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The idea strikes Grace not long after he and Rocky part ways, accompanied by a pang of guilt that it hadn't occurred to him sooner. In his defense, they had a lot of other things going on, but in hindsight, it seems like something that should've been obvious. The taumoeba jailbreak puts the idea out of his mind again, though, because he's got bigger fish to fry.
Once his decision is made, though…
Fifty-six days isn't a lot of time in the grand scheme of things, especially not when it comes to travel time in the blackness of space, but it isn't an insubstantial amount of time on the human scale of things.
Grace is a well-schooled man who loves learning. Surely he can accomplish his goal in fifty-six days.
He creates a calendar on his whiteboard. Fifty-six days until his ship reaches the Blip-A.
Fifty-six days in which to learn how to say Rocky's name—his Eridian name.
*
By day eighteen, Grace is almost ready to throw in the towel. He's got several recordings of Rocky identifying himself for the sake of their translator, but Rocky's anatomy was so different from Grace's that trying to nail down the phonemes with a human set of vocal chords was… challenging, to say the least. Grace's throat hurts from all the attempts at warbling.
He pushes through, though, and by day thirty-eight, he's gotten pretty good at it, if he does say so himself. When comparing his recordings of himself to the recordings he has of Rocky saying his own name, the resemblance is pretty strong. Obviously, his recording lacks the depth that Rocky's does, but he's sure it'll be close enough to be intelligible.
By the time he intercepts Rocky's ship, he's got it pretty down pat. But the relief of seeing his friend again is so great that the thought of greeting him in his native language entirely slips Grace's mind. It isn't until Rocky's settled in and they're under way for Erid that Grace remembers, and by then it feels a little too late. Like it won't be special. So he bides his time.
He still practices, though. Language is like a muscle, and the less you use it the more you lose it. Grace only practices when Rocky is asleep, though, so as not to be overheard. A part of him still doesn't want to spoil the surprise when he does find a good time to spring it on Rocky.
*
Six months into their joint journey to Erid, Rocky somehow manages to spring a surprise on Grace. He's lounging in the don't-go-crazy room watching the canopy of a forest when he hears a staccato clanking noise approaching fast. He turns towards the sound, lifting his head to get a better look, when he sees the noise's source: Rocky, clad in a thin layer of xenonite not unlike an EVA suit, trundling towards him.
Grace can't help but stare. "How—when—what—" he stammers, questions crowding each other to make it out of his mouth but none fully succeeding. Rocky does his excited little jazz hands as he shifts his weight from leg to leg.
"Grace like?"
It takes Grace a few more moments to truly process what's going on. The xenonite that comprises the sort-of-EVA suit appears thinner and more flexible than what makes up Rocky's usual ball. It isn't fully tight to his carapace, but it's still pretty close to it. His brain tries to process all the implications of this—the way Rocky might be able to assist if Grace were to injure himself is pretty high up there—but all that he can say is, "Can… can I give you a hug?"
"Yes, yes, yes," says Rocky in a tone that he uses when he thinks Grace is being dumb. He closes the distance between them, opening his forepods wide in a gesture that is not Eridian at all but which is absolutely clear.
Grace doesn't need a gilded invitation. He twists himself around so he's more properly facing Rocky before throwing his arms over him and trying to pull him in tight. Rocky's stance is far sturdier than Grace's position, though, so he doesn't budge and Grace instead hauls himself towards Rocky. Warmth radiates through the xenonite, not quite uncomfortable but warmer than his skin would've liked. The edges of the xenonite panels are still a little pointy, but that hardly matters. The only thing that matters is that Rocky is here and Rocky is warm and Rocky is putting his arms around Grace and hugging him back.
He can't help but melt into the embrace. It's been—no, he won't think about how long it's been since he's felt someone else touch him, nor is he going to think about the circumstances of it. He focuses instead on the gentle pressure that Rocky's putting on his back to pull him snug against the EVA suit. He's tapping gently on Grace's shoulderblade with one digit, studying Grace with some intensity.
The contact is almost too much. "Things are about to get kind of disgusting in here, Rock," Grace says around a lump in his throat. He can already feel the tears of pure relief pricking at his eyes.
"Grace always disgusting," Rocky says, not unfondly. His tapping remains steady. "Always leaky leaky leaky. Rocky used to it."
Grace sniffles a little and buries his face against the xenonite covering the top of Rocky's carapace. His tears begin to flow, smearing across the top of the EVA suit as Rocky periodically chirps a cheerful, "Disgust." The word does nothing to stem the flow, in fact only making it worse.
The last time he'd been touched, it had been to manhandle him to his certain doom, his mind happily provides, ignoring his resolution not to dwell on it. The soldiers had driven their knees into his back to keep him immobile, wrenched his arms to keep him from flailing. It had been to consign him to a fate of no more contact with anyone until his inevitable death by either starvation or his own hand.
Yet he'd managed to subvert this fate with the being who has two of his five appendages wrapped around him. Against all odds, he isn't doomed. Against all odds, despite their cultural differences with regards to physical contact, he was getting an honest-to-goodness hug. It's such a far cry from the soldiers before him, with every Pascal of pressure carefully calculated to be comforting rather than forcing Grace into a position he doesn't want.
It isn't perfect, of course; Rocky's not built for human contact, with joints that can pinch and an unyielding carapace that digs into Grace's skin, but… It might not be perfect but it kind of is because it's Rocky.
Eventually, Grace composes himself and leans away. Rocky lets him go, and he uses his sleeve to wipe the moisture from the top of Rocky's suit. "Sorry, bud," he says wetly.
Rocky hums a dismissive noise. "Rocky just glad Grace happy."
"Yeah, I'm very happy," Grace agrees. "How long can you stay in it?"
"Few hours," says Rocky with another dismissive note. "Not long enough to watch Grace sleep." The second statement sounds a little mournful.
On impulse, Grace pulls Rocky close once again and rubs the knuckles of his other hand on the top of Rocky's carapace in a gentle noogie. "Aww, bud, don't be sad!"
"What Grace doing, question?" Rocky asks as he squirms out of Grace's grasp. He does a tiny stamp with one leg, a sign of mild indignation.
"It's called a 'noogie,'" Grace responds with a chuckle. "It's a form of horsing around between friends sometimes."
"Need word," prompts Rocky with another indignant little stomp.
"Oh, for 'horsing around?' Uh… It's like physical contact, usually between friends or family, that's a little rougher than normal contact."
"Eridians have this. Is for pebbles. Way to bond. Treat Rocky like pebble, question?"
"What? No!" Grace raises his hands. "It's not just for pebbles—for kids—in human culture. Adults can do it, too. I don't know, it just seemed like the thing to do in the moment. Sorry."
"Rocky understand," he says with a thoughtful whistle.
Then, he moves. He knocks Grace over onto his back and pins his hands next to his head, balancing carefully on his three remaining legs so as not to damage Grace's wrists. For a dizzying moment, his mind snaps back to his last memory on Earth, being restrained and helpless to fight it.
It's not the same, though, not by a long shot. If he wanted to get up, he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that all he needs to do is ask. The grip on his wrists isn't painful, nor does it feel like the angle of his arms might do damage to his shoulder joints. Besides this is Rocky, not a human and certainly not a soldier.
Oh.
Grace tries not to react—reaction will only elicit more questions that he does not want to answer right now—but he can't help the full-body shiver that runs through him. Rocky makes a light trilling noise that Grace has come to recognize as the Eridian equivalent to a laugh.
"Rocky, wha—don't laugh at me," he says and the words sound a little petulant even to his own ears. His cheeks have grown hot, and he turns away so he doesn't have to look at his pseudo-captor directly.
"Grace say Rocky's name," Rocky tells him with a playful hum.
"Rocky," Grace says, a little incredulously. "What's gotten into you?"
"No," says Rocky firmly, ignoring Grace's question. "Grace say Rocky's real name." The translation software can't put emphasis on anything, but Grace knows Rocky's tones well enough to hear it anyway.
Somehow, the flush on Grace's face grows worse. How did Rocky know? He can't help but feel more than a little self-conscious. "I don't know what you mean," he tries.
Rocky stomps one foot again. "Rocky hear Grace practice when Grace thought Rocky asleep."
Oh. Fudge. Well, there goes the element of surprise. "Rock, I—it's not… It's not gonna be the best."
"Grace the best," Rocky retorts, as if that explains anything. Perhaps it does, by the transitive property. "Say Rocky's name."
Grace turns back to face Rocky, though he has nowhere in particular to fix his gaze. He clears his throat. All that practice, and he still feels like his attempts would be childish and crude. He'd practically discarded the idea of trying it for real. But here Rocky is, demanding a performance from him.
"Okay, okay," Grace relents. His face burns, and he closes his eyes. He pretends it takes a moment for him to recall the notes, but, truthfully, he knows them by heart now. His pitch isn't quite perfect—he'd never really been an accomplished singer—but he hits them nonetheless. It takes him a few seconds to get through, as he takes it slower than Rocky normally says it. When he's done, he opens his eyes. Above him, Rocky shudders.
"Sorry, I can't get the chords right," he says, fighting the urge to look away again. "I know it's not great—"
Rocky cuts him off. "No. Good good good. Grace say again."
Grace doesn't have to be told twice. This time he doesn't close his eyes as he sings the notes. He keeps his eyes on Rocky, who shifts almost imperceptibly from one side to the other. His fingers wrapped around Grace's wrists give them a subtle squeeze.
"Rocky not hear name in… long long long time."
"Yeah," says Grace around a lump that's beginning to form in his throat. "Sorry it took me so long to get around to it. Kinda culturally insensitive not to try sooner."
"Grace did try eventually," Rocky says. "Say again, question?"
Grace swallows. "Yeah, bud. Any time you want." And he opens his mouth to sing out his best friend's name again.
*
"Do you have a nickname?" Grace asks through the xenonite barrier one day. "Something a little shorter I can try? Not that your full name is bad, but it feels a little weird to just sing it in the middle of conversation."
Rocky makes a warbling noise that Grace has begun to equate with a human snort. "Rocky say name all the time. Not weird."
"Yeah, but you're speaking Eridian, not English," Grace points out. "It'd be like you stopping to literally sound out 'Grace' in the middle of our conversations."
"Would say Grace's name if could," Rocky says, and his tone sounds a little waspish. "Like Grace's name."
The idea of Rocky saying his name, the fact that Rocky likes his name, does things to Grace's heart that he's not sure he likes. He pushes that thought aside. "I appreciate that, Rock, but it'd be nice to have something that flows a little better in conversation if you've got it."
Rocky doesn't say anything for a few moments, instead worrying at the project he's working on. Finally, he sets his tools aside. "Adrian call Rocky—" and here he sings out three short notes that rise and fall in quick succession. "♫♪."
The word is simple, the notes monotonal. It isn't difficult for Grace to wrap his brain around it. "So…?" He whistles the three notes back.
Rocky bobs up and down a couple of times, the stand-in he's come up with for a human nod. "Good. Grace understand."
"What's it mean?" he asks, leaning against the barrier between them.
Again, Rocky pauses, considering Grace's words. "Mean nothing. Just short name."
"It doesn't sound much like your full name. I would've thought it'd be more like this." He hums a handful of notes, the first strains of Rocky's name that he cuts off half-way through, "♪♩♫." On the other side of the xenonite, Rocky shudders.
"No one say that," he informs Grace in a tone that the human's never heard before. Grace's stomach twists into a knot.
"Is it… did I say something bad?"
"No no no," says Rocky immediately. He holds up his hands in an imitation of a human placating someone else. "Not bad. Just… nonsense. Means nothing. If Grace likes it, Grace can say."
"What if I use both?" he asks. "You know, mix it up so things don't get dull?"
"Do what Grace likes," comes Rocky's response in that strange tone that Grace cannot read.
*
One day, Rocky stirs after an hour of sleep—a catnap, if you will—and Grace is right there. On a whim, he says, "Morning, ♫♪." The three-note nickname is easy to whistle and flows far more naturally than Rocky's full name, as he had suggested it might.
On the other side of the xenonite barrier, Rocky shakes himself like a cat shaking off water—his way of effectively rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It doesn't seem like he registers Grace's words at first, but then he pauses mid-shake to angle his carapace towards Grace. He taps on the barrier a couple of times before saying, "What Grace say, question?"
A little baffled, Grace repeats, "Good morning, ♫♪?"
"Good good good," Rocky says, resuming his normal post-awakening motions. That done, he approaches the xenonite barrier and taps on it a few times, 'looking' at Grace. Grace scoots closer to make Rocky's attempts easier.
"Good morning to ♪♬♪," Rocky says after a moment. The four fluting notes don't translate, but Grace can guess it's some sort of nickname of his own. It does sound a little like the word Rocky uses for his name.
Still, he knows what happens when one assumes. "Gonna need that word, pal."
Rocky stops tapping on the barrier and instead clicks his fingers together in a gesture that's almost nervous-looking. "Is like… ♫♪ but for Grace."
So he's right. A bit of heat creeps into his cheeks at the thought of Rocky giving him a bespoke nickname. It makes his stomach do a tiny little flip, a reaction that he refuses to interrogate at the moment. Instead, he simply says, "Aww, that's sweet, Rock. Or should I say, ♪♩♫?"
Rocky shifts from leg to leg in a motion that indicates pleasure. Grace can't help but smile at him in return.
*
Their next cultural exchange movie night kind of sneaks up on Grace, and he's not entirely sure what to play for it. They've worked through Star Wars and Star Trek (and it's no great surprise that Rocky is a Trekkie), and Rocky is largely disinterested in the horror genre after an abortive attempt to watch Event Horizon. That had been a huge misstep on Grace's part, which he regrets with every fiber of his being.
He's settled in a little nest he's made in the don't-go-crazy room, and Rocky—in his EVA suit—is situated next to him in what Grace considers to be his 'loaf' pose. His warmth radiates into Grace's side, a reminder of how close they are. If Grace scooted just a little to the right, they'd be pressed against each other…
Grace can't resist. Under the guise of getting more comfortable, he inches just a bit closer.
Is it just his imagination, or does he feel Rocky leaning into him, just a little bit?
"♪♬♪ start movie, question?" Rocky asks after a moment. His words knock Grace out of his reverie.
"Sorry, sorry," Grace says sheepishly. How could he let himself get so distracted by the feel of xenonite against his side? He shakes his head. "I didn't have anything picked out. Any particular genre you're feeling?"
Rocky shifts a little, and he's definitely leaning more towards Grace. "Romcom," he finally says.
Romcom, eh? Not a genre that's exactly Grace's forte. He'd seen a few with a couple of his exes, but most of them had kind of rolled off his back. The only one he really remembers is… "How about Love Actually?"
"Sounds fine," Rocky says. He readjusts his legs, which has the added benefit of scooching just a hair closer. The heat rolling off of him isn't quite unbearable, but it makes the blanket Grace has wrapped around his shoulders quite redundant.
He shrugs it off and queues up the movie.
135 minutes later, Grace has draped an arm over Rocky, a move that was absolutely not motivated by anything more than a desire to get comfortable, and Rocky has reciprocated by resting one of his forepods over Grace's lap.
"What'd you think, bud?" Grace asks.
"Is fine," says Rocky. "Rocky not sure why humans not have multiple mates. Make things easier."
"I mean, uh, some humans do have multiple mates—partners," Grace stammers, feeling a little awkward. He's never felt inclined towards polyamory himself, but then again he's always struggled with romantic relationships in general. The idea of trying to balance more than one seems incredibly daunting. "It's called 'polyamory,' and it's not that common. Definitely doesn't show up in movies or TV that often. People who do polyamory are called polyamorous."
Rocky makes a low noise of contemplation. "Eridians ♫♪♩♪♬."
"Wait, are you saying Eridians are polyamorous? You have more than one mate?"
"That's what Rocky say. Most Eridians have two or three mates. Rocky only have one, though." He makes a mournful noise. "Want another, but… Not sure if feelings returned."
Grace's heart clenches, both at the mention of Adrian and at the mention of a second special someone that has Rocky's interest. The sensation feels a little like jealousy, but why would he be jealous? He gently pats the top of Rocky's carapace. "When we get you home, you'll be a hero. A real catch. There's no way your crush will be able to resist the savior of Erid."
Rocky taps Grace's leg. He's 'looking' at Grace intently. "Will see. Have over three human years to find out."
Something about Rocky's tone, about the way he's tapping on Grace for a better view of him, makes his throat go dry. "Well," he manages to croak, "if they're too blind to see how lucky they'd be with you, at least we've still got each other."
Rocky says nothing.
*
At some point after creating the EVA suit, Rocky hones it enough that he can use it for longer than just a few hours. He still uses the ball sometimes, but it's more and more common to see Rocky in his nearly carapace-tight xenonite shell.
It's nice. It's nice to be able to do more than just flop over a geodesic orb when Grace wants to hug someone—to hug Rocky. It's nice to sometimes feel a hand on his leg when Rocky wants to trundle past him in the narrow walkways of the Mary. It's nice to be able to reach out and feel Rocky's reassuring warmth.
One day, while they're tinkering in the lab, Grace can't help but stretch his arms above his head and let out a wide yawn. "Man, I think I need a nap," he says. "You mind keeping watch for like an hour?"
"♪♬♪ can nap. Rocky watch."
"Thanks, ♪♩♫," Grace hums. He pushes himself back into a standing position, stretches once again, and makes his way back to the cubby they'd made for Grace's bed so that Rocky could watch him through the xenonite barrier. Rocky, notably, does not skitter back to his airlock, instead following close behind Grace.
Grace lays down on the mattress and pulls his sheets up around him. He expects Rocky to assume his loaf position near his feet, but his companion instead lifts the sheet and pushes him aside with two of his legs until there's enough room on the mattress for Rocky to lay down next to him. His heat immediately suffuses Grace's side, and he only gets warmer as Rocky curls two of his limbs around Grace's middle.
His breath hitches.
"Grace heart rate elevated," notes Rocky.
No kidding. He can feel his pulse in his throat, his heart hammering in his chest at Rocky's proximity. What the heck is wrong with him? Has he really been without touch for so long that something as simple as this is enough to undo him?
(That's a part of it, to be sure, but he knows exactly what's wrong. He just doesn't want to name it. If he names it, it becomes real. If it becomes real… well, it's going to be a long three years and some change until they get to Erid. Heck, it might be a long three years and some change anyway.)
"Grace alright, question?"
Shoot, he'd been quiet for too long and now he's raised suspicion. "Y-yeah, bud," he says shakily. "Just, uh. I'm not really used to sharing a bed with anyone." Which is the truth. Even when he'd been in relationships in the past, he's pretty sure he'd had a hard time sleeping next to his partners. Yet another tally mark on the side of 'Grace sure is crummy at being with other people.'
There's a moment of silence. Rocky shifts next to him, neither shimmying closer nor pulling away. If Grace didn't know better, he'd say that Rocky was fidgeting. Finally, Rocky hums, "Grace want Rocky leave, question?"
There's an undertone of disappointment to Rocky's words that Grace cannot bear, and he's not quite certain he can give up the comfort of Rocky's warmth besides. "No," he says. "No, just… I just need a minute. To get used to it."
Rocky trills his understanding, then splays his fingers out against Grace's ribcage and tugs him close enough that he can feel the seams in the xenonite EVA suit pressing into his skin through his shirt. Heat rolls off him, trapped close to Grace's skin by the sheet. Under other circumstances, it might've been oppressive, but right now it's almost reassuring.
Grace does his best to keep his breathing even so he might calm his rapid heartbeat. He's not entirely certain he'll be able to sleep like this—he's never been able to sleep like this—but a combination of the warmth and Rocky making soothing nonsense noises has him drifting off quickly despite his misgivings.
*
The advent of the EVA suit shakes up their routine in a way that Grace doesn't find unpleasant. He hadn't realized exactly how touch-starved he was until the option of physical contact made itself available. He finds himself gravitating towards Rocky's personal space—or maybe it's the other way around. The results are the same either way: Rocky's hands are on his person frequently, and Grace's arms find their way around Rocky more often than Grace wants to admit.
It's nice. It's very nice. It makes Grace's breath hitch and his heart skip a beat. If Rocky notices the slight changes to his vital functions, he doesn't mention it.
Thankfully.
Grace does not want to deal with the why's of that now.
*
Unfortunately, there's no avoiding his thoughts when Rocky's asleep. He can pretend to do other things to occupy his time while his friend snoozes on the other side of the xenonite barrier, but the quiet gives his brain more opportunity to rebel against him. He can't stop his thoughts from wandering.
And this close to Rocky, it's only natural that they wander his way.
Grace knows his reactions to Rocky's presence are completely out of pocket. He knows that they must be born of the fact that Grace has been starved for certain types of attention since he got shot into space. Maybe even since before then, though Grace's memory of his life before the Hail Mary is still a little spotty.
Rocky doesn't twitch in his sleep; the only way that Grace knows he's still alive is slight movement of Rocky's vents. He's said that he's effectively dead to the world, but Grace can't help but wonder what it would be like to sit next to Rocky while he slept and gently stroke the top of his carapace. Is that something he would enjoy?
Grace shakes his head. There's another out of pocket thought. He wishes he could stop having them. He's just… he's just discombobulated because he's been stuck in space with the same person for months, and it just so happens that that person is one of the most intellectually stimulating people he's ever met, who pushes him to be the best version of himself.
Yeah, that's it. There's nothing more to it.
But… what if there were?
Would that be so bad?
Oh yeah. There are about a million reasons why it could be bad, not the least of which being the possibility of driving a giant wedge between himself and his best—only—friend. Why would Rocky even reciprocate his feelings? He's a squishy, leaky, misshapen space blob as far as Rocky is concerned. One he's grown used to, sure, but hardly peak Eridian attractiveness.
(Not that Rocky is exactly attractive by human standards, either. But Rocky is Rocky, quick-witted and pushy and funny and so thoroughly himself. It doesn't matter what he looks like, as long as Grace can spend time with him. He could be a sentient cloud of gas and Grace is pretty sure he'd still be having this conversation with himself.)
What a fudging mess.
No, there's no way he's going to risk his relationship with his best friend just because he's touch-starved and desperate for affection. Especially not when there's still well over three years until they make it to Erid, and anywhere between ten and forty years after that, if Grace is lucky.
He fixes his eyes back on Rocky's sleeping form. He's got a vigil to carry out.
*
For their next cultural exchange night, it's Rocky's turn to present. Usually, he brings small visual aids in case a puppet show is needed, but this time he stands at rigid attention in the middle of the don't-go-crazy room in his EVA suit. He'd asked Grace to put on a beach for background noise and turn the volume down low, which Grace had done. Now it's just a matter of waiting for him to begin.
"Talk about mates and ♫♪♫♪," he says. Grace doesn't know the last word, but he hazards a guess.
"Mates and courtship?" After all of Rocky's interest in romcoms lately, he supposes this shouldn't have come as a surprise.
"Yes," Rocky agrees. "Don't want Grace hitting on random Eridians by accident."
Grace snorts. "I don't think that's gonna happen, pal. I can't even hit on Earth girls without making a mess of things."
"Grace do some things Eridians call flirting," Rocky says. "Eridians social but don't touch much. Only with close companions."
"Oh no," Grace says, a cold knot of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. "I didn't know. I'm sorry, Rock. I—I didn't mean to make a pass at you like that."
Rocky pulls his limbs a little closer to his body and says in a mildly irked tone, "Grace close. Touching Rocky just fine. Just don't touch other Eridians."
The knot in his stomach eases a little, and Grace holds up his hands. "Okay, okay. I won't touch anyone else unless I want to court them. Got it."
"Okay," Rocky says, body language loosening again. "Mostly close companions watch while asleep."
"Except in really extenuating circumstances, got it," Grace says, thinking of the ways in which they've settled into the familiar rhythm of keeping each other company during slumber.
Rocky does not respond to Grace's declaration, instead saying, "Not sure Grace understand Rocky, statement."
"No, I think I get it," Grace responds, still holding up his hands. "I need to not touch other Eridians, or volunteer to watch them sleep, or else they'll think I'm flirting. What else do I need to know not to cause an intergalactic romantic incident?"
"Eridians give gifts," Rocky continues, though his tone seems a bit more clipped than usual. "Sometimes useful. Mostly ♪♩♪♬. Things with no use."
"Like trinkets? Stuff that's nice to look at or has sentimental value?"
"Need word," Rocky prompts.
"'Sentimental' is like… something that makes you think of good times. Like a reminder."
"Yes, like that," says Rocky. "Things that sound good or are ♬♪♩♪♬."
Grace chuckles a little. "Yeah, humans are the same way. We give our partners stuff all the time. Usually stuff that makes us think of them. Or stuff we think they'd like."
"Yes," says Rocky. "Gathered that from movies. Humans and Eridians similar."
"You can't trust everything, you see in movies, bud," Grace says with a hint of a smile. "Hollywood doesn't really reflect real life, especially not when it comes to romcoms."
Rocky waves a claw in a dismissive gesture he definitely picked up from Grace. "Unimportant. Rocky give Grace many things."
Grace nods. "Yeah, you have. But I know you didn't mean anything by it."
Suddenly, Rocky makes a short, high-pitched, wordless noise of frustration while stomping two of his feet on the ground. It takes Grace aback.
"Whoa, what's wrong, pal?" he asks, now getting the feeling that this whole conversation is about more than just preventing romantic blunders when they get to Erid.
"Grace stupid stupid stupid," Rocky says in staccato notes. "Very simple: Rocky want Grace. Grace want Rocky, question?"
It feels like the floor has just fallen away and Grace is back in zero-G, floating aimlessly through the void of space. His heart leaps into his throat. "It's… it's not that simple, ♪♩♫," Grace says, using the Eridian nickname to hopefully soften the blow. "I'm bad at this. Bad at relationships. What if I mess things up for you? What're other Eridians going to think if you come back home with a weird lumpy alien as a partner? What's Adrian going to think?"
Rocky bristles, pulling his limbs in close to his body again. "If Grace mess things up, Rocky and Grace fix. Don't care what other Eridians think. Adrian…" Here, he pauses and makes a couple of thoughtful clicking noises. "What human saying, question? Cross bridge when get to it."
"I don't want to ruin what we've got," Grace says, turning his gaze away. "I don't think I could take it. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, hands down. If I lost you…"
"Grace stupid stupid stupid," Rocky repeats, but his tone is much softer. "Grace stuck with Rocky for life, statement. Understand, question?"
Grace can feel tears beginning to burn in his eyes, and he raises one hand to rub them away before they can start falling. He wants to believe Rocky. He wants to believe they can fix anything that Grace breaks. He wants to believe that they'll find a way to navigate things with Adrian. He wants to believe that Rocky will stick by him for the rest of his life.
But he's scared. Scared that he possesses a greater capacity to ruin things than Rocky gives him credit for. He takes in a deep, shuddering breath before saying, "I always mess things up."
Rocky stamps one foot in irritation. "Grace help Rocky save stars. Everything else ♬♩♫."
"Word?" Grace asks helplessly. The absurdity of having to have a mini-vocab lesson in the middle of this particular discussion feels surreal.
"Like 'unimportant,'" says Rocky. "But more."
"Trivial?" Grace supplies.
Rocky bobs up and down a little. "Yes yes yes. Trivial. Grace and Rocky save stars. Grace and Rocky do anything. Together."
The final word is said with such conviction that it takes Grace aback once more. More tears threaten to spill from the corners of his eyes. He's not sure anyone has ever felt this strongly about being together with him. That's… it's not nothing.
Grace lets out a miserable sniffle. "If… If I say yes, what happens then?"
"Rocky hug grace. Tell Grace not to leak."
That elicits a watery laugh. "Too late for that, bud."
Rocky makes a low, almost chittering sound that Grace knows is meant to be comforting nonsense. He closes the distance between them and reaches up to tug on the hem of Grace's shirt. Grace takes the hint and sinks to his knees, putting himself more easily within Rocky's reach.
His companion—his partner?—wastes no time in wrapping two arms around him and pulling him close. He continues to make that low noise, which Grace realizes has more depth to it than he can hear. This close, he can feel the vibrations of it thrum through him.
"I'm sorry, Rocky," Grace says with another sniffle. "I guess I am stupid stupid stupid."
"This mean Grace want Rocky, question?" Rocky asks softly.
"Yeah. Yeah, Grace wants Rocky. We'll… figure the rest out when we get there."
Rocky lets out a happy chirp and holds Grace tighter.
*
"So… I have a question."
Rocky stops what he's doing, making a chirp of acknowledgement. Grace continues.
"If Adrian calls you ♫♪, and you asked me to call you ♫♪, too, does that mean…" He pauses, trying to figure out how exactly to phrase his question. Finally, he says, "Is it something mates—partners—use for each other?"
There's a pause. Then, sounding almost sheepish, Rocky says, "Yes. Like human 'dear.'"
That means Rocky had been making overtures at Grace for ages. The realization hits Grace like a ton of bricks and he can't help but laugh at his own expense. "Oh my god, I really am dense. I'm sorry I didn't pick up on it sooner."
"Is fine," says Rocky. "Grace figure it out eventually. All that matters."
"Well, ♫♪, is there anything else you want to tell me?"
Rocky begins to fidget. "Nobody say ♪♩♫ because is very intimate to shorten name like that."
Grace arches an eyebrow at that revelation. "Not even Adrian says it?"
After a couple of negatory notes, Rocky says, "Adrian very formal. Grace will see when we get home."
Home. That's what Erid will be, isn't it?
The idea feels like it should be distressing, but it's not. It's actually kind of nice; Grace and Rocky are partners, after all. They say that home is where the heart is, and Grace's heart is firmly, irrevocably, with Rocky.
He smiles. "I can't wait."