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Arc I: Crash and Burn—
The ship came down hard in the methane flats, forty kilometers north of the Eridian settlement. Ryland Grace watched the smoke rise from the observation deck, his fingers tight around the railing.
"Not Astrophage," he muttered. "Too big, too fast."
Rocky clicked beside him, three sharp notes of concern. "Human ship, Grace. Question?"
"I don't know," Ryland admitted. "Could be. But Earth is years away. The *Hail Mary* was the only one."
"Then this is mystery, Grace. Yes."
They took the crawler. Rocky drove—his claws better suited for the terrain—while Ryland checked the atmosphere readings. The ship was small, a shuttle maybe, crumpled against the purple rocks like a discarded toy.
The hatch was sealed from the inside. Rocky pried it open with his massive claws, the metal screeching.
Inside was darkness. And breathing—wet, labored, angry.
"Hello?" Ryland called, flashlight cutting through the black. "We're here to help. We're not going to hurt you."
A shape moved. Fast. Something slammed into Ryland's shoulder, knocking him back into the crawler's frame. Pain flared.
"Stay back!" The voice was human but distorted, cracked. "Don't come near me!"
Ryland raised his hands, heart hammering. "Okay! Okay, I'm staying back. See? Hands up."
The figure stepped into the light.
Ryland had seen strange things—Astrophage, Eridians, the vast emptiness of space. But this was different. The man was tall, too tall, limbs stretched like taffy. His skin moved wrong, rippling with iridescent patches that caught the light. His eyes—God, his eyes had four points, like crosses, and they glowed faintly in the dark.
"Human," Rocky observed. "Changed human, Grace. Yes."
"Changed," the creature laughed, bitter and broken. "That's one word for it. Mutated. Monstrous. Abomination."
"What's your name?" Ryland asked, keeping his voice steady.
"Why do you care?"
"Because you're hurt, and you're alone, and I'm offering help. Basic decency."
The creature—man—stared at him. His chest heaved. Blood dripped from his left arm, dark and thick. "Simon," he said finally. "My name is Simon. And I don't need your help."
"You're bleeding, Simon."
"I said I don't need it!"
He lunged. Rocky moved faster, one massive clawed hand coming down to block the path. Simon slammed into Rocky's arm, bounced back, and collapsed to his knees. He was shaking violently.
"Angry," Rocky noted. "Scared and angry, Grace. Like injured animal. Yes."
"I'm not scared," Simon snarled, but his voice cracked.
Ryland approached slowly, hands still raised. "Simon. I'm Ryland. This is Rocky. We're from Earth. Well, I'm from Earth. Rocky's from here."
Simon looked up, cross-pupils narrowing. "Earth," he whispered. "You're from Earth?"
"Originally. It's... complicated."
"I was from Earth," Simon said, and his voice went hollow. "Before they took me. Before they made me into this."
"Who took you?"
But Simon was swaying, consciousness slipping. The blood loss was significant. Ryland caught him before he hit the ground, and Simon was too weak to fight, just a trembling weight in Ryland's arms, hot with fever.
"Take him home, Grace. Question?"
"Yeah," Ryland said, adjusting his grip. Simon was lighter than he looked, all sharp angles and strange density. "Yeah, we're taking him."
**Arc II: The Language of Sharp Things**
The first week, Simon broke everything he touched.
Not intentionally—at least, not always. His hands didn't work right. The mutations had given him claws, keratinous growths that extended when he was stressed, and he was constantly stressed. He shredded the bedding. He cracked the water basin. He snapped utensils in half just trying to eat.
"Clumsy," Rocky observed, watching Simon struggle with a spoon. "Or strong. Question?"
"Both," Ryland said, watching from the doorway. "He's both, Rocky."
Simon heard him. Of course he did—the mutations had enhanced his hearing too. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here," he snapped, throwing the spoon. It embedded in the wall. "And stop staring. I know I'm a freak."
"You're not a freak," Ryland said, entering the room. He kept his movements slow, predictable. He'd learned quickly that Simon startled easy, and a startled Simon was a destructive Simon.
"Then what am I?"
"A survivor."
Simon laughed, harsh and barking. "Survivor. Sure. That's a nice word for lab rat. For weapon."
"What do you mean, weapon?"
Simon pulled up his sleeve. Under the iridescent skin, Ryland could see dark lines—scars, dozens of them, some fresh. "They made me to fight Astrophage. To survive where humans couldn't. They cut me open and put things inside me, and when I screamed, they said it was for the greater good."
Ryland felt sick. "Who did this?"
"Does it matter?" Simon stood, pacing, his gait uneven, too long. "Military. Government. People who thought saving the species justified torturing one person. I escaped. Stole a shuttle. Pointed it at the nearest habitable planet and prayed."
"Erid," Rocky said. "You found Erid, Simon. Yes."
"I found a nightmare," Simon corrected. "Just a different kind."
Ryland stepped forward. Simon backed away, hitting the wall. "Don't," Simon warned.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"You say that. They all said that. Then came the needles."
"I'm not them," Ryland said, keeping his voice soft. "I'm just a guy who got kidnapped by his own government, shoved onto a ship, and sent to save a world that never asked if I wanted to be a hero. I'm not a scientist. I'm not a soldier. I'm just... me."
Simon stared at him. "Kidnapped?"
"From my classroom. Middle school science teacher. They took me in the parking lot. Bag over my head. Didn't ask permission."
Something shifted in Simon's expression. The anger didn't fade, but it softened at the edges. "You were a teacher?"
"Biology. Mostly photosynthesis and frog dissections. Nothing that prepared me for... this."
Simon looked down at his hands, the claws slowly retracting. "I was studying engineering. MIT. Second year when they came for me."
"They took you from school?"
"From my dorm. Said I had the right genetic markers. Compatible with the modifications." Simon's voice went flat. "I didn't get to say goodbye. Didn't get to tell my mom I loved her. Just gone. Then pain. Then this."
Ryland felt a surge of protectiveness so intense it made his hands shake. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be sorry. Fix me."
"I can't fix you. I don't know how."
"Then what good are you?"
The words were meant to wound. Ryland let them slide off. "I'm good at being here," he said. "Even when you're terrible. Even when you break things. I'm good at staying."
Simon turned away, but not before Ryland saw his shoulders hitch.
**Arc III: Sharp Edges and Soft Hands**
Day nineteen. Ryland found the blood in the storage unit.
He didn't panic. He'd learned Simon's patterns—the way he disappeared when the mutations hurt, the way he needed small spaces when the memories got too loud. Ryland followed the trail.
Simon was in the corner, knees to chest, a shard of metal in his hand. His forearm was a mess of fresh cuts, layered over old scars.
"Simon," Ryland said softly.
"Go away."
"No."
"I'll hurt you."
"You won't."
"You don't know that!"
Ryland crouched down, still three feet away. Close enough to be present. Far enough to not trap him. "I know that you're in pain. I know that cutting helps you feel in control. I know that the mutations feel like they're eating you alive, and pain is the only thing that proves you're still you."
Simon's breath hitched. "How do you know?"
"Because I watched myself die," Ryland said quietly. "The other two crew members on my ship. I watched them freeze. I couldn't save them. And some nights, I think about opening a vein just to feel something other than guilt."
The confession hung in the air. Simon's hand trembled. "You feel that? The... the needing?"
"Every day."
Simon looked at the metal shard. Then at Ryland. Slowly, painfully, he extended his arm, offering the weapon. "Take it," he whispered. "Before I do something stupid."
Ryland took the metal. Set it aside. Then, carefully, he reached out and touched Simon's wrist, feeling the rapid pulse there. "Next time," Ryland said, "come find me. Before it gets this bad. Let me be the reason you don't hurt yourself."
"Why?" Simon's voice broke. "Why do you care? I've been nothing but cruel. I broke your favorite mug. I called you names. I told Rocky you were planning to dissect me."
"I care because you're here," Ryland said simply. "And you're trying. Every day you wake up and choose not to let them win completely. That's brave. That's worth caring about."
Simon collapsed forward, and Ryland caught him, holding him while he shook apart.
**Arc IV: The Shadow Behind**
Day thirty-two. The incident.
Ryland was repairing the atmospheric processor, focused on the wiring, music playing softly in his ears. He didn't hear Simon enter. Didn't know anyone was there until—
A hand touched his shoulder.
Ryland screamed. It wasn't a sound a human should make—pure terror, ripped from his throat. He spun, swinging, and slammed his back against the wall, knocking over a tool rack. Metal clattered. Ryland slid down, gasping, the room spinning.
He was back in the van. Hands tied. Bag over his head. Stratt's voice: *"You're doing this for humanity, Ryland. Be brave."* Dragged, pulled, taken—
"Ryland!" Simon was there, but not touching, hands raised, eyes wide. "Ryland, it's me! It's Simon! You're here! You're safe!"
It took ten minutes for the panic to subside. When it finally passed, Ryland was mortified, shaking, his shirt soaked with sweat.
"I'm sorry," he gasped. "God, I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Simon said, still keeping his distance. "You have... things. Triggers. Yes?"
"Being grabbed from behind," Ryland admitted, humiliated. "Since the kidnapping. If I can't see you, if you touch me when I'm not looking, I just... I'm back there."
Simon nodded slowly. "I have them too. Loud noises. Being restrained. The smell of rubbing alcohol."
"Did I hurt you? When I swung?"
"No." Simon paused. "But I should have announced myself. I was wrong."
They sat in silence for a moment.
"Can I tell you something?" Ryland asked.
"Yes."
"I need touch. To ground me. But I need it from the front. Where I can see."
Simon considered this. Then, moving slowly, he crawled forward until he was within arm's reach. He took Ryland's hand and placed it on his own chest, over his heart. "Like this?"
Ryland felt the rapid thud of Simon's heart, the warmth of him. "Yeah," he breathed. "Like this."
**Arc V: The Waist Obsession**
It became a pattern.
Simon was narrow-hipped, despite the mutations, his waist surprisingly delicate compared to his broad shoulders and too-long limbs. Ryland discovered that gripping that waist centered him. Grounded them both.
Day forty-five. The marketplace.
Simon had agreed to venture out, to meet Rocky's mate Adrian, to see the Eridian settlement. But the noise overwhelmed him—the constant clicking vibrations, the towering aliens, the methane smell that even filtered through his mask made him dizzy.
He was hyperventilating, claws out, ready to bolt.
Ryland stepped up behind him—not touching, never touching from behind without warning—and cleared his throat. "May I?"
Simon nodded, sharp and jerky.
Ryland placed both hands on Simon's waist.
The effect was immediate. Simon's breathing slowed. He leaned back, just slightly, into Ryland's chest. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay, that's... that's good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
After that, Ryland couldn't stop. He found excuses to touch that waist—when Simon was agitated, when he was excited, when he was thinking hard and chewing on his lip. Ryland would just step in, hands finding those sharp hip bones, and hold on.
Simon never pulled away. In fact, he began to seek it out. Standing closer. Positioning himself so Ryland's hands would naturally fall there. Pressing back into the touch.
"You have a fixation," Simon accused on day fifty-two, but he was smiling.
"You like it," Ryland countered, squeezing gently.
"I tolerate it," Simon lied, leaning back into Ryland's chest.
They were in the common room. Rocky and Yoshi clicked amusement from the corner.
"Humans are strange, Grace," Rocky observed. "Touching for comfort. Yes."
"They're bonding," Adrian corrected, her clicks softer. "Like eridian clutch-mates. Warm and safe."
"Safe," Simon repeated, tasting the word. "I don't feel safe."
"Not yet," Ryland said, resting his chin on Simon's shoulder. "But you will."
**Arc VI: The Falling**
Day sixty-seven.
They were in the greenhouse, checking the nitrogen levels. Simon had taken to the work—he understood systems, engineering, the way things fit together. He was explaining something about filtration when Ryland realized he was staring.
Simon noticed. "What?"
"Nothing. You're just..."
"Hideous? Deformed?"
"Beautiful."
Simon went still. "Don't joke."
"I'm not." Ryland set down the tablet. "You're beautiful, Simon. The way you survived. The way you help Rocky with the math even though you pretend to hate it. The way you leave the last protein bar for me. You're sharp and strange and you fit here."
"Fit," Simon scoffed, but his voice was unsteady. "I don't fit anywhere."
"You fit with me."
Simon turned, and Ryland saw the want in his eyes, the fear, the hope. "Ryland..."
"Can I kiss you?"
Simon didn't answer. He stepped forward, into Ryland's space, and tilted his chin up.
The kiss was careful—Simon was conscious of his teeth, too sharp, conscious of the claws that rested lightly on Ryland's shoulders. Ryland's hands found Simon's waist, pulling him closer, anchoring him.
When they broke apart, Simon was trembling. "I've never... the modifications happened before... I don't know how..."
"We'll learn," Ryland promised. "Together. Slow."
"I don't do slow well."
"I've noticed." Ryland kissed his forehead. "But I'll wait. I'll wait as long as you need."
**Arc VII: Sharp Things Made Soft**
Month four.
Simon still had bad days. Days where he broke dishes, where he disappeared with sharp objects, where he told Ryland he was a monster and should be abandoned.
But now, after those days, he came back.
He found Ryland and pressed his claws into Ryland's palms—not cutting, just pressure—and Ryland held him until the storm passed.
They slept together, Simon curled around Ryland like a question mark, his extra heat warming Ryland's always-cold bones. Ryland's hands stayed on Simon's waist, even in sleep, a possessive, grounding weight.
"I love you," Simon whispered one night, months in, when the twin moons were high.
Ryland stroked his hair. "I love you too, you impossible, mutated, brilliant idiot."
"Even when I'm terrible?"
"Especially then. Because that's when you need it most."
Simon pressed closer, and Ryland held him, hands spanning his waist, holding him together.
**Epilogue: Home**
Year two.
The station was built. Earth was saved—Astrophage beaten back, the ice age averted. Simon stood on the observation deck, watching the stars, his skin now accepted, even celebrated. The iridescent patches had spread, become something like art.
Ryland came up behind him, stopped, cleared his throat.
Simon reached back, took his hands, placed them on his waist. "Come here," he said.
Ryland pressed close, chin on Simon's shoulder. "Happy?"
"Yeah," Simon said, wonder in his voice. "I think I am."
"Good."
They kissed, slow and deep, and Ryland lifted him—he loved lifting him, loved the way Simon's legs wrapped around his waist, the way he clung there like he was never letting go.
Rocky entered, clicking softly. "Still touching, Grace. Yes."
"Still touching, Rocky," Ryland confirmed, not letting go. "Forever touching."
"Humans," Rocky said, but he sounded pleased.
Simon laughed, bright and real, and kissed Ryland again.
Under the alien stars, they were home.