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Grace sat on the rocky shore of the biodome beach, watching the artificial waves lap up onto the sand.
Normally, he’d be spending the time between his last class of the day and dinner with Simon; in the garden, on the couch, out here on the beach. Just enjoying the other man’s presence, even if they weren’t talking.
Grace had gotten careless.
He loved Simon, anyone who spent more than thirty seconds around the two of them could see that. Unfortunately, that included Simon himself.
Grace wasn’t stupid, he knew Simon was attracted to him. He knew the younger man cared for him deeply and would do anything for him… but that wasn’t fair.
He saw the way Simon looked at him, that man wanted him, by every definition of the word, and Grace hadn’t helped matters with all the touching and cuddling and fricking head kisses!
He couldn’t help it, try as he might; whenever he was around Simon everything just felt… easy. He didn’t even have to think about taking his hand, or leaning against him while they watched a movie, or holding him in his lap when he needed comfort. The small acts of affection came as naturally as breathing.
So Grace had pulled back. They still shared the one bed (it was the only way either of them could sleep, he wasn’t about to sabotage their health), but he kept the physical comfort to a minimum, only providing it on an as-needed basis. They still ate breakfast together, but lunch and dinner were now largely separate affairs.
And of course, Grace was now spending what free time he had without Rocky alone (and since Rocky was giving him the silent treatment for "neglecting Simon", that was now more or less any time he wasn't teaching).
It hurt more than he’d expected– it had only been a week since he’d committed to the new distance and he already felt a familiar emptiness creeping into his chest –but it was the right thing to do.
He couldn’t keep leading Simon on like this. He loved Simon more than he’d ever loved anyone before… but that wasn’t enough.
Grace couldn’t do relationships; he’d made that decision years ago. He couldn’t compromise on his complete disgust for sex, and no matter what else he tried in order to make up for that, it was always the dealbreaker in the end.
When he was younger Grace had considered sex as something akin to putting keychains on your backpack: fun for some people, not everybody’s thing, could make the zippers easier to grab but the bag still worked perfectly fine without them.
The older he got, though, the more he realized how most people saw the act: a necessity. The straps of the backpack, the point of the backpack, what made it a backpack in the first place and not just a sack with zippers.
Any comfortable relationship for Grace would be a strapless backpack. He wouldn’t wish that level of discomfort on anyone, and he wouldn’t do that to someone that he loved so much.
So he’d stay away; just until Simon’s attraction faded. Then things could go back to normal. They’d be friends for the rest of their lives, they just had to get past this hiccup.
The thought should have reassured Grace, but it just made his heart hurt.
A strong but gentle hand in his hair dragged Grace out of his head and he turned to see Simon smiling down at him. “Found you.”
Shit.
It’s not like Grace had been hiding, but Simon’s words made him paranoid; had he realized that Grace was purposely avoiding him? He’d been working his butt off to make all of his dodges seem incidental!
Simon ruffled his hair and sat down beside him, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his one arm across them as he watched the waves ebb and flow.
God, he was gorgeous. His headband (the orange one, again) held his hair out of his eyes even while the biodome’s simulated breeze attempted to tousle it, giving Grace the perfect view of the water reflecting in those inky black irises.
Grace could stare at Simon for hours and still find new details to love. He turned back to the waves before the staring got creepy.
“How was your day?” He forced himself to ask, trying desperately to be normal.
Simon gave a quick shrug. “Fine.”
The silence between them grew tense and Grace internally kicked himself for trying to force conversation; why could he never leave well enough alone?
After way too long of a pause, Simon took a breath. “I made you something.”
That made Grace smile despite his stress. Simon’s little gifts, be they bracelet charms, drawings, or even little snacks, were always so sweet. “Really?”
Simon nodded, shifting to reach into his pocket. “Close your eyes.”
Grace did, without a second thought.
“Hold out your wrist.”
Grace lifted his right arm toward the younger man, the beads of his “platonic soulmate” bracelet from Rocky jingling together with the movement.
But instead of feeling Simon’s fingers begin to fumble with the beads while struggling to attach a new charm one-handed, Grace heard the man chuckle as he pushed the arm back down. “Your other wrist, dumbass.”
Grace couldn’t help but laugh with him, raising his left arm instead. “You didn’t specify!”
“Oh yeah, way to brag- 'look at me! I have two wrists!”
“Oh my God, Si!”
Dear Lord, he loved this man. How Grace missed spending ninety-percent of his time in Simon’s company, even if he knew his reasons for the distance were valid.
Simon took Grace’s left hand and settled it between his knees, muttering a quiet “Hold still,” as he slid something onto the older man’s wrist. “...okay, open ‘em.”
Grace opened his eyes to see a simple, red bracelet, with a few charms interspersed between the round beads: a ringed planet, an apple with a small heart, and (most prominently) a heart coloured with a six-striped rainbow.
He smiled, giving his wrist a little shake to see the charms move. “Aww, Si!”
He glanced up at Simon to see a small smile on his face, though the younger man wouldn’t meet his eyes; he just ran his hand through the rocky sand, watching the lines he was leaving behind like they were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.
Grace softened, melting even further. Simon was a strong, stubborn, goofy guy, and he loved that about him, but something about the way he acted when he was shy was especially adorable.
God, Grace really was doomed.
He bumped their shoulders together, trying to win back Simon’s attention. “Hey.”
Simon didn’t exactly look at him, but he did turn his head toward Grace while keeping his eyes glued to his hand. Close enough.
Grace placed his left hand on Simon’s, putting the new bracelet in the younger man’s line of sight. “I love it, thank you.”
Simon hummed, turning his hand over and interlacing his fingers with Grace’s.
Grace just smiled, giving his hand a squeeze.
It was so easy. Almost instinctual.
Simon returned the squeeze, taking a breath. “...do you remember what Rocky told you about our bracelets?”
The question caught Grace off guard, admittedly, but he nodded all the same. “Uh, yeah, something about ‘fate strings’?”
A huff of a laugh escaped Simon. “The Strings of Fate. It’s an Eden thing.”
“Right,” Grace nodded, wracking his brain to try and remember what his best friend had told him when giving him his first bracelet. “My yellow one means we’re best friends, and your green one means you’re family.”
Simon nodded, unconsciously shifting his wrist to shake his green bracelet without letting go of Grace’s hand. “Yeah, well, the full stories behind them are a little deeper than bracelets.”
Grace, squeezing their joined hands again, scooted a bit closer and leaned forward to try and see Simon’s gorgeous eyes. “Tell me.”
He loved this game of cultural exchange they’d been playing for the last four years: trading stories from Earth and Eden, gaining a more complete view of each other with each new anecdote.
Simon finally flicked his eyes up to meet Grace’s gaze; the black void of space reflecting the blue sky of Earth. Grace saw some hesitance flit across the younger man’s features, and so squeezed his hand again, trying to reassure.
It seemed to work: Simon returned the squeeze and nodded, letting out a breath as his nerves morphed into a quiet determination before Grace’s eyes.
“A long time ago,” He began. “After the murder of Abel, Eve vowed that she would never lose another child again. So when her third son, Seth, was born, she braided a rope out of grass and tied it around his waist, so she could always follow it back to him.”
“World’s first child leash,” Grace joked, delighted to earn a chuckle from the man beside him.
“Yeah, I guess,” Simon agreed, before sighing and continuing. “She did the same with all her subsequent children, and then they did it with their children, and so on and so forth, connecting all of humanity to their parents, siblings, basically anyone you have a permanent, familial bond with by 'Eve's Rope'."
He raised their joined hands and shook them more intentionally, making the oblong beads of his green bracelet jingle against each other. “That’s the green string.”
Grace hummed, reaching over with his free hand to run his finger over the bracelet Rocky had made for Simon almost a year ago, now. The day their Eridian friend had claimed the younger man as his brother. His own yellow variant brushed against it, the metal charms clinking as they made contact.
“What about yellow?” He asked. “That one biblical, too?”
“More folklore,” Simon corrected, switching to hold Grace’s right hand instead (a bit more like a handshake than with the left one, it’s harder to hold same hands than opposite ones) and raising the yellow bracelet. “Two boys grew up in the same small town: a farmer’s son and the mayor’s son. Despite spending their childhoods only a few kilometres away from each other, they didn’t meet or speak until they were six.”
Eleven to thirteen, Grace's mind translated, converting the age from Martian to Earthly years.
“So the farmer’s son is walking home one day when he gets this random urge to run into the woods. A few minutes later, he found the mayor’s son laying at the base of a tall tree, clutching a broken arm.”
Simon gripped Grace’s hand again: ‘This arm’, he was silently saying. Grace supposed it must’ve mattered.
“The farmer’s son helped the mayor’s son get back to town, and the two became best friends,” Simon continued, absentmindedly running his thumb across Grace’s knuckles as he did and being very distracting; thankfully his gaze was affixed to the yellow bracelet, so he didn’t notice Grace’s face flushing at the gentle movement. “Years went by, and the boys grew up. The farmer’s son took over the farm, the mayor’s son left for the city, and they lost touch. Went on with their lives.”
“Woof, barrel of laughs this one is.”
“Gets worse,” Simon chuckled. “One day, while harvesting his crops, the farmer got caught in a sudden hurricane. He tried to find shelter, but a stray piece of debris slammed into him, knocking him down and breaking his arm.
“Ah, okay,” Grace nodded. “I’m sensing a theme here. The mayor’s son comes to save him this time, right?”
The smile he received made him melt. “Wow, he can follow a children’s story.”
“I know, right? I should be a teacher or something.”
Simon broke down laughing, sending a wave of butterflies through Grace’s chest at the knowledge that he’d caused it.
Simon lowered his head, pressing their joined hands to his forehead and taking a deep breath. “You gotta stop making me laugh if you want me to get through this.”
Grace chuckled, raising his freehand in defence. “Sorry, sorry, go on.”
Simon sighed and moved their joined hands to rest over his mouth, quieting his last remaining giggles as he steadied himself. It wasn’t really a kiss, but Grace didn’t know what else to call it as his face burned an even brighter red.
Simon dropped their hands to his knee and continued. “So yeah, the mayor’s son shows up in the field and helps the farmer up. The farmer asks him what the Hell he’s doing there, and the mayor’s son just replies ‘You needed me. So I came.’”
Grace hummed, nodding his head; he knew the feeling. His mind went back to the impossible, yet simultaneously easy decision he’d made four years ago, and his mad dash to save Rocky from his doomed ship.
“They managed to find a hollowed out tree to take shelter in,” Simon went on. “And eventually the eye of the storm passed over them. The sun shone through a thin crack in the tree, casting a golden line between the farmer’s broken arm and the mayor’s son’s long-healed one.”
He gave Grace’s hand a shake, jingling his yellow beads. “That’s the yellow string.”
Grace smiled at his bracelet, spinning the globe charm (his favourite, it was fun to fidget with) with his thumb as he murmured “That’s beautiful.”
Two very different people, from very different walks of life, who nonetheless would always find each other when they were needed.
He felt a sudden urge to give Rocky a hug the next time he saw him; he knew the Eridian would gladly accept once he was done being mad at him.
Finally, Grace’s attention fell back to his new bracelet: the red one with the prominent rainbow heart (he’d call it a pride heart if he thought Simon knew what that was). “What about red? What’s that story?”
To his surprise, Simon tensed a bit at the question, but another quick hand squeeze had him relaxing almost as quickly, letting out a sigh.
“...the red string doesn’t really have an origin,” He started softly, meeting Grace’s eyes again with that same quiet determination he’d summoned earlier. “Supposedly, it’s a concept as old as the universe itself. A law of nature as constant as gravity.”
The sudden poeticism of Simon’s speech surprised Grace, but it definitely did its job in grabbing and holding his attention as Simon let go of his right hand to instead gently lift his left wrist.
Simon held his hand out in a pacifying manner; a silent request to keep the arm where he’d raised it. Grace obliged, both out of curiosity and because he’d do anything for those eyes.
“It sprouts from the wrist, right here:” Simon pressed his first two fingers over Grace’s radial artery just hard enough to feel his pulse (and likely, to Grace’s embarrassment, the way it sped up under the younger man’s touch). “Comes straight from the heart.”
Trying to steady his own heart, Grace took a shaky breath and let it out as a chuckle. “So it’s red from blood?”
Simon shot him a look; undeniably fond, but still with a hint of “shut up and let me talk”. He lifted his fingers from the pulse point and ran one along the beads around Grace’s wrist. “It wraps around, then goes off to connect you to your… person.”
“‘Person’?” Grace repeated.
Simon sighed, clearly frustrated with himself. After a moment he pulled his hand back, leaving Grace to mourn the loss of contact… for all of two seconds. Simon held his hand out to Grace, palm up, and waited.
He was giving Grace the choice. Going at his pace.
Grace took the offered hand with little hesitation, giving another reassuring squeeze and a smile.
Even if the younger man sometimes had trouble verbalizing his thoughts, Grace always loved listening to Simon’s stories. He loved his voice, he loved to see which details he would focus on and which he would deem unimportant, he just loved… him.
Simon returned the smile, before sliding his gaze back to their hands.
“...the red string connected Adam and Eve,” He quietly admitted. “Mary’s connected her to Joseph, Mars’ connected him to Nerio…”
If Grace’s heart had been racing before, it stopped dead when Simon’s eyes met his again; no walls, no snark, just pure, unshielded honesty.
“...I think mine connects me to you, Ry.”
Warmth spread through Ryland’s body as he smiled, a laugh of pure, shocked joy bubbling out of him.
Until a cold dread took its place.
No. Nonononono, fuck, fuck, he did it again.
He wanted more than anything to return Simon’s admission; to take the beautiful soul holding his hand in his arms and keep him close forever. Keep him safe forever. To kiss his face and braid his hair and tell him every day that he was so, so loved.
But that would be selfish.
Ryland knew Simon loved him, and he loved him back fiercely, but… not enough. Not correctly, not the way he was supposed to love him.
He just… didn’t have it in him.
And now he had to break Simon’s heart. Better to rip the bandaid off now than for resentment to build up the longer he waited–
“Angel, you’re crying.”
Ryland hadn’t even noticed the tears running down his face until he felt Simon’s thumb brush some away. He leaned into the touch against his better judgement, raising his hand to hold Simon’s against his cheek.
“Angel…” Simon repeated in a murmur, the pet name delivered so delicately that it tore Ryland’s heart from his chest and ripped it in two.
“I’m sorry,” Ryland choked, coughing around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, I just- I can’t, Si, I can’t!”
“Can’t what?” The younger man asked, his tone nothing but gentle and patient.
Ryland couldn’t do this to him.
…but he had to.
He took a breath, letting it out as a cough to clear his throat and swallowing the mucus that loosened before speaking the truth; not his truth, but the truth:
“I can’t love you.”
It would be morally bankrupt to try. Any romantic love that Ryland Grace could provide would always be selfish, restrictive, toxic and–
“Bullshit.”
Ryland’s eyes shot back to Simon’s and his heart broke impossibly further as he saw tears welling against the inky black.
He took another breath, struggling to force his words past the sobs he was holding in. “Si–”
“No, that’s bullshit!” Simon snapped, suddenly angry as he practically glared at the man beside him (though his hold on Ryland’s face remained gentle). “I’m not an idiot, Grace! I can see the way you look at me, I can hear everything you mutter under your breath when you think I’m out of earshot– you’ve called me pretty to my face! Twice!”
“I’m sorry!” Ryland pleaded, internally berating himself for creating the exact scenario he’d been so desperate to avoid; he’d be lucky if Simon could even bear to look at him again after this. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”
“I don’t wanna hear that!” Simon shook Ryland’s face a bit as his anger turned to begging, before desperately pressing their foreheads together; their tears mingling as they fell from both men’s eyes. “I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to talk to me!”
Ryland let his eyes slip closed as he coughed again, the warmth of Simon’s forehead grounding him even if he knew he should pull away.
The two stayed like that for a long time; coughing and crying and choking on a whirlwind of emotions, breathing together until the tears stopped coming.
Eventually Simon let out a shaky sigh, his voice no louder than a whisper. “Tell me I imagined all this and I’ll drop it.”
He was giving Ryland an out. Whether he’d believe it was questionable, but Simon was giving him an exit door to this trainwreck Ryland’s weakness had created.
But as the older man opened his eyes, bloodshot blue meeting red-rimmed black… he just couldn’t lie to him.
“...you know I can’t do that.” He muttered, maintaining unblinking eye contact.
Simon showed no sign of surprise, huffing out another sigh and briefly squeezing his eyes shut. He pulled away as he opened them again; not all the way, his hand remained right where it was on Ryland’s cheek, but enough that they could see each other’s whole faces again.
“Talk to me,” Simon pleaded, his voice soft despite leftover hoarseness from their shared breakdown. “I love you, Ry. And I know you love me, so why do you think you can’t?”
Ryland let out his own shaky sigh, closing his eyes and leaning further into Simon’s touch.
Here it was: the most humiliating conversation. The one he’d had at least three times before, the one that proved time and again that no one actually read his online dating profiles, because he always laid it out right at the top of the “About Me” section to avoid the conversation!
The one that caused the downfall of every relationship he’d ever had, either immediately or somewhere down the line.
He realized he’d been quiet for too long when he heard Simon take an unsteady breath. “Did I do something? Did I–”
“No!” Grace nearly shouted in his haste to shut that thought down, his eyes snapping open as he took Simon’s face in his hands and shook his head; he couldn’t let him think that, not for a second. “No, nonono, you didn’t do anything, this is my fault. I’m sorry, Si, it’s my fault.”
Simon leaned his right cheek– the one without his extra teeth –into Ryland’s hand, a pleading look in his eyes. “What’s your fault, Angel?”
God almighty, of course the pet name would be his undoing.
“...I can’t have sex,” Ryland admitted, tears welling up in his eyes again as he dropped his gaze to the sand; he devolved into rambling to try and brace himself for the myriad of questions that always followed that confession. “I just can’t get into it, it makes me uncomfortable, I can’t be attracted to people like that–”
“Grace–” Simon tried to cut in, but Ryland kept talking; he couldn’t stop now that he’d started, he wasn’t ready to hear the rejection yet.
“–I’ve tried, seriously, I tried so hard back in college, but no matter how attracted I was to my partner I couldn’t make myself want it, and even if I did it anyway they could always tell–”
“Ryland.”
Not yet, please not yet. Why couldn’t Simon just let him stall?
“–I’m sorry I’ve been leading you on, Si, it was stupid and selfish and I messed everything up and I get it if you’re mad but please–”
“Angel!”
Ryland’s eyes obediently shot up to Simon’s, the inky black irises staring straight through his soul.
Simon kept his voice low as he once again wiped Ryland’s tears with his thumb. “Do you love me?”
The question shocked Ryland; had Simon not listened to a word he’d said? “Simon, I–”
“Yes or no, do you love me?”
The younger man’s tone as he repeated the question held such a finality– such a certainty –that Ryland couldn’t even try to dance around it.
He swallowed tears and couldn’t help but chuckle; he probably looked insane, but he’d always dealt with stress by laughing at himself. “...of course I do.”
Simon smiled his small smile; not the smirk he wore when he was teasing, or the grin when he was being silly, or the giggling flash of teeth that would appear when he was excited. Just a miniscule quirk of his lips, practically unnoticeable unless you saw the transition from his resting face.
Content, casual happiness.
He removed his hand from Ryland’s face to take the older man’s left off his own and carefully, deliberately, holding eye contact the whole time, pressed a lingering kiss to the pulse point of Ryland’s wrist, just above where the red bracelet sat.
Ryland forgot how to breathe.
Simon locked their hands together as he lowered them from his lips, not even blinking anymore as he spoke straight through to Ryland’s soul: “That’s enough.”
And God, Ryland wanted to believe him.
But he knew better.
He shook his head. “It’s not.”
Simon squeezed his hand. “I’m telling you it is.”
“I’ve been told that before. It’s never true, no matter how much you think you mean it.”
Simon huffed out a frustrated sigh and Ryland hated himself for causing it, but–
His train of thought left him as Simon pressed their foreheads together again.
“Ry, you are an angel,” The younger man said softly– reverently –squeezing Ryland’s hand again as his voice choked up. “My angel. You are kind and sweet and the smartest person I’ve ever met, even if you’re still kind of a dumbass.”
He laughed out the last part, and Grace couldn’t help but join in, a few stray tears falling down his face again.
Simon continued. “You’re silly and caring and so fucking brave, and don’t you dare argue with me.”
Ryland closed his mouth, swallowing his objections.
“You’re perfect to me, Ryland.” Simon’s eyes closed at the admission, as if the older man’s supposed perfection was too much for him to look at for too long. “I want you however you’ll have me. I have no idea how anyone could look at you and not take you exactly as you are, but whatever their reasons they were idiots.”
Ryland sighed, finally something resembling calm as he used his free hand to wipe his eyes under his glasses. “No they weren’t, it makes sense. Most people’s brains are wired to seek out sexual stimulation, so–”
“Not to be gross, but I still have one hand,” Simon interrupted, drawing a shocked laugh from the older man as he squeezed his hand for emphasis. “And I’m gonna assume each of your exes had at least as many.”
Though he was still chuckling, Ryland shook his head. “It’s not the same.”
Simon actually nodded. “You’re right, it’s not, I won’t have to awkwardly explain to someone that they’re missing my clit ever again.”
The men both laughed, their warm breath intermingling as their mouths rested inches apart. Ryland’s gaze briefly shot to Simon’s lips but he quickly moved it back to his eyes, feeling sheepish.
Simon clearly spotted the movement, but he didn’t tease Ryland about it or move to close the distance. He just nodded, wearing that same, comfortable smile.
Another day. Today was already a lot.
“Angel, the only intimacy I need from you is emotional and physical touch.” Simon gestured between them with their still-joined hands. “And we’ve already got both of those covered.”
Ryland returned Simon’s smile, but still found himself hesitating. “What if you need more than that one day?”
“Do you love me?”
The question was much easier to answer the third time: “Yes.”
Simon’s smile grew just a bit, a sliver of teeth visible just past his lips. “That’s more than I could ever ask for.”
Ryland was either about to cry again or have a heart attack. Without warning, he pulled the younger man into his lap, wrapping his arms around him and pressing a kiss to his temple.
“I love you,” He said because he could now, beaming at the choked-up laugh Simon released as he rested his chin on Ryland’s shoulder. “I love you so much.”
He heard Simon sniffle, the emotion fully hitting him now that he wasn’t busy fighting for his life like the defence attorney of a sham murder trial. “I know, Angel. I love you, too.”
They stayed there until the biodome’s day-night cycle began to dim their light, listening to the waves, the breeze, and each other’s breathing.
And all was as it should be.
~~~
“Rocky’s gonna be thrilled.”
“Yeah, Adrian, too. Pretty sure we dodged a bullet, those two were maybe a week away from just locking us in a xenonite box until one of us confessed.”
“...well, at least they care.”