Work Text:
[Sleep mode activated.]
Mary dims the lights as I slip under the covers of my bed, laying flat on my back and looking up at the ceiling. I glance instinctively at the bunk above me, encased in sloppily soldered xenonite. It's empty, but I could never quite bring myself to take it down. People have always called me a bit of a sentimental man—a little too attached to the memories behind small trinkets. I can't help holding onto old habits, can't help finding comfort in routines.
The mattress dips beside my head just as a familiar silhouette comes into view. The frame no longer creaks ominously under the new weight, not after it had been reinforced by xenonite; it's newer, stronger, and put together by a touch more adept than my own. That same touch brushes the hair out of my eyes, claws ever so slightly grazing the surface of my skin.
There you are, Rocky. You're watching me sleep again tonight, aren't you? Just like every night before this one, and every night that will come after.
It's a habit you never break, a routine you never miss. No matter what project you're working on, you always put it on pause just to watch me sleep. You climb up the tunnels to the upper bunk—or, ever since you made your xenonite suit, you get into bed alongside me—and click your claws rhythmically to count the seconds before I fall asleep. And, despite how fickle human sleep can be, you are always there when I wake up—whether from a dreamless slumber, a sweet dream, or a harrowing nightmare.
I still remember the first time we talked about dreams. It was in the middle of our mission, back when we were still at Tau Ceti. You were much more… anxious back then. About watching me sleep, I mean. For a being that doesn't have eyes, I could somehow feel the weight of your gaze on me; you 'peeked' over the edge of the bunk multiple times, despite the fact that you could hear through it just fine. And, as if that wasn't enough, you clicked your claws in time with the passing of each second—soft, yes, but not quite soft enough that it wouldn't bother me.
At the time, I found it cumbersome. Now, I just think you were afraid.
The average human adult sleeps around seven to nine hours a day. Let's say I sleep around eight hours per night. That would be a little over twenty-eight thousand seconds. So, every day, you'd listen to the sound of my body's systems slowing down and count until you could hear them start back up again. Only then would you stop—when my eyelids fluttered open so I could glare at you, and despite the annoyed tone of my voice as I told you off, you never took it to heart.
Oh, Rocky. How long did you count before you realized your crew wasn't going to wake up?
Unfortunately, it took me a while to realize that. I certainly hadn't at that specific point in time; I was very much new to this whole arrangement, and needed time to get used to it. I put space between us, hastily pushing you away when it felt like you were getting too close—an old habit of mine.
We bickered back and forth. Up until I said, "Sweet dreams, Rock."
You paused for a bit, then chittered curiously, "No understand word."
I had begun drifting off already, but that kept me awake for a bit longer. "Dreams? Hm…"
It only occurred to me then that I never told you just how much of a human's brain stayed active while they slept. The concept of memory consolidation and emotional processing during rest must be foreign to Eridians. I could've gone on a tangent about that alone. I could've told you about the parasympathetic nervous system and all the biological process that happen during REM sleep. I could've told you about the inner workings of my body, in a bid to get you to do the same.
But, with fatigue eating away at my cognitive functions and lowering my inhibitions, I bared my heart to you instead.
"It's like… another life that you live where crazy stuff happens, but it all makes sense." I muttered, raw and vulnerable. "Kinda like today."
I likened meeting you to a dream, and my only consolation is that I don't think you understood the significance of that.
Still, you bridged the gap for me, like you always do—you might not have known the meaning behind my words, but you could surely discern the intimacy of them. After all, your voice softened so sweetly when you whispered, "Have good other life crazy sleep, Grace."
And that's what I fall asleep to every night: a gentle crooning, a rhythmic tapping, and the distinct, heavy feeling of being seen.
Of course, the main exceptions lie in the months we were apart, when we thought we would never see each other again. The first few nights were terrible; I tossed and turned around to no avail, until exhaustion took the reins from me and forced my body to rest. I've never had a bout of sleep deprivation that bad ever since my days in academia, and that's saying something considering the workload a teacher gets during exam season.
At first, I attributed it to the pain of parting. If nothing else, I can admit to myself that I felt a genuine bond between the two of us—maybe it was strong enough that I felt something akin to grief at the prospect of it being gone. It took me time to get used to your presence, and it would take me time to get used to it being gone. A week passed. Then two, then three, then so on and so forth.
And then, the leak happened.
A small, twisted part of me is glad it happened; without it, I'm not sure if I would've mustered the courage to turn around. Then again, going back for you was the easiest choice I've made in my life. Charting the course for the approximated location of the Blip-A felt more like going home than returning to Earth ever did, and the flick of the lever used to send the Hail Mary onto that path felt more like a final puzzle piece slotting perfectly into place. I think it was a matter of when, not if.
But, even with the promise that I would see you again, I was still unable to sleep properly. My mind was calm, but my body was not; I could stare up at the ceiling with all the self-satisfaction in my heart, and yet reprieve would never come to me. I was beginning to think I should get Armando to check on me, see if I sustained any permanent brain damage from our fishing trip gone wrong.
Turns out I didn't need to. The first night after our reunion, after a long, long hug and a puddle of tears from yours truly, we moved over some necessities from the Blip-A to the Hail Mary. It was all very physically taxing, so I fully expected to be tired by the end of it. I didn't expect, however, that I would pass out as soon as I hit the pillow. And I did that over and over and over again as the days went by, and eventually made a very important realization.
I could no longer sleep to silence. I could no longer sleep without being watched. I could no longer sleep if you weren't by my side.
Rocky, you crept up on me so slowly and so steadily, in a manner embodying the ambush predators your kind are—before I knew it, you had sunk your claws into my bleeding heart and dragged it all the way to my sleeve until my deepest emotions were made known. No secret was spared; all that was brazen and ugly and shameful came to light and I could only hope that Eridians truly did not have a sense of sight.
Love is too big a word to label the mess of what I feel for you.
It scares me. Back on Earth, I don't think I ever truly knew love. Not to say that I wasn't loved, no—in hindsight I was rather well-liked, but I kept my walls too far up for most people to even think of scaling them. Some tried, of course, but those relationships never lasted. At the tail end of every break-up, my exes always said something along the lines of: "your standards are too high", or "it doesn't feel like your heart is in it", or "your head is in the clouds".
I never understood why they expected so much out of me so quickly. They would say they loved me, then get upset when I couldn't say it back. It was never out of malice; I just didn't want to lie. Isn't love supposed to be this all-encompassing devotion for another soul? Isn't love supposed to be more than shallow desires and fleeting affections?
From afar, it always felt so flimsy and fickle, like a thing bastardized by the norms of modern society. I would watch my acquaintances get in and out of relationships at the drop of a hat, would watch my friends get married and divorced in the span of the same year, and it just never felt like it was for me. Then again, I'm primarily a man of math and science; complex equations are easier for me to untangle than the web of my own emotions. So I figured that love was simply something out of reach, and that I would never get to know it in its full capacity.
Until I met you.
We clicked in a way I never have with anyone else. Despite the plethora of differences between us, it never felt like it was too much for me to handle. I know now that I can attribute most of that to you; you work so hard to bridge the gaps between us, from the language barriers to the cultural divides to the personal conflicts. It was like you opened your arms and left a space between them in the shape of me, and I couldn't help but fall into it so earnestly.
By that point, you meant so much to me, more than I could ever anticipate.
And I panicked because of it. I put space between us, hastily pushing you away when it felt like you were getting too close—an old habit of mine. Still, you are so very patient with me. I could pull back for a couple days, and you would never push or pry. I could withdraw into myself, and you would simply stay by my side until I was ready to open my heart up to you again.
Isn't it ironic that now I wish for the exact opposite?
Shortly after the discovery of Taumoeba, we talked a little about the implications of it. Of all the potential things we could have found on that little excursion to Tau Ceti's Petrova line, I'm not quite sure a natural predator was high up on that list. At that point, there existed four known extraterrestrial lifeforms converging in a single star system. Of course, as people of science, we raised the question: was this coincidence or not?
We humans have a theory for that. Panspermia hypothesizes that life originated from space, that it evolved elsewhere and was simply seeded on Earth by passing celestial bodies. There's a decent chance that Planet Adrian itself is not only the point of origin for Taumoeba, but also astrophage, and subsequently: humans and Eridians.
I told you as much. Then, "So…"
You tapped twice and trilled, "So what?"
Maybe we came from the cosmos. Maybe we were made from the same particles of stardust floating about during the advent of creation. Maybe our meeting was written in the stars, and the strings of our lives were meant to be weaved together all this time.
"Maybe we're cousins."
In hindsight, that was a stupid thing to say.
But it was because I wanted to have something in common with you so very badly, in any way, shape or form. I said things I didn't mean and called us things far from the truth of what I wanted us to be. At every step, I was thinking, 'If this is the closest I can get to being yours, then I will cherish it for what it is.'
Still, the heart wants what it wants—there is nothing more human than the act of yearning.
I dared to dream, simply because I knew you couldn't. My subconscious dug up memories of literature readings, of classic tales and old mythos, of all the timeless romances that reminded me of us. There is a whole library of stories wherein a pair of lovers are simply meant to be, and I would like to put our biographies on its shelves.
It feels like I'm a lovesick teenager all over again—peeking out of my bedroom window, looking up at the night sky and wishing on the stars for a sign. Maybe then, I could call this fate. Maybe then, I could call this pure, unfettered destiny. Maybe, just maybe, we could be soulmates.
Or maybe that's all just wishful thinking. After all, what are dreams but transient little things meant to be forgotten?
I'll fall asleep tonight under your touch and wake up the next morning to the sound of your claws clicking, just like I've always done. I'll live a million lifetimes with you in the corners of my imagination only to bury them all before I've even opened my eyes. You'll ask me about the crazy other life I live in my sleep, and all I can give you in return is a helpless shrug.
Humans forget easily. So, just for a second, please let me burn the memory of you into the back of my eyelids so that when I close my eyes all I know is you.
Is that love? Probably not. If I'm this unsure, it probably isn't love. If my feelings are this ugly, then they probably don't deserve such a beautiful name. Besides, love is too big a word to label the mess of what I feel for you.
But it is also the only word I have that even comes close to doing so.
I think… I have to be brave. For now, this is good enough. For now, I'll whisper my affections in a volume I know only Eridians can hear. Then, maybe someday, I'll scream them so loud into the silence of space that they can be heard across the entire galaxy.
So, I bite the proverbial bullet and let my words bleed out. The sound of them is awkward, slipping off the tip of my tongue clumsily. You tilt your carapace in my direction and the weight of your 'gaze' was heavy with your full attention—as if I'm worth such a thing.
"I love you, Rocky."