pooling… around a spilled cup.
“You mean my strawberry milkshake.”
Grace whips his head so fast it worsens the headache. Even with his blurred vision he can see that the confectionary culprit is indeed on the ground, a little whipped cream and a few cut up strawberries lying around. He groans.
“Look, man, I’m so sorr— hah…” He rubs his temples. His bout of panic let him ignore the pain for a bit, but now that he knows the mystery man isn't actively bleeding out he's forced to deal with his own pain instead. “I think… concussion…”
“Yeah, you should probably be laying down, idiot.” Rocky pulls him towards a bench, and, bless his heart, takes off his jacket diligently for Grace to lay his head on.
“You should be chewing my head off, Rocky…” Grace mumbles, covering his eyes with his arm because the street lamps are way too bright for him in this state. “I hit a man with your car,” he moans, “and he was handsome. And so muscley, I thought he was going to beat me up. And I thought I killed his arm—”
“Uh. I’m still here,” the other man’s voice cuts through his rambling.
Grace groans in embarrassment, putting his other arm over his face in hopes that his embarrassment isn't clear with how warm his face feels. It is.
“I think the concussion made him stupid,” Rocky sighs. “I mean, he’s usually a bit stupid, but not like this.”
“I’m very smart! I have a doctorate!”
“Not smart enough to remember where the brakes are.”
“I was panicking! I never drive,” Grace groans. “Gosh, I’m never ever driving again after this.”
“Not with my car at least,” Rocky grumbles. Fair.
He hears some shuffling. “Well, I’m… alright… so… I’m gonna go now.”
“No!” Grace shouts, surprising himself with his volume. He clears his throat, taking his arms off his face to look at the man. “I mean. No. I. Uh. Give me your number.”
Rocky raises his eyebrow. “So forward, for once.”
“Not like that,” Grace whines. “Please, uh, sir, let me repay you. For the milkshake. Do you like this diner? I love this place. Come here a lot. We can meet up again. I’ll buy you a milkshake. And more. I’ll treat you to a whole meal. Two meals! I don't know, just let me repay you. For the car thing.”
He blinks at Grace. “You don't have to. Most I’ll get is a little bruise.”
“But your milkshake.”
The other man’s eyebrows quirk up for a little bit, and so do the corner of his lips, holding in laughter at his whining. “Alright, if it means that much to you.”
Grace fumbles around his pocket to find his phone, and hands it over to the mystery man. He adds himself as a contact pretty quickly, passing the phone back to Grace.
He reads the name of the contact. “Simon,” he says, stretching his hand out for a handshake. He looks a little ridiculous, hair messy, shirt wrinkled, glasses askew, laying down on a bench. “Nice… to meet you?” He doesn't know about ‘nice’, not when their first meeting consists of a car accident and a concussion, but still. “I’m Grace.”
Simon bends down a little to be a bit more eye level with Grace, and his hand meets Grace’s, giving him a firm squeeze and a shake. “Nice to meet you, Grace.” He turns his head. “And you, uh, Rocky?”
“Yeah, it’s Rocky.” He nods. “Don't worry about this one, I’ll drive him home. I’ll make sure my car doesn't hit anyone else on the way.”
Simon laughs (Wow, that sounds really nice), “I sure hope so.”
—
Ryland Grace finds himself at the exact same diner at 7PM the next day.
Rocky chewed him out significantly on the drive home yesterday, and while Grace is used to his potty mouth, he came up with some pretty creative insults that Grace will not be repeating, thank you very much. He even made sure to tell him to at least not mess up on the ‘apology diner date’ (Rocky’s words, not his), so Grace is wearing his very stylish cardigan (At least, that's what his students think, they like this more than his pun shirts, a real shame) over his nice blue shirt.
He parks his bike, pulling out his phone to send a text.
[Grace]
I’m here!
[Simon]
I can see you. I’m sat towards the back.
Grace looks around, trying to catch a glimpse of Simon. He looks and feels a little stupid until he does actually spot him, who offers him a small wave. He waves back, taking off his helmet.
He makes his way in, waving at staff that recognize him. Hopefully they didn't see his crisis in the parking lot yesterday, the staff like him, and he doesn't want to turn his reputation into someone who passes out in parking lots. After hitting another customer with a car.
He sits down across from Simon, who already has a glass of water in front of him.
“So you ride a bike,” he says, taking a sip of water.
“Yeah. Simpler and cheaper, y’know?”
“And less chance of running someone over, huh?”
Grace winces. “I’m really sorry—”
“Relax. It’s a joke.”
Grace coughs, awkward. “Right.” He signals the waiter, feeling a little uneasy. He is so going to mess up this ‘apology diner date,’ and he’s going to have to tell Rocky all about it, and also, no, it’s not a date, Rocky, stop calling it that.
The waiter arrives at their table pretty quickly, which thankfully interrupts Grace’s agonizing. He’s one of the guys that recognizes him.
“Getting the usual?” He asks, and Grace responds with a nod. “And your new friend?”
“I’ll have the bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns.” He eyes Grace. “And a strawberry milkshake with extra syrup.”
The waiter nods and walks away. Grace beams. “Breakfast at 7PM. I’m glad to meet another breakfast lover.”
“Well, I really only just woke up,” Simon shrugs. “I work a night shift.”
“Oh!” Grace frowns. “So I hit you just as you were starting your day.” And he had to go to work post car accident. Gosh.
“Pretty much. But again, I really only got a bruise. Not the worst injury I’ve had.”
“I hope it didn't interfere with your work much.”
Simon dismisses him with a wave. “It wasn't a very busy night. Don't worry about it.”
“What do you do for work?”
“Security guard. You?”
“Teacher. At a middle school.”
That makes Simon tilt his head (He has a habit of doing that when he's thinking, it seems), “I thought you said you had a doctorate?”
Grace bit his lip. “Did I mention that yesterday?” He mumbles, his memory a little foggy. “I do. Formally, I’m Dr. Ryland Grace, but I think my place is in the classroom. I like my kids.”
“Oh, you mentioned a few things yesterday.” Vague wording. The suspiciously cheery glint in his eye worries Grace a little. Maybe he’ll have to rattle information out of Rocky for anything stupid he might have said. “Your work sounds a lot more interesting than mine. What do you teach?”
“Science, in general.”
“So you are smart smart.”
“Not that smart,” Grace argues, and Simon seems to find that funny.
“And your degree is in?”
“Molecular biology.”
Simon hums. “And that doesn't make you ‘smart smart’?”
“I think there’s many more talented and capable scientists than me,” he says, drumming his hands on the table.
Simon seems to sense a story behind his wording and thought process, but doesn't push. It’s a relief.
“So uh…” Grace tries to kill the awkward silence, but it just makes it more awkward. “Do you… come here often?” He’s awful at small talk.
If Simon notices his abysmal social skills, he doesn't comment on it. “Not really. I actually only moved here two weeks ago. Been trying to find good twenty four hour spots.”
“Well, welcome to San Francisco. I swear getting run over isn't super common. And you’ve found a great spot, promise.”
“Yeah?” Simon smiles. “Then I’ll come by more often.”
Grace smiles back. Hopefully his impression of the place has lifted a bit.
The waiter comes by, holding trays of their food. He sets down Grace’s dinner usual (because he has a different usual for breakfast, of course), rib-eye, medium, with mashed potatoes on the side. No pint for tonight, he really only drinks here when he’s with Marissa, and the staff understands that. He has a soda instead. Simon’s plate of breakfast food looks delectable, too, and it makes Grace want to have gotten some breakfast too.
“Is it alright to have a milkshake this early?” Early for Simon, at least.
Simon snorts, “probably not,” and takes a sip. “That's good.”
“I mourn your milkshake loss yesterday.”
‘I can't believe you thought that was blood,” Simon chuckles, “actually, I still can't believe you somehow thought that light tap was enough to rip my arm off.”
“I-I don't know! It was my first time hitting someone with a car!”
That makes Simon laugh, “and it better be your last.”
“It will be, I’m never driving ever again.” Grace mumbles, taking a knife and fork to start eating. He nearly moans when he tastes the steak again, it hits the spot every single time. Thankfully he has manners and suppresses the inappropriate noise.
Simon, however, doesn't. “Fuck, that's good,” he moans, mouth still full of hashbrowns.
“I’m telling you! I come here every morning for breakfast. You should come by more often.”
“You inviting me on another date?”
What. Grace’s fork stops mid-air. “This— This is a date?”
Not that Grace dislikes the idea. Simon looks good. Real good. A lot better now that his vision isn't blurry from the concussion. He seems nice, and he's not totally against the idea of getting to know him more, even if trying to recall how they met kind of wants to make him die of embarrassment.
Okay, maybe Grace actually does like the idea.
Simon sets his fork down and takes his phone out of his pocket. “Rocky told me you might say that.” He puts the phone on the table, showing off a screen of messages.
[Rocky]
hey its rocky
tmr is totally an apology date btw dont let grace tell u otherwise
i got ur number from graces phone while he wasnt looking btw dont worry abt it
[Simon]
???
[Rocky]
:)
Grace sighs. “That little…” He can't be too mad at him for playing in his face. After all, it was his car that Grace was driving. He’s allowed to have a little fun with the situation.
“It doesn't have to be a date if you don't want it to be, you know.” Simon shrugs, continuing to eat his delicious looking food.
That implies Simon wants it to be a date. Or is at least okay with it. Or Grace is overthinking. He almost wants to ask, but that’ll make him sound extra pathetic.
“I mean… I wouldn't… mind.”
“So it’s a date?”
Grace flushes. “Okay, yeah. It’s a date.” His words make Simon smile as he bites into his eggs. Grace tries to ignore his brain screaming ‘He’s smiling! He’s happy! He’s happy that he’s on a date with me!’ He suddenly feels a lot younger and naïve. How he managed to unfumble a man after a car accident and passing out in front of him is beyond him. In every universe, it shouldn't have worked out this way.
“And… you’ll meet me here tomorrow morning for a second one?” Simon proposes with a cheeky smile.
Man, how could he refuse? “Is 7 AM good?”
“It’s perfect.” Simon takes another sip from his milkshake. “Enough about our second date. We’re still on our first one.” He starts to eat more of the breakfast, and Grace follows his lead, getting through his steak.
Grace relaxes a bit more in his seat. “You know, I haven't been on a date in…” he thinks about it, and winces. “Like. A decade. I’m not sure what I’m doing.”
“Hell, I don't even know how long it’s been for me.” Simon mutters, dipping his last bit of hashbrown into the yolk. “So if it’s any consolation, I don't know what I’m doing either.”
“Well then we can figure it out. Together.” He feels a bit cheesy saying it, like a line from a weird romcom. To be fair, this situation does feel a bit like a weird romcom.
“I like the sound of that.” Simon smiles a little, finishing up his plate of food, only his milkshake left for him to finish. Grace diligently finishes up his own food too, trying to match his pace.
“How is it so far?”
“Mm? I’m having a great time. You’re nice and pretty.”
Grace chokes at his honesty. That was much too forward than he was expecting. “I was asking about the food!”
“Oh, the food,” Simon ponders. His response this time is not instantaneous. “It was good. But I prefer my eggs not to be over easy. But I can tell them that next time.”
“Yeah,” Grace smiles. “Next time.”
God, he’s looking forward to next time. And all the times after that, if he's lucky.