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Simon never really had a steady life before the quiet rapture.
Living on a space ship, no matter how long you did it, was never really stable. Heaven knows that every week there was something that had gone wrong on that pieced together tin can. And even if he could have lived normally on that space station, growing up in a cult independent of that would have robbed his chances from under him.
After the quiet rapture, before… filament station… There had been a lot of turmoil, for everyone. Being told that every star in the universe had suddenly abandoned you, even though you could still see them, will do that to you. Everyone got shiftier, got sharper, and got angrier.
Simon knew that last one well, in ways he doesn't like to think about.
And then, of course, there was his forced suicide, the Iron Lung he'd been forced to traverse the blood ocean in. Simon takes another deep breath out, as he finds another topic he tends to just… not think about. The erdians and Ryland Grace had saved him from that. There was no need to go back there.
The point is, He's beginning to wonder if this is what a quiet life is like. He rolled out of bed late into the morning, getting up simply when it had felt right. He had no plans for the day, no requirements, just him and his morning coffee as he gazed out of his house's windows towards the fake beach the eridians had manged to make.
And of course, because he'd somehow manged to curse himself, that's when a frantic banging on his front door.
"Oh, What the fuck," Simon cursed lowly under his breath. He crosses his kitchen in two great strides, opening his front door.
He's expecting Rocky, the excitable scientist known for banging down Simon's door at all hours of the day when he's discovered something interesting. Funnily enough, Grace was also known for loudly pounding on his door in excitement, and it was something Simon was usually happy to hear.
He was kind of lamenting his quiet morning, though.
It was not Rocky, nor his platonic-other-half, but instead, it was a frantic eridian scientist.
("Candy," Ryland had declared her name about twenty seconds after seeing her for the first time. Simon has to admit, she did have a pattern of rock that looks close to the pictures of cotton candy Ryland had shown him.)
"Woah, Woah, Candy," Simon exclaimed. "Are you okay? Where's the fire?"
She doesn't speak through the speaker-laptop-rigging system, instead simply speaking banging her foot three times in distress, and pointing to Grace's house.
Simon feels pure panic fill his veins, worse than it had ever been facing off some eldritch god. He feels like he's out of his body, as his feet carry him forward to run across the faux-beach, feet pounding on thickly-packed sand. The only thing that occupies his mind is Grace, Grace, Grace, and he finds himself praying that his only other human companion is okay.
Ryland's door is already open when Simon throws himself through it, and his eyes find Ryland like they're magnetized.
Ryland is crouching in his kitchen. He's got one hand on the counter, griping the stone top of it so hard that his knuckles are turning white. His body is contorted, twisted up, his back to the counter he's holding and his he's in a crouching position, his other hand clutching at his chest.
He's hyperventilating.
Rocky is at his side, clearly having been the one to find him in this state. He's speaking, too fast and too low for the translator to pick up and translate into english, but Grace knew most of the eridian language at this point, even if he still couldn't speak it properly, with his human vocal cords.
(Sometimes, Rocky and Ryland would have entire jokes they'd have to loop Simon in to at the end of any given conversation. It wasn't that they left him out, per say, they were just both quick talkers and poster-children for ADHD. Simon didn't mind.)
Rocky turns, seeing him in the doorway, and he stomps three times.
"Help, help, help," Rocky beckons him forwards. "Nothing wrong, something wrong, Simon help!"
Oh, Simon thinks as the emotional puzzle in front of him clicks into place. Panic attack.
Simon once again finds his feet carrying him forwards without his input, crossing the room in a few quick strides. He drops down to his knees, and in a bout of impressive bravery (or stupidity, something hisses in the back of his brain,) he cup's Ryland's face with his hand.
"Hey," Simon finds himself saying. "Look at me. Ry. Ry, focus on me, okay?"
Ryland's eyes snap to his face, wild panic on his face, like an animal stuck in a trap.
"I can't-" Ryland stutters, gulping big gasping breaths in, weazing as he does. "I c-can't bre-eathe."
"Yes, You can," Simon tells him. "You just have to start, okay? You can do this. Slowly, okay?"
(Simon's only repeating Ryland's own instructions back to him. Hell knows that "Panic Attack" was not an ailment considered valid in Eden. He'd never been taught this stuff. But when Simon had come to Erid, he'd been having them, and Ryland Grace was there to help him through.)
"Slowly breathe out," Simon reminds him. He moves his hand to one of Ryland's shoulders, squeezing just tight enough to remind Ryland of his body. "Come on, you know this."
Ryland blows air out of his mouth, though there are little hiccuping sobs interrupting every so often.
"Good," Simon tells him, because it was. "Now breathe in, slowly, not all at once."
Ryland listens to the instruction, his breathing slowing down with every round of in-and-out. Simon finds himself checking over every inch of Ryland anyways, still unable to fully calm himself even with the understanding that there's nothing physically wrong with Ryland.
When Ryland's breathing finally evens out, Simon loosens his grip on him for a single second. Ryland's hand flies up to Simon's, holding it and pressing it into Ryland's shoulder. It's a silent plea to not let go yet, so Simon doesn't.
"Grace okay, question?"
Ryland gives Rocky a smile, one that's tired, but genuine. Simon knows that smile, can feel that bone-deep tired in his own experiences with the human mind.
"I'm okay," Ryland says, breathing in and out again. "Physically, at least."
Rocky seems to think about it for a second before he speaks again.
"Rocky hate Grace panic," Rocky reports. "Would slay, if could."
Ryland can't help but laugh at that, a surprised and sharp little sound. Simon suspects that had been the idea, with how much Rocky visibly perks up at having made Grace laugh despite the foul mood coming off of him. Simon can't help but snort at that, too.
"I'm sorry," he says, "But when did the word slay get added to the dictionary, and in what possible context-?"
"We were talking about Dungeons and Dragons-" Ryland shakes his head. "It's not important."
"Okay," Simon says. "Can you tell me about it on the couch, or maybe in one of the beds? My joints can't handle the floor for much longer."
Ryland snorts. Simon feels himself perk up at the sound, just like how Rocky had done.
The three of them end up piled together in Ryland's king size bed. Simon tells Ryland, after about thirty minutes of tired chatter, to close his eyes and rest, and for maybe the first time ever, Ryland doesn't argue about it.
(I just have one more thing to say, Ryland would usually argue. That one more thing would take an hour to discuss. As much as Simon pretended, he wasn't very put-out by this.)
Ryland had actually manged to fall asleep, and Simon let him doze. He told Rocky that he would watch over Ryland while he slept, because Rocky eventually had to go to work, leaving them alone. Ryland had dozed, and Simon had watched over him.
Even when Ryland had woken up, he wasn't ready to separate yet. Simon didn't make him.
"I'm sorry about this morning," Ryland says, breaking a stretch of comfortable silence.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Simon asked, because Ryland always did that for him.
Ryland thinks about it for a second, pursing his lips and not making eye contact with Simon.
"Do you ever get really homesick?" Ryland asks, staring up at the ceiling.
"I don't really have a home," Simon says absentmindedly. "Outside of Erid."
It takes a second for Simon to register that he's made a misstep in the conversation, like it usually did. He registers it when there's a beat of silence too long, and too tense, and he finds Ryland giving him that look again. That look that told Simon he'd said something Ryland had found sad, not pitying him, but wishing Simon had a better life.
Simon doesn't know how to tell him that he wouldn't give up any of his hardships, if it meant that at the end of them Rocky and Ry rescued him from the hellhole they found him in.
"But we're not talking about me," Simon quickly steers away the conversation. "You miss Earth?"
Ryland blows out a frustrated breath.
"I could never bring Rocky home," Ryland says. "And I wouldn't have met you."
It sounds like the "Con's" list. It clearly outweighs any of Earth's "Pro's", in Ryland's mind.
"So why do I still miss it so much?" Ryland asks, clearly frustrated and twisting back into upset. "I just wish-"
He stops short, doesn't finish his sentence. Ryland balls his hands up into fists, and he doesn't say whatever he was going to. Simon doesn't ask him to. He knows what the end of the wish is, anyways. He sometimes finds himself wishing, too.
"You don't know that," Simon says. "Maybe, in another world, we would've found each other anyways."
Without any hardship, Simon thinks. Without growing up in a cult. Without suicide missions and dying universes, and without having to survive. Maybe.
Ryland smiles at him, that confused smile he makes sometimes.
"Do you really think we would've?" Grace asks him. "If- somehow, we were born on the same earth. Do you think we'd find each other?"
"I don't know," Simon says. "But I'd like to hope."
-x-
In another world, Simon is having a very quiet morning.
It's a Saturday, so he doesn't have anything impressive planned for the day. He rolled out of bed late into the morning, getting up simply when it had felt right. He sipped his morning coffee, slowly walking around the apartment and greeting all of his many houseplants.
It was quiet. Too quiet. He feels his skin crawl, as the loneliness of the steady-still apartment greets himself.
I wish my plants would speak back. Maybe then it wouldn't be so quiet, Simon thinks, for one singular second, before he stops dead in his tracks.
He needs to get out of this house. He needs to wear something not-sweatpants and go somewhere not-here and touch some grass. Or, really, more preferably, speak to some other humans. Because normal, not-shut-in people didn't wish that their houseplants could speak.
Problem with that being, well, everything non-sweatpants was currently in his hamper. His very full hamper.
Okay, Simon reasons. Laundry, then getting out of the apartment.
Simon approaches the basement laundry room, hoping for some luck- in that, none of his neighbors would be using it. Not great for his not-a-shut-in record, but he just really didn't want to small talk with anyone over laundry detergent and moth balls again.
And of course, because he'd somehow manged to curse himself, there was someone in there.
Interestingly, It's not someone Simon knows. He's bent over the dryer, furiously stuffing what looks to be bed sheets into the washer. Simon considers just turning around and going back to his houseplants, not keen to do the whole new-neighbor chit-chat thing right now, but then-
The man's glasses, witch had been resting on the top of his head, fall off of his head and into the washer. And the man seems not to notice, shutting the washer, and going to start it.
"Wait," Simon calls, and the man stops short.
"Oh, hey, man!" The guy calls back. He scratches the back of his head, looking between Simon and the washer. "Am I not supposed to use this washer or something, because the building manger said they were open to all residents-"
"No, you're fine," Simon says, cutting him off and approaching the washer. "But, uh, your glasses-"
The man immediately stops to pat his face, then the top of his head, then his front shirt pocket, then his hoodie pockets, then his jeans pocket- who would put glasses in the pocket of their jeans- Becoming increasingly more worried with each spot he checks that his glasses aren't.
"-are in the washer," Simon finishes his sentence, becoming increasingly intrigued by the strange man.
The man doesn't even pause to consider the strange sentence, immediately turning around to open the washer, and he makes a triumph sound when he finds them. He slides them back on his face, but he doesn't put them on properly, letting them dangle by his chin.
"Thank you," the eccentric man thanks him, "I have no clue how I keep managing to lose or break these things."
Simon eyes the way the glasses are dangling off of the man's face.
"Right," Simon laughs. Who is this guy?
"Where are my manners," The man says after a second of silence. "I should probably introduce myself! I'm Dr. Ryland Grace, and me and my roommate just moved into 3b." Before Simon can even open his mouth, he amends, "Well, we're in the process of moving."
"Oh," Simon says. "Well, Dr.Grace-"
"Please," Grace cuts him off. "You just saved this man his fifth trip of the year to his optometrist. Please, Call me Ryland."
Simon feels his mouth tick up in amusement. He puts down his laundry basket, before holding out his hand in front of himself.
"Simon," He says, as Ryland goes to shake his hand. "And I live right across from you, in 3a, so, If you need any help moving, I'm just a knock away."
Ryland just beams, a sunny smile so big it takes his whole face.
And,
Something in the universe just… settles.