Work Text:
Hair Holds Memories
———————
The Hail Mary was unusually peaceful.
Rocky was in engineering, happily occupied with one of his own projects, leaving the rest of the ship wrapped in a comfortable silence that Ryland had long since stopped finding unsettling.
He was sitting at the dining table with a notebook open in front of him, absentmindedly tapping the eraser of his pencil against the page while trying to solve a problem that had absolutely refused to cooperate all morning.
"...You're annoying," he muttered to the equation.
The equation remained unconvinced.
With an exaggerated sigh, Ryland crossed it out and leaned back in his chair.
"I'll come back to you later."
He stretched until his back popped, then wandered into the hallway in search of coffee.
Halfway there, the sound of metal clinking together echoed from the maintenance room.
Simon.
Ryland smiled to himself and followed the noise.
The maintenance room door was propped open, revealing Simon kneeling beside an open wall panel with tools scattered neatly around him. Wires disappeared into the wall in every direction, and Simon was completely focused on whatever repair had stolen his attention.
Ryland leaned against the doorway.
"...Whatcha fixing?"
Without looking up, Simon answered,
"Cooling pump."
"Broken?"
"It was."
"And now?"
"It will stop being broken in about five minutes."
Ryland nodded as if he'd understood every word.
"Ah."
Simon reached farther into the panel.
A loose strand of dark hair immediately slipped free from behind his ear and fell directly across his eyes.
Without even thinking about it, Simon blew upward.
The strand moved.
For approximately two seconds.
Then it fell straight back into place.
Ryland watched the entire exchange.
Simon tried again.
The same thing happened.
"...Your hair's fighting you."
"It usually loses."
Simon tucked the strand behind his ear again and returned to tightening a bolt.
Not even thirty seconds later...
It escaped.
Ryland bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
"I think it's winning."
Simon sighed through his nose.
"It has opinions."
"It definitely does."
Ryland watched him for another minute.
Every few moments, another strand slipped loose.
Every few moments, Simon tucked it back again.
Eventually, Simon stopped bothering.
Ryland smiled to himself.
His hair had gotten long.
Long enough to brush past his shoulders now.
Long enough that it curled slightly at the ends after he'd showered.
Long enough...
For a braid.
The thought crossed Ryland's mind almost automatically.
Months ago, he would've said something.
"I could braid it."
He almost heard the words in his own head.
Instead, he stayed quiet.
Simon had made it clear a long time ago that the answer was no.
Ryland had respected that.
So he simply watched for another second before pushing himself away from the doorframe.
"Well..."
He smiled.
"I'll leave you to your dramatic battle against your own hair."
Simon let out the tiniest huff that passed for amusement.
"I'm winning, just so you know."
"Debatable."
"I have tools."
"It has persistence."
Simon finally looked over his shoulder.
"...Go get your coffee."
Ryland laughed.
"Yes, sir."
He turned and wandered back into the hallway, already thinking about the impossible equation waiting for him.
Behind him, Simon watched until Ryland disappeared around the corner.
Only then did another strand of hair fall directly into his face.
Simon sighed.
"...Traitor."
He brushed it away again.
Then, almost unconsciously, his thoughts drifted back to what hadn't happened.
Ryland hadn't mentioned braiding it.
Not today.
Not last week.
Not last month.
In fact...
Simon couldn't remember the last time he'd asked at all.
He frowned slightly as he returned to his work.
For some reason...
He found that he missed hearing the question.
The thought stayed with Simon for the rest of the afternoon.
Which was irritating.
Because it wasn't an important thought. The cooling pump was important.
The wiring behind the communications panel was important.
Making sure the Hail Mary didn't decide to fall apart around them was important.
Wondering why Ryland had stopped asking to braid his hair...
Was not.
And yet...
Every so often, the thought wandered back into his mind.
By the time evening arrived, the repair was finished.
Simon wiped the grease from his hands with an old cloth before making his way toward the galley.
The smell of dinner reached him before he stepped through the doorway.
Ryland stood at the counter, stirring something in a pot while quietly humming to himself.
Rocky sat nearby, rolling a small piece of xenonite between two of his appendages with practiced precision.
"Friend Simon returns."
"Looks that way," Ryland said, glancing over with a smile. "Perfect timing."
Simon walked over, asking, "What burned?" with a smile on his face.
Ryland looked offended.
"...Nothing."
"You sound defensive."
"I sound unfairly accused."
Simon looked into the pot.
"...You're making soup."
"I am."
"Soup doesn't usually require this much concentration."
"It does if you're trying not to poison your boyfriend."
Simon laughed softly through his nose.
"I appreciate the effort."
Ryland grinned.
"See? Someone believes in me."
Rocky tilted his head.
"Rocky remembers smoke."
Ryland pointed his soup ladle accusingly at him.
"That happened one time."
"Three times."
"Details."
Simon shook his head, unable to hide a smile as he reached into a cupboard for bowls.
For the next several minutes, they settled into the familiar rhythm they'd built together.
Ryland served the soup.
Simon sliced bread.
Rocky provided running commentary that was equal parts helpful and completely unnecessary.
It was... nice.
Comfortably ordinary.
The kind of evening Simon had never imagined he'd have.
After dinner, Ryland gathered the dishes.
"I'll wash."
Simon automatically reached for them.
"I can—"
"I know."
Ryland smiled.
"But you fixed the cooling pump all day."
"So?"
"So..."
Ryland gently nudged Simon away from the sink with his shoulder.
"...Go sit down."
Simon raised an eyebrow.
"You're ordering me around now?"
"I'm encouraging self-care."
"Sounds suspicious."
"It is."
Simon let himself be herded toward the table with exaggerated reluctance. "...Bossy."
"I learned from the best." Ryland said, matter-of-a-factly.
"I've never been bossy."
Ryland looked at him.
Simon looked back.
Rocky looked between them.
"Incorrect statement detected."
Ryland burst out laughing.
"I knew it!"
Simon sighed dramatically, faking a pout. "I've been betrayed."
"Accurate statement."
Still smiling, Simon sat at the table while Ryland began washing the dishes.
His gaze drifted absentmindedly toward the back of Ryland's head.
Ryland's hair had gotten longer too.
Not nearly as long as Simon's, but enough that it curled slightly around his ears.
Every now and then he'd stop scrubbing a bowl just to push it back out of his eyes.
Simon watched him do it.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
A strange feeling settled in his chest.
He remembered Ryland doing exactly the same thing earlier that afternoon—
Quietly watching Simon brush his own hair out of his face.
Not saying a word.
Not making the old joke.
Not offering.
Just... respecting the answer Simon had given months ago.
Simon lowered his eyes to the tabletop.
"...Ryland."
"Hm?"
Ryland didn't turn around.
"You used to ask."
Ryland paused, sponge still in his hand.
"...About what?"
"My hair."
Silence.
Then Ryland rinsed another plate before answering.
"Oh."
He shrugged lightly.
"I did."
"You don't anymore."
Ryland smiled to himself.
"No."
"Why?"
The question hung in the air.
Ryland set the plate in the drying rack before finally turning around.
He leaned back against the counter, drying his hands on a towel.
"You always said no."
Simon nodded, "I did."
"So..."
Ryland gave a small, easy shrug. “I figured that was your answer."
No bitterness.
No disappointment.
Just simple acceptance.
"I didn't want you thinking I'd keep asking until you got tired of saying no."
Simon's expression softened almost imperceptibly.
Ryland continued, matter-of-factly,
"If you don't want someone touching your hair..." He smiled gently, continuing "That's the end of the conversation."
"It's your hair. You get to decide." He finished.
Simon stared at him.
The words were so... uncomplicated.
No guilt.
No teasing.
No "maybe someday."
Just respect.
Ryland rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little embarrassed.
"...Besides..."
Simon waited.
"I kind of figured..."
Ryland laughed quietly.
"...If you ever changed your mind..."
He smiled.
"You'd tell me."
Simon held his gaze for a long moment.
"...Yeah."
Ryland nodded once.
"Yeah."
The conversation ended there.
Ryland turned back to finish the dishes as if they hadn't discussed anything important at all.
But Simon remained seated.
Watching him.
Thinking.
For the first time, the idea of letting Ryland braid his hair didn't feel uncomfortable.
It felt... safe.
And that realization lingered with him long after the dishes were dry.
The next evening found Simon alone in their room.
Freshly showered.
The room was still warm from the steam drifting out of the bathroom, and the faint scent of soap lingered in the air.
Simon stood in front of the small mirror mounted to the wall, a towel draped around his shoulders.
His hair was still damp.
Longer than it had been in years.
He picked up his brush.
One slow stroke.
Then another.
The quiet scrape of the bristles filled the room.
A few stubborn tangles caught near the ends.
Simon worked through them patiently.
His reflection stared back at him.
Hair falling over one eye.
He brushed it away.
It fell back.
"...Persistent."
He reached for the hair tie sitting on the counter.
His fingers stopped just above it.
For some reason, he remembered Ryland's smile from the night before.
"If you ever changed your mind..."
"You'd tell me."
Simon frowned at himself in the mirror.
"...You've been thinking about this for two days." He told himself.
He wasn't even sure why.
It wasn't about the braid.
Not really.
It was about what it meant.
Sitting still while someone stood behind him.
Letting someone touch his hair.
Trusting them enough not to feel the need to watch every movement.
Years ago...
He would've laughed at the idea.
Now...
He wasn't laughing.
He was considering it.
That thought alone was enough to make him set the brush down for a moment.
"...Huh."
A quiet knock sounded at the bedroom door.
Simon looked up.
"Come in."
The door slid open.
Ryland stepped inside carrying two steaming mugs.
"Oh, good, you're awake."
He smiled.
"I made tea."
Simon accepted one of the mugs with a quiet thanks.
Ryland took a sip from his own before noticing Simon's still-damp hair.
"...Shower?"
Simon nodded.
"Finally got the grease out."
"Worth celebrating."
"It was becoming part of me."
Ryland laughed. "I was getting worried."
Simon raised an eyebrow.
"Worried?"
"I almost started calling it your emotional support motor oil."
Simon let out an amused huff, rolling his eyes. "I would've survived."
"Barely."
They stood there for a comfortable moment, sipping their tea.
Ryland's eyes drifted toward the brush on the counter.
Then to Simon's damp hair.
For the briefest second...
Something flickered across his face.
Recognition.
The old thought.
Just as quickly, it disappeared again.
He looked back to Simon instead.
"So..."
Ryland smiled warmly.
"Movie tonight?"
Simon noticed.
Ryland had thought about asking.
He'd decided not to.
Without hesitation.
Without disappointment.
Just because Simon had said no months ago.
The realization settled somewhere deep in Simon's chest.
Ryland really had let it go.
He wasn't waiting for another chance.
He wasn't hoping Simon would eventually give in.
He had simply accepted Simon's answer and moved on.
Simon looked down into his mug.
"...Ryland."
"Hm?"
"You really stopped asking."
Ryland blinked. "...Yeah."
"You don't even think about it anymore."
Ryland smiled sheepishly.
"I mean..." He scratched the back of his neck, "I still think you'd look nice with a braid."
Simon's ears warmed just a little.
"But that's kind of irrelevant." Ryland shook his head.
"Why?"
Ryland looked genuinely confused.
"Because you already answered."
He shrugged.
"So my opinion doesn't matter."
Simon looked at him carefully.
"...It doesn't?"
"Not more than your comfort."
The answer came so quickly Ryland didn't even seem to realize how much it meant.
He took another sip of tea.
"As long as you're happy, your hair can do whatever it wants."
Simon stared at him for a long moment.
Then...
Almost without thinking...
He set his mug down on the dresser.
Reached over.
Picked up the hairbrush.
Turned toward Ryland.
Ryland looked at the brush.
Then at Simon.
Then back to the brush.
"...Simon?"
There was the tiniest hint of uncertainty in Simon's voice.
The kind Ryland almost never heard.
"...If..."
He cleared his throat.
"...If the offer still stands."
Ryland's eyes widened.
Simon's gaze immediately dropped to the floor.
"...I'd like you to braid it."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Ryland just stared at him.
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"...Really?"
Simon gave one small nod. “...Really."
Ryland looked so astonished that Simon almost laughed.
Instead, Ryland smiled.
Slowly at first.
Then brighter.
Not excited in the loud, bouncing way Simon expected.
Just... deeply, genuinely happy.
He held up both hands.
"I am going to need you to know something before I answer."
Simon blinked.
"...Okay."
Ryland's smile softened.
"You can change your mind."
"Right now, Halfway through, at any point at all. I won't be upset."
Simon felt the tension he'd been carrying loosen just a little.
"...I know."
Ryland nodded once.
"Good."
He looked at the brush again, then back at Simon.
"...I'd be honored."
For reasons Simon couldn't quite explain...
Those three words meant more to him than any enthusiastic "yes" ever could.
Neither of them moved for a few seconds.
Ryland was smiling.
Simon was suddenly wondering if this had been a terrible idea.
"...You okay?" Ryland asked gently.
Simon looked down at the brush still in his hand.
"...I'm thinking."
"About changing your mind?"
"...Maybe."
Ryland's smile didn't falter.
"That's okay."
He meant it.
"If you'd rather not, we can pretend this conversation never happened." Ryland gave an easy shrug.
Simon searched his face for even the smallest hint of disappointment.
There wasn't any.
Just patience.
Just Ryland.
Simon let out a slow breath.
"...No."
He held the brush out.
"I want to."
Ryland accepted it carefully, almost like Simon had handed him something fragile instead of an ordinary hairbrush.
"...Okay."
Another pause.
"I've... actually never braided anyone else's hair before."
Simon raised an eyebrow.
"I thought you'd be an expert."
Ryland laughed sheepishly.
"I know the theory."
"The theory?"
"I watched a lot of tutorials."
Simon blinked.
"...You what?"
Ryland's ears immediately turned pink.
"I was curious!"
"When?"
"Oh..."
Ryland scratched the back of his neck.
"...A few months ago."
"...Months?"
"I figured..." He laughed awkwardly. "...If you ever said yes, I didn't want to accidentally make your hair look ridiculous."
Simon couldn't help the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"...You studied."
"I studied."
"For me."
"...Yeah."
There was something so undeniably Ryland about that answer that Simon couldn't even tease him.
Instead, he quietly asked,
"...Where do you want me?"
Ryland looked around the room.
"The chair?"
Simon nodded.
He pulled the desk chair away from the table and turned it to face the observation window.
The stars stretched endlessly beyond the glass, filling the room with faint silver light.
Simon sat.
For the first time since offering...
His nerves returned.
He rested his good hand on his knee, unconsciously tapping his thumb against the fabric of his sweatpants.
Ryland noticed.
"You still okay?"
"...Yeah."
"We don't have to."
"I know."
"...I want to."
Ryland smiled softly.
"Okay."
He stepped behind the chair.
For a moment...
He didn't do anything.
Simon waited.
"...Ryland?"
"I'm deciding how to start."
"You've been planning this for months."
"I know. And now I'm overthinking it."
Simon laughed quietly. "That sounds about right."
Ryland smiled to himself.
"...Probably."
He took a slow breath.
Then spoke again.
"I'm going to brush it first."
Simon nodded once.
"...Go ahead."
Ryland carefully gathered Simon's hair over one shoulder.
The first touch was almost impossibly gentle.
The backs of his fingers barely brushed Simon's neck as he moved the damp strands into place.
Simon instinctively tensed.
Then immediately felt guilty for doing so.
Before he could apologize...
Ryland quietly stepped back.
"...Too much?"
Simon blinked.
"...What?"
"You tensed."
"Oh."
Simon looked down at his hands.
"I..."
He struggled to explain it.
"It's not you."
"I know."
Ryland answered so quickly Simon looked up.
"I know it isn't."
He rested the brush lightly against Simon's shoulder instead of starting immediately.
"We can take as long as you need."
No pressure.
No expectation.
No impatience.
Simon closed his eyes for just a second.
Then let out a slow breath.
"...Sorry."
Ryland frowned.
"For what?"
"My reflex."
"Simon," His voice was as gentle as ever. "You don't have to apologize for having reflexes."
A tiny laugh escaped Simon.
"...You always know what to say."
"I really don't."
"You do."
"I mostly just say the first thing that pops into my head."
"...That's somehow worse."
Ryland grinned.
"I've been told."
Simon shook his head, smiling despite himself.
"...You can brush it."
"You sure?"
"...Yeah."
This time, when Ryland drew the brush slowly through Simon's hair, Simon knew it was coming.
The bristles glided from the top of his head to the ends with slow, careful strokes.
Ryland never tugged.
Never rushed through a knot.
Whenever he reached a tangle, he patiently worked it free a little at a time, holding the section above it so it wouldn't pull against Simon's scalp.
Simon hadn't expected that.
He hadn't expected Ryland to know to do that.
"...You've really looked this up."
Ryland chuckled behind him.
"I told you."
"I thought you were exaggerating."
"I spent an embarrassing amount of time researching."
"...Why?"
The brushing paused.
Ryland's answer came quietly.
"Because if you ever trusted me enough to say yes..."
Another gentle stroke.
"...I wanted it to feel nice."
Something warm settled in Simon's chest.
He looked out through the observation window, watching the distant stars drift past.
For the first time since sitting down...
He realized he wasn't waiting for it to be over.
He was simply... enjoying it.
Behind him, Ryland smiled to himself.
He could feel the tension slowly leaving Simon's shoulders with every careful stroke.
Neither of them said anything for a while.
The only sounds in the room were the soft whisper of the brush moving through Simon's hair...
...and the quiet hum of the Hail Mary carrying them both safely through the stars.