Chapter Text
Ryland Grace didn’t particularly care for his birthday.
Time dilation made things fuzzy. He wasn’t exactly sure how old he was supposed to be, or the exact day or time another Earth year had passed. He just had a feeling. A settling in his bones that told him time was slipping away.
On the Hail Mary, Rocky would make a big deal out of birthdays. They weren’t a thing on Erid, and the concept of celebrating the day of one’s entry into the world fascinated him. He dubbed the day “Grace Day” and let Ryland pick the movies they’d watch, dip into the rations of good food, and, on one occasion, convince Rocky to dress up in a little sweater and take a picture.
On Erid, things remained the same. They’d had their “Grace Day” earlier in the week. Ryland had spent the morning teaching and the night tending a bonfire on the beach while Rocky jumped waves and Adrian sang him one of their favorite tunes. It was simple. Ryland didn’t need anything more.
Except, maybe, to celebrate with his twin brother. But that would never happen again.
Ryland was alone on this side of the universe.
Alone save for the alpha who took up residence on the opposite side of the biodome.
The only other human for lightyears, and he hated Ryland. From the moment he gained consciousness and tried to take Ryland down with a hand around his throat, Simon’s hatred was palpable. Suffocating. It would have been comical had the rejection not stung sharper than a thousand cuts.
Ryland had all these dreams of having someone to grow old with, to laugh with, to scent and protect and share this second chance at life with. Stupid, he knew. It was a miracle he lived this long. A miracle the Eridians liked him enough to make him a home and keep him alive. They didn't have to do any of that. Sometimes Ryland wondered why they even went to the trouble. He should be satisfied with what he had. Even if there was a gnawing, aching pit deep in his chest that cried for something familiar. Something comforting. Something that felt like home.
Ryland hoped Colt didn’t feel the same ache. He hoped Colt had healed. He hoped Colt had someone he could hold and scent and build a home with. It was different with alphas, but they had always been extremely close. Even when he shut Ryland out of his life long before Stratt launched him into space, Ryland could feel their bond. He clung to it during the long nights on the vat, when he didn’t know if his brother was dead or alive.
Now, half a universe away, Ryland plucked at that bond only to be met with silence. A gaping, empty void that echoed his loneliness back at him.
Bonds weren’t meant to span so far.
Brothers weren’t meant to be apart so long.
Wish you were here, Colt, he thought as he turned his face to the wind.
The Eridians were experimenting with more kinds of weather now that two of them shared the biodome. Foggy days weren’t everyone’s favorite. Simon might have craved sunshine after years submerged in darkness. Ryland wouldn’t know. It wasn’t like they talked.
The wind was even stronger high up on the cliff. Ryland didn’t often come up this high; he had a fear of tall places ever since he fell out of a tree when he was a child and broke his arm. Colt had mocked him relentlessly for slipping, then was the first to sign his cast. Colt liked danger, though. He craved it. If he were there, he’d dare Ryland to jump into the rolling waves below.
Colt wasn’t there.
Ryland was alone on the cliff, patchwork blanket thrown over his shoulders. It was the only thing he owned that still smelled like something other than himself and the sterile, plain soap the Eridians had created for him. If he pulled it close and buried his nose near the seams, he could still catch a whiff of the milky scent of his students, of graphite and paper and dust.
It wasn’t often Ryland indulged his senses. He was barely an omega anymore. There was no need to try and pretend. There was no one to scent; Eridians didn’t even have a basic sense of smell, none the less functioning endocrine systems. Without scents, there was no purpose for a nest; all of his blankets and pillows smelled the same: like his own sweat and tears and soap.
And, of course, there was no one to form bonds with.
Simon hadn’t said more than two words to him in months. The last time they’d interacted, Ryland had left him a new set of gardening tools made specifically to adapt to Simon’s xenonite prosthetic. Instead of thanks, Simon snapped at Ryland to get out and leave him alone. His scent was sharp with irritation, and Ryland…well, Ryland was used to rejection. He left the gift at the door, turned tail, and ran.
Always the coward.
Probably why he was up here, wallowing in self-pity instead of doing something to fix the situation. Except…he wasn’t sure what else he could do. He’d done everything. Bent over backwards to care for Simon. Gave up his privacy and nursed Simon back to health when he first arrived. Helped him re-learn life with one arm. Made sure he was fed properly. Gave him a home. Took his criticism with grace. Endured his nightmares. Comforted him when he raged. Made him a greenhouse.
There came a point when he had to accept that the problem wasn’t Simon. The problem was him. It was always him.
It wasn’t enough. He was never enough.
There was something broken in him. Too annoying, too aloof, too frenetic. His girlfriend told him back in college. Colt had screamed it in his face the last time they ever fought. Stratt had used it as her excuse to pin him to the ground and murder him.
You don’t even have a dog.
And now he was expected to live another year. Alone.
There was Rocky, of course. And Adrian. They were wonderful. The best friends Ryland could have asked for. But they weren’t the same as other human beings. They couldn’t hold him, or scent him, or comfort the aching, animal part of him. They couldn’t even touch without a barrier between them.
Ryland’s skin buzzed, too tight, too present and heavy on his body. Every brush of the wind chafed against him. The blanket was exquisite torture. The whole world pressed around him, weighing him down with double the gravity, and yet he still felt unmoored. Aimless. Homeless. His body cried out for the familiarity of touch and was granted only empty solitude.
What was the point of all this pain? All this suffering? He was supposed to die in space, and he couldn’t even do that correctly.
Something in him was broken. Broken, broken, broken. Too far deep to fix. Something in the cowardly, selfish core of him.
Maybe that was why he was here, living a life he could only have dreamt, and still feel this way. Only someone as broken as him could be so ungrateful for this second chance at life, surrounded by creatures who loved him, doted on him, and fulfilled his every whim. He didn’t deserve so much care. There were so many less pathetic creatures on which the Eridians could spend their time.
Simon would certainly like it if Ryland were no longer there to annoy him, or intrude on his space, or ask random, unimportant questions. Simon was content being alone. He wasn’t broken like Ryland. Though, that could have been the alpha in him. They weren’t weak like omegas. Not sentimental. Not programmed to yearn for a home that no longer existed.
The wind picked up, and the sea below rolled. The waves were rougher now, adjusting to the new weather pattern. The sound of them, crashing and angry, drowned everything out. Their rhythm was so peaceful, so steady.
Ryland really hated heights, but he scooted a bit closer to the edge and closed his eyes. Let his body sway forward. Maybe, if he could just get a little closer -
“Grace?”
…
Simon was exhausted.
He’d spent the better part of the day in the greenhouse, pruning and plucking and weeding until his fingers ached. There wasn’t much to be done, but he made the job last. When the plants were pruned within an inch of their lives, he switched to lifting bags of fertilizer across the biodome for the expansion Adrian was planning. About ten trips in, his shoulders ached and his back was sore. The next ten were to prove to himself he could.
When all he could focus on was how tired he was and how badly everything ached, there was no space to think about the angel that lived across the biodome.
Every day, he woke up and looked out across the rocky shore and was taunted by the house on the hill. It mocked him, all warm tones and open windows. There was even a wreath on the door for fuck’s sake. As if to say, “come on in, all are welcome, even blood-soaked convicts who tried to choke the life out of you!”
He hated it. He hated Ryland Grace. Or, at least that’s what he told himself to keep his instincts in check.
It would be too easy to give in to that warmth. To go up to the omega and beg for a place in his nest. To beg for mercy, a pack, a home. A creature like him - someone raised on violence and bloodshed - had no business sullying something as good as Ryland Grace.
He didn’t make it easy for Simon, though.
No, he just had to go and live up to his name. Had to go and be so fucking kind and save his miserable life, share his precious resources, convince Rocky to make him a prosthesis, and even build him a fucking greenhouse after noticing Simon’s reaction to the sprouts rescued from the Hail Mary.
Who the fuck did those things, and for a stranger at that? A stranger who gave him nothing but a ring of bruises around his windpipe in return.
The memory made Simon flinch. He’d spent his first few weeks of freedom sure that Ryland would get these rock creatures to ship him off planet. Or crush him under their massive weight. He’d deserve worse. He’d seen worse happen to alphas who harmed omegas on Eden.
What was worse was that Ryland still didn’t understand that he was in danger. Simon was a danger. And he wasn’t just talking about the mutations that riddled his fucked up body. He’d nearly killed Ryland while he was delirious and half-dead with his own hand. Ryland thought it was a good idea to give that creature space to heal, get stronger, and then get closer?
Insane. Ryland was insane. Dangerous, even. Simon wanted no part of him. It was safer for everyone that way.
So, he trudged up the path and over the ridge of the cliffside. His house was on the highest, most easily-guarded point of the biodome. A little bit of a treacherous hike, but Simon had fared far worse. A small price to pay for the relative safety of a small hut carved into the massive mountain.
A scalding bath was in his future. That, and a deep, dreamless sleep. Any night without nightmares was a good night; the chances of a good night were exponentially higher when he was too tired to fight it.
What he wasn’t expecting was to see Ryland bundled up in a blanket, sitting on the edge of the cliff.
He hadn’t noticed Simon yet, his back to Simon as he stared out across the water. The wind ruffled his sandy blonde hair, pushing it in front of his face, but he did nothing to move it. He looked cute, bundled up like that. It would have been an annoying, heartwarming sight had Simon not caught a faint whiff of the scent blowing his way.
All at once, exhaustion fled. Fear took its place, freezing his blood and seizing his heart.
Simon had smelled that scent before - on mothers who had lost their pups, brothers who had lost their sisters, sons who had to choose between feeding a sibling or a parent knowing there were only enough resources for one. A truly terrible, acrid scent that soured anything it touched. It permeated through the walls of every space station. Inescapable. Unavoidable. The only possible outcome in a collapsing universe.
Ryland was wasting, and from the smell of it, he had been for quite some time.
“Grace?”
He didn’t realize he’d been inching forward until Ryland was only a few feet away. Ryland turned, surprised to see Simon so close.
“Oh,” he said, glasses slipping to bump against his forehead. “Simon.”
Simon expected more babbling, but whatever was going on with Ryland made him less talkative than usual. He stared at Simon for a moment, then turned his head forward. It stung to be ignored like that, but Simon had no right to be upset if Ryland wasn’t feeling up to conversation. It wasn’t like Simon had been willing to engage before. But Ryland hadn’t smelled like wasting before. Truthfully, Simon had never paid attention to Ryland’s natural scent - he’d actively avoided it at all costs - but he doubted it smelled like this.
Like something rotting and rancid.
Dying.
Was this his fault? Was he doing this to Ryland? The thought made Simon panic, made his throat convulse around the bile that threatened to spill from mutated lips.
“What are you doing up here?” Simon asked.
“Admiring the view.”
That didn’t make any sense. The view was just as impressive from the beach. A view Ryland much preferred as he walked it every day. Simon watched him walk the beach with Rocky, always smiling and laughing. He always looked so happy.
He was happy, wasn’t he? Simon wasn’t making that up?
“You never come up here,” Simon said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re afraid of heights.”
That earned him a smile, albeit a small one.
“That obvious, huh?”
Simon wanted to scoff and say yes, it was that obvious. That Ryland tripped over flat surfaces and got dizzy on his walk to his classroom. That he didn’t even like to watch screens that showed high up places.
Ryland was afraid of heights, yet there he was sitting on the edge of a cliff, smelling like he was moments from death. It made Simon nervous. He itched to reach out, to touch. He couldn't help it. This wasn’t right.
And yet, when he stuck his arm out, Ryland flinched.
Simon immediately snatched his hand back, stumbling backwards across the rocks.
Why did he think that was a good idea? Was he a fucking idiot? Last time he touched Ryland, he nearly killed him! No wonder Ryland flinched. He was scared…scared of Simon. The only other human on Erid, and he was afraid of Simon.
This wouldn't break him. Simon deserved this. These were the consequences of his actions.
Besides, this was what he wanted, wasn’t it? For Ryland to stay away? To keep him safe?
Except Ryland wasn’t safe. Ryland was wasting, and now Simon couldn't fix it because Ryland was afraid of him.
Simon wanted to scream. And Ryland…well, Ryland kept his eyes on Simon this time. They stared at his hand - the non-mutated, human hand - like it was a weapon. He eyed it warily, uncertain of what came next.
“Ryland…are you okay?” Simon asked, trying to steady himself. “Did something happen?”
“I’m fine, Simon.” Ryland smiled and Simon swore he was going to be sick this time. “Am I in your way? I can leave if -”
“No! Just - ” Simon bit his tongue. He was fucking this all up. God, how stupid was he? How had he not seen… “Can I join you?”
Ryland looked at him, more confused than before. Leave it to Simon to make a situation worse. Still, Ryland nodded and Simon took that as his cue to sit on the ground a good arm’s length away from Ryland. He didn’t think getting any closer would be taken well. Not with Ryland’s shoulders tucked up near his ears, his arms wrapped around the blanket around his middle, holding himself in a mockery of an embrace.
It was sad to watch. Sadder still that Ryland was obviously hurting and didn’t reach out for comfort.
How long had this been going on? How long had Simon been so blind?
The alpha inside whined, howled to get closer. To comfort. To cure. But everything about Ryland’s body language screamed back off! Something Simon was intimately familiar with. The only reason he hadn’t wasted after his mother’s death was because his brothers wouldn’t leave him to rot. His body was too useful to The Father; as a soldier of Eden, he was needed to fulfill his responsibility to The Last Tree. Even years of solitary confinement hadn’t broken him down; there was no one left in his life to miss. No more bonds to break.
That didn’t make him stronger than Ryland. It didn’t make Ryland weak, either. Ryland was one of the strongest people he’d ever met. He respected the fuck out of Ryland and his blinding intelligence. His sharp wit. His unfailing optimism.
Sometimes Simon looked at Ryland and had to look away from the sheer brightness of him. Like staring into the sun.
But the sun was a star, and Simon remembered his lessons. He remembered looking up into the black nothingness beyond the space station and recalling The Father’s words. How by the time a star’s light could reach human eyes, it was already dead, just an echo of something beautiful.
He hadn’t been worthy of that light then. He wasn’t worthy of it now. But he didn’t want Ryland to die. He couldn't be alone again. He-he couldn’t…
Sometime in all this catastrophizing, the sky grew darker. Lights on a dimmer, Ryland had said, once. Something about the atmosphere of Erid being too dense to let actual light through to the surface. Simulated or not, the sunset was gorgeous, streaking the sky in oranges, pinks, and purples.
How had the people of Earth ever taken this for granted? How had they chosen to destroy something so amazing?
Simon looked over to Ryland. He had his head tipped back, face to the sky to bask in the glow. His hair shone like gold, and the light bounced off the frame of his glasses, making them shimmer. That wasn’t the only thing shimmering; two tear tracks ran down Ryland’s cheeks, dripping from his chin to the blanket.
“It’s getting dark,” Simon said quietly so as not to break the spell.
Ryland’s eyes fluttered open, and even from this stolen side glance, Simon was rendered breathless by pure, crystal blue.
“Yeah. It is.”
They both stayed where they were, making no moves to go. It would get colder once the night set in. The sea breeze would go from brisk to chilly. Ryland already ran so cold…
“Can I walk you home?” Simon offered, unable to help himself.
Ryland turned, shocked.
“What?”
“It’s a long way down. Pretty slippery. And you’re dead on your feet.”
Simon winced as soon as the words left his mouth. He had never been one for tact, preferring the direct method. He wished he’d inherited some of his mother’s gentleness - just a hint of her kindness. She would weep if she could see him now: a monster capable of only violence. A terrible, rotted thing.
Even terrible, rotted things had a conscience, which was what drove Simon to fight his aching knees and stand. What drove him to approach Ryland with extreme caution, one step slowly placed in front of the other, those sparkling blue eyes glued to him the entire way until he was close enough to reach out and slowly, so slowly, offer his hand once more.
Rejection was expected. Repulsion was a given. Simon could handle it. So long as Ryland -
Ryland reached out with a trembling hand and placed his inside Simon’s open palm.
The first brush of skin on skin had Simon inhaling sharply, his heart hammering. Ryland’s skin was soft. Simon had felt it before, of course; weeks of medical care made him intimately familiar with those hands. But Simon had forgotten…he’d forgotten just how soft. The hands of someone who had never known hard labor. Who had never had to fight tooth and claw for the chance to live another day.
The hands of someone gentle. The hands of a healer, a scientist, a teacher. A friend.
Tremors erupted tenfold the longer the touch went on, Ryland shaking like a leaf under his blanket. Simon encouraged him to stand, wincing at how his own callused, rough hands had to hold tight to assist Ryland up. As soon as Ryland was vertical, he swayed dangerously backwards, nearly falling over the edge of the cliff.
Simon let out a gasp, instinct taking over. One moment he was holding Ryland’s hand, the next he was yanking hard and pulling Ryland into his chest so hard they stumbled further inland. There was a hand at Ryland’s waist, keeping him close as his xenonite arm wrapped itself around Ryland’s shoulders.
Both of them were breathing wildly, hearts jackrabbiting against their ribcages that Simon could feel Ryland’s heart bashing into his. Ryland’s head was tucked up under Simon’s chin, hair tickling Simon’s nose, flooding him with that terrible scent now laced with the sour edge of fear. Simon bit his tongue to keep himself from growling and rumbling, his alpha pacing and snapping its jowls as it demanded to be let out.
Get ahold of yourself, damnit, Simon told himself, forcing his breaths to slow.
There was no need to panic Ryland further with his own anger and fear. That wouldn't be fair. It wasn’t Ryland’s fault he was wasting. It wasn’t Ryland’s fault everyone in his life was failing him.
“You okay?” he asked again, a broken record.
Ryland nodded. Simon chalked his non-response as shock and quickly steered them towards the path down the cliff. The sooner they got to the ground, the sooner Simon’s alpha would calm the fuck down. Or so he hoped.
He’d never had this kind of response, especially not to an omega. Not that Simon had much experience with omegas on Eden. They were shockingly rare, the few who managed to survive the Quiet Rapture placed at near saintly status for their ability to bring life back into the universe. The Father never let them interact with the common folk of Eden. Only the most valuable alphas were allowed in their presence, and only the best amongst those were allowed the privilege of mating.
Now, he had one in his arms and he was lost. Simon was a mess of instinct and anger, slave to his biology…but not really. He knew, in that secret box he shoved down into the darkest corners of his mind, he was doing this not out of an alpha’s obligation to a distressed omega, but out of his regard for Ryland. More than regard…more like affection…maybe even -
No.
He slammed that box back down into the abyss. Sharp, needle teeth rose up from unfathomable depths and swallowed the box whole, closed mouth a mockery of a smile.
They stayed silent during the walk down the path, across the beach, then up the opposite hill to Ryland’s house. The second hill was much less steep, not nearly as treacherous. A sloping, easy thing lined with decorative rocks and, at the top, a wrought xenonite tree. Ryland had requested it before Simon arrived and started cultivating real trees. Still, it was nice to look at. Simon remembered looking up at it, still half-delirious from radiation-poisoning and blood loss, and wondering if he’d washed up on the shores of heaven.
Ryland’s house was unlocked - not that the Eridians knew the concept of locks; doors were hard enough - and Simon let himself in without asking. Ryland wasn’t exactly in the right headspace to give a tour, so Simon had to play a guessing game about which room was which. Thankfully, Eridians were not the most creative bunch; they’d used the same floor plan for both Ryland and Simon’s homes. While the outsides were drastically different, the inside was eerily similar.
Of course, Ryland’s house was more inviting than Simon’s. The man was an omega, the more natural homemaker, so it made sense. There were trinkets and scientific instruments scattered about, blankets thrown over the back of the couch, and drawings from Ryland’s students taped to the walls. The place was warm, if not a little sterile. There was a distinct lack of any kind of scent, which was distressing. Even the most reserved of each designation tended to scent mark what was theirs back on Eden.
The only thing Simon could smell was the sharp, uneasy scent of wasting. And even that was hard to sniff out, Simon’s nose dangerously close to the scent gland on Ryland’s neck. This close and Simon should have been overwhelmed by fragrant sweetness. Instead, all he got was bitter perfume.
He practically dragged Ryland through the living room and kitchen, down the hall to the bedroom. It was the only room that was slightly different from Simon’s - mostly due to the large, ocular window that took up the entire far wall. Simon had refused windows, needing more safety than a thin layer of translucent glass could provide. Even if the Eridians could see straight through walls, Ryland couldn’t. And he didn’t trust Ryland. Not then.
Did he trust him now?
Hard to say. He was too busy freaking out about when Ryland would drop dead, a worry that was not made any better by Ryland swaying on his feet, cheeks flushed red and eyes hazy.
Simon needed to get Ryland to his nest. Except -
“Where’s your nest?”
There was a chest of drawers, a mirror, a chair, a bed. But no nest. The sheets were pulled crisply across the mattress, the pillows in a neat line at the head. A very inviting, cozy space…if Ryland was a beta. There was no mound of blankets woven with carefully selected articles of clothing. There was no collection of pillows and soft things. No creature comforts of any kind. Just a normal, ordinary bed.
“My nest?” Ryland mumbled, like the word was unfamiliar to him.
“Yeah, the thing that you sleep in?”
Maybe the bed was too exposed. Maybe it was in the closet, tucked away behind closed doors where Ryland could have his privacy. Nests were very personal things, after all. Maybe -
“Oh, I - uh, I don’t have a nest.”
For the second time that day, Simon’s blood ran cold.
“What?”
“I just…I don’t have anyone here to make a nest for. Or with. Everything smells like nothing. It doesn't bring me comfort. So I just…don’t.”
The thought was…the thought was unfathomable. Unimaginable. The pain ripped down Simon’s mangled chest and stabbed him in the heart. He wanted to rage. He wanted to cry. He wanted to take Ryland by the shoulders and shake him, ask him why?
Why would anyone torment themselves this way? It had to have been a living hell on Ryland’s instincts. To combat such a natural, instinctual comfort…and it wasn’t even a choice born of scarcity…Simon didn’t understand.
He wasn’t stupid enough to say anything about it. Not now. Maybe later, in the privacy of his own home, he could scream and rage and throw things. He could berate the Eridians for not taking better care of their resident omega.
Right now, Ryland Grace was clearly in distress. He was wasting. He didn’t have a nest. He was in danger, and it seemed like he didn’t even know it.
“Oh, angel,” he sighed, swallowing down his misery. Where the fuck had that come from? Angel? Was he losing it? The alpha inside him rumbled at the endearment. It felt right in his chest. Like it made Ryland his. Which was just as fucked, but Simon had no time to panic about something so trivial when Ryland was melting his brain. Simon folded his hands like he was about to pray. Except he pointed them at Ryland, pleading, “Can you try? Please?”
“Why?”
“Because I think it will make you feel better.”
“No, I mean…” Ryland flicked his eyes around his sterile room, his lonely bed, then settled them somewhere around Simon’s shoulder. “Why does it matter to you if I nest?”
This time, Simon couldn’t hold his sound back. He whined, something pathetic and wounded. Something that could convey what words could not. Because how could he possibly vocalize how much Ryland needed this? How, after wasting so much time, resources, and energy on making sure a monster like Simon had what he needed, Ryland deserved to be kind to himself?
“It matters because you matter. You matter, Ryland.” Simon came closer, and when Ryland didn’t flinch, he reached out and held onto Ryland’s soft, gentle hands. He ran his thumbs over the knuckles. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you didn’t.”
More tears slipped out as Ryland closed his eyes. He hung his head, whining.
“I’m scared, Simon,” he said, so quietly Simon almost missed it. “I don’t wanna die.”
“I know, angel. I know.” And fuck, wasn’t it a relief knowing Ryland wanted to fight. It nearly knocked the wind out of him, making Simon pull on Ryland's hands until he was tucked back up under his chin. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”
Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe it was delusion. But Simon could have sworn Ryland’s scent sweetened just the tiniest bit.
A glimmer of hope.
A beam of light from a dying star.
Simon reluctantly pulled away and went to the living room to grab the blankets off the back of the couch. Thankfully, Ryland still had his patchwork quilt pulled across his shoulders; between that and the new blankets he should have enough material for a decent nest. They were still pretty bland-smelling, however. Not nearly warm enough.
Simon couldn’t help himself. He raised the blankets to his cheek and scented them, rubbing the fabric across the glands at his neck so that a good amount of pheromones saturated the fabric. He didn't have the most alluring or powerful scent, but Ryland had never complained about it before. He hoped it wouldn't do more harm than good.
Ryland didn’t seem too bothered, busy messing up his perfectly-made bed. He took the blankets from Simon without a word, holding them in trembling hands, somewhat lost. Overwhelmed. He fidgeted on his feet, staring back and forth between the bed and the blankets in his hands. Anxious.
“I’m gonna go to the kitchen. Get some water. I’ll be back in a few.”
Ryland nodded, the lines around his eyes and mouth relaxing. Nesting was a private activity, usually only shared between mates. Simon didn’t begrudge Ryland his privacy. Besides, if Ryland passed out cold half way through, Simon would be able to hear the thud from a room away.
In the kitchen, Simon rooted around the cabinets for a glass, busying himself by reading the puns decorating each of Ryland’s mugs. He settled on one with a raccoon sitting in a garbage can, taking it down from its perch and filling it with water from the filter attached to the sink. He could hear Ryland puttering around, bare feet echoing on cold stone, and forced himself to remain still. Remain calm. To count the seconds between slow, controlled sips of water.
He promised Ryland space and time to make a nest. This was for his benefit. If Simon burst in now and ruined things, he’d never forgive himself.
Eventually, what felt like an eternity later, Ryland appeared at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall. Simon’s gaze snapped to him immediately - to the way he bit his bottom lip and worried it raw, the way he fidgeted with his hands, the way he didn’t meet Simon’s gaze. He was nervous.
“Everything okay?” Simon asked, standing up a little straighter.
Ryland nodded, then jerked his head for Simon to follow him.
Simon put the mug in the sink and followed Ryland down the hallway back to the bedroom. Ryland stood just past the doorway, in front of his bed, his whole body tense. Curious, Simon peered over his shoulder.
What once was a neatly-made bed was now a mess of rumpled sheets and pillows. The blankets had been piled and plumped, creating a gentle swell of walls around the edges, enough space in the middle to comfortably contain two. There were even a few of Ryland’s cardigans thrown into the mix, chunky knits blending into soft cottons and rougher wools, a patchwork of texture and sensation.
A true nest.
Simon was so relieved he could cry.
“I’m so proud of you, angel. You did so well,” he praised, soaking in the sight of the nest and feeling his alpha paw at the urge for more. “Can I sleep here, in the nest with you tonight?’
“I -”
It was clear Ryland hadn’t thought that far ahead. Shit, not even Simon knew he was gonna ask that of him. It was presumptuous. Omegas back on Eden would have snapped their teeth at him for having the gall. But Ryland…he just looked at Simon with wide, lost eyes. Like he didn’t know that was even an option.
This time, when Simon reached out to touch, Ryland didn’t flinch. He let it happen with a gentle gasp, his whole body leaning into the palm pressed against his cheek like a flower to the sun. Such a beautiful creature in the palm of his hand; it took Simon’s breath away.
“Just sleep,” Simon assured, thumbs sweeping across the deep dark circles under Ryland’s eyes. “Wanna make sure you get some rest.”
Ryland swallowed. Simon’s eyes followed the bob of his throat all the way down to where skin disappeared into the knit of his cardigan.
“Please.”
Simon nodded and stepped into the nest. He laid down on the left side so Ryland could curl up on his right, something he did instinctually, seeking out Simon’s heat and wrapping himself around it. Once Ryland was situated with his head on Simon’s chest, tucked up under Simon's chin, Simon pulled the blankets up and covered them, keeping them safe from the world outside.
Ryland shook violently as his body settled, years of stress unwinding with each passing sweep of Simon’s hand down Ryland’s spine. Simon wasn’t much better himself. He was a stranger to this simply kind of intimacy; he had no idea what he was doing, but fuck did he want it. He wanted it so bad. His hands trembled as he did his best to soothe Ryland, knowing deep down it was a pathetic attempt at best.
He was a butcher. A killer. A convict. What the fuck did he know about comfort?
Tears slipped from his eyes into his hairline. Breathing was hard. His heart felt like it was tearing itself apart. It hurt so fucking bad. And yet, he could not stop. Could not push Ryland away. Could not deny himself the simple pleasure of another human’s touch.
Not just another human. Ryland Grace. The only human to treat him with decency and dignity. Like he was somebody and not another expendable cog in a greater machine.
Ryland Grace with hair like sunlight and eyes that sparkled like stars. Who smiled like it was easy and affection even easier. Who gave and gave and gave until there was nothing left. Who saved his stars and still strived to save others, yet could not save himself.
Who, apparently, snored.
Oh well. It wasn’t like Simon planned on actually being able to sleep.
There would be no nightmares tonight. Simon would rip his brain straight out of his own skull if it dared disturb Ryland’s rest.