Archive of Our Own

Simon had been conditioned to believe in many things. The Last Tree was the most important thing on Eden, and every waking moment would be spent dedicated to the maintenance, to the upkeep of the tree. There was nothing else like it and that's what made Eden special. It had to remain that way, as Father said.

Sometimes, Simon barely remembered his days. All he could remember would be anger, frustration, hunger so intense it drove him insane. It made him strong enough to do as Father asked without question because if he were perhaps a bit more hydrated, a bit more alert and aware, then he would've stopped himself. He didn't want to kill sixty-two people. He was simply following what Father said.

Disobeying Father could result in a multitude of things. Simon has seen his brothers be burned with a hot metal poker. He's seen Father give lashes as if they were a reward, or a second chance for the sinner to repent for his wrongdoings. He's bore witness to brothers heads being held underwater until their legs stopped moving only to pull them out gasping, heaving for air. Punishment was to be met with gratitude, for Eden was a place of forgiveness over forgetfulness. Father never forgot. He forgave, and Simon didn't know if that was worse.

When Filament Station blew, Simon prepared himself for upmost punishment. He claimed lives. He claimed more lives than that of his brothers combined. It didn't matter if he was simply a helping hand in the matter; the blood stained his fingertips. Except, he didn't get the chance to meet back with Father, because as he ran through the rumbling station, he spotted them. C.O.I.

Simon watched them bark orders and split up. He watched from the shadows as the agents grew closer to his location and, for not the first time, Simon started to question all he knew about Eden. It wasn't as if the C.O.I. were better than Eden—Eden was the most pure, most secure of them all under the protection of the tree—it was the fact that the C.O.I. was different that intrigued him. Father spoke of the C.O.I. as if they were hell spawn, things to be killed on sight. Less than human. Simon and his brothers worshiped Father's word because it was due to Father's wise words and past actions that Eden was still standing proudly after all these years.

As the C.O.I. spotted him, Simon thought of the sixty-two lives he's claimed as well as the space station he's doomed to float aimlessly through an empty void. He's done his part He's provided for the tree with the last of his freedom. Father couldn't be upset with him for doing what he was told, what he was born to do. Simon created life for the tree to continue.

He raised his hands and allowed the C.O.I. to take him.

Sitting in a cell wasn't the worst part about his captivity. It was the silence. His ears continued to ring days after the explosion. The C.O.I. treated him exactly as he expected—as a criminal. They even labeled him The Convict, though some of the guards were more blunt in their naming. The Butcher is what they called him. They didn't understand. Of course they didn't. They weren't from Eden. They never got to see the Last Tree in its glory, in its protection. Eden provided the tree with life and the tree gave in return. The C.O.I. didn't understand this fact. They called Simon insane among his other titles.

Simon shook his head. They'd never understand. The plan went sideways, yes, and he would forever be tainted, haunted by his mistakes. Sixty-two hands pushed down on his shoulders and yet he still squared them. He killed sixty-two people. He took sixty-two souls from the already desolate world. That kind of blood would never be scraped away from under his filthy fingernails.

The C.O.I. offered him freedom in exchange for a service. A scouting mission on a nearby moon, AT-5. Despite Simon's wrongdoings and sins, he was growing tired of staring at the ceiling. He wasn't stupid. He understood that the C.O.I. would never give him what he craved. After spending years in his cell without any sort of friendly contact, he understood his position. There was no forgiving or forgetting on this station. To be expected, though he expected his punishment to be drawn out for the rest of his life, not for them to take mercy on him and end it early. Even he understood he didn't deserve it.

So Simon draped himself in the rags they called clothes, put on his headband, ensured his harness was on tight, and climbed into his new shithole of a home. The SM-13, or so fondly nicknamed the Iron Lung by its creators. A submarine welded of rusty scraps the C.O.I. had lying around with shoddy electric work and limited oxygen. Simon watched the light extinguish as the lid shut behind him. He heard their tools sealing the latch shut.

He didn't even know what he was looking for. Clues for the Rapture were somehow supposed to be in the oceans of blood, in the blackbox of the previous submarine that attempted the mission. Simon knew every time he pushed that lever that he was bringing himself closer, inch by inch, to his demise and yet he still pushed it. Ironic. Blood on his hands, blood all around him. A reminder that he would never truly escape the sins carved into his soul.

The expected happened. Oxygen ran low, thirst clawed at his throat like a beast's claws from old childhood books, and with both of those factors came the hallucinations. Up was down, left was right, blood was water and suddenly Simon forgot every sin he'd ever committed. Was it so wrong of him to believe, even after everything he's done, that he deserved to live, too? Ava seemed to think so, but he didn't care. He wanted to live.

Thing in the blood didn't want him to. He could feel it in the way the ocean tugged at him, beckoning him to join the millions of gallons of liquid. He could feel it in the way the eel evaded him, trailing at a distance and somehow fucking with his head enough to make him question if he was already dead. Simon fought the blood invading the submarine with everything in his power. After spending so long under the blood (days, maybe a week), he didn't have much strength left, but the idea of survival, of living, was enough for him to push his screaming muscles past their limits.

The blood mutated in the sub. It clung to the walls, creating life from nothing with a heartbeat. Black vines hung from the walls, crossed the ceiling. Barnacles formed on the interior of the sub. Simon reached to steady himself on the wall only to watch in horror as the blood seemed to stick to his skin, the vines wrapping around his wrist. Simon tugged. The submarine felt alive.

He tugged and tugged until it felt like his wrist was about to snap. He pushed his leg against the wall for leverage. The vines persisted, the sound of the ship rattling violently distracting him for the few seconds it took for the vines to rip his arm from his body.

Simon screamed, seeing his limb hanging uselessly from the wall. He fell to the floor, the blood pooling around his stomach. His arm nearly made him laugh. Even after all this time, after thinking himself into circles and telling himself that he deserved everything that came to him, he thought of Father's words. He thought of Father's insistence that forgiveness would be earned.

Simon didn't earn anything by climbing into the submarine. The only thing he earned was a one-way ticket into the jaws of a beast beyond human comprehension.

Despite his body throbbing in agony, he managed to wrap his harness and an emergency float to the blackbox of his ship.

"It's bigger than me," he babbled to no one. The ocean listened.

He sat on the floor, crying his heart out as he felt the metal of the submarine bend under immense pressure. In his remaining hand, he clung to the seed suspended in the pendant. He shouted, screamed at the ocean in defiance. It could try its hardest to claim him but he would not falter. He did not go through all of this shit to push with the current as it rushed into the submarine. He would not go gentle into the waves.

Something happened.

Simon felt the blood crash into him, felt it snake through his nostrils and force its way down his throat, into his stomach and ears. He felt the way it seemed to pulse, almost alive, as it claimed another victim. Simon struggled. He choked, he moved to vomit only to inhale more blood. The liquid seemed to form claws around him, gripping him tight and proving struggle to be futile.

Us…

Join…

Simon continued to thrash, lungs burning. His body violently convulsed with a cough. Nothing came out. He gagged, unintentionally swallowing more blood by the second.

Just when he thought it was over, his knees hit something hard.

Suddenly, he could vomit blood.

All Simon could see was red. Red stained his clothes, his hair that hung in front of his eyes, his skin, the floor beneath him. Simon blinked, remembering a lesson Father taught once when he was younger.

"Forgiveness is earned through repentance. Your devotion, your heart, and your souls will be judged on the scales once you concede to the hand of death. It comes in many different forms. Some who waited in these rooms with the scales but lived claimed to see a dark figure. Some claimed to see light and abundance of food. Some even claimed to see stars," Father would say as he paced. He'd look pointedly at the children who clung to his every word. "The Last Tree will decide your fate. Will you float peacefully amongst the stars or sink with a ball and chain attached to your bones?"

His vision was painted red, but the light was immense, almost too much. He blinked, the room around him growing less fuzzy. There were three beds mounted on the walls in front of three giant circles. Simon looked to his right. There was a circular hallway with metal flooring. The place was… clean. Cleaner than any place Simon had ever seen before. It didn't seem real at all. He wondered if this was the ocean's doing, trying to make him comfortable as he passed on.

No. It was not that kind.

Simon's ears rang painfully, though he could barely hear a thing with all the blood sloshing around. Everywhere he touched, the pristine floors pooled with blood. Some of it was his own but the rest…

He gagged again, his stomach pushing up mountains of the blood. He watched it splatter onto the floor, a violent image. The blood almost seemed to… move. It didn't stray far from him. If it started leaking in the opposite direction he sat in, he would watch it move in reverse to rejoin the giant puddle he sat in.

The floor vibrated. He's been in a cell long enough to know when someone was coming. Except these footsteps were frantic and accompanied by something much heavier bearing down on the floors.

Simon slowly lifted his head as the footsteps stilled. His breath caught in his throat.

In the doorway stood a man. Simon couldn't see any other color besides red, but the man looked… soft. Plush. His glasses (he must be rich, then) were skewered on his nose. His scruffy hair was standing in all different directions. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes meeting Simon's with something akin to fear or horror. The man's mouth was moving. His jaw was somewhat sharp but also soft as he spoke. Simon couldn't hear him.

The man was gorgeous. It had to be the blood messing with him, or perhaps the eel. There were beautiful people aboard Eden. Objectively. No one compared to this man in front of him. He was... he had to be an angel.

He remembered Father's lesson. Everyone saw something different before they passed on for good, as they were tried for their sins. The Last Tree would decide Simon's fate, and it took the shape of a very nervous, scared, beautiful man.

They could judge Simon later. He closed his eyes and let his ripped muscles finally relax. The last thing he saw was the beautiful man's worried face coming closer.

Oxygen. Clean, filtered oxygen curled in his lungs before being expelled through his nostrils. As Simon slowly came to, he took account of his body. Aching, throbbing, pleading to stay still.

Simon cracked his eyes open.

"Eye movement detected."

The lights were dim, yellow. Soft, unlike Eden, where there weren't many lights. Many days did Simon live in complete darkness.

The other thing he noted was the comfort. He felt comfortable. There wasn't much of that on Eden, either. The clothes on his body weren't of the same scratchy, irritable fabric he'd been given by the C.O.I., sewn together with the remnants of whatever the poor sod before him left behind. He didn't feel his headband resting on his forehead, nor his hair in his black string his mother carried with her. Simon felt clean, like he'd been given a proper wash.

Simon managed to open his eyes completely. He stared up at a robot with multiple arms. Arms that whirred around him. Assessing. The ceilings, the walls, they were white. There was no such thing on Eden unless you were a person of influence, like Father.

"What is two plus two?" it asked in a chipper, monotone voice.

Simon didn't even try and answer. Was this his judgment? A beautiful man and a robot? Why did the judge deem him worthy of precious oxygen, of the comfort of new clothing and a blanket covering his legs? Why in the actual hell did his judge believe he was worthy of using up scarce medical supplies like bandages and fluids?

He could barely move. He wiggled his fingers only to look to his left and see a stump where his arm used to be. Right. It was gone. But he could still feel it. He could still move phantom fingers even though his limb was gone, claimed by the ocean. Every part of Simon was sore and ached with every move he made.

"Oh my God."

Simon barely managed to tilt his head to his right. The beautiful man was there, standing by his side with wide eyes.

Blue. His eyes were blue. Simon had never seen such a color before. He's seen blue before in old books his mother used to read, and deep, navy blues in old scraps of clothing recycled by those who were given to the Last Tree, but never so bright. They were… Simon couldn't come up with a comparison. They were stunning, alluring even as they stared worriedly. Simon got lost in the pools of blue jewels staring back at him.

The man's skin was light, if not slightly tan. His shaggy hair was lighter, yellow. Blonde was the term, he thought sluggishly, remembering it from another description his mother gave in a story she made up. It looked fluffy. Simon wanted to run his fingers through it.

The other thing that caught Simon's complete attention was the man's neck. He didn't know why, but seeing the man swallow nervously, his throat bobbing, made him even more intrigued. Especially because Simon could see the skin above his exposed collarbones pulsing rapidly with his heartbeat. His chest was broad but slimmer than Simon's. Lean, but snug against his shirt.

His shirt that said "I had potential." What?

"Y-you're okay. You're safe," the pretty man whispered to him, forcing Simon to look back in those beautiful pools of blue. Simon let the words roll over him, relief and assurance calming his erratic heart. The man raised his hands in surrender. Why would he do that? Simon couldn't hurt him if he tried, and he did not want to. "You… um. I-I'm sorry, this is so weird. It's been a long time since I've seen another human."

Even his voice was bewitching, and Simon couldn't look away. He didn't know what he did to earn such an angel guiding him into his afterlife. He thought when the time came, he'd see the faces of the people he killed. He thought he'd be subject to their rage, their tears and screams, for all eternity. It was the least he deserved, not the comfort and warmth of a captivating man.

"You… I have no idea how you got here. You're aboard my ship, the Hail Mary," the man said calmly, though he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "We're on our way to a planet named Erid. It's my friend, Rocky's, home planet. He's an alien. Or, like, he's a rock spider."

Simon's brows furrowed at the man, which only made him squirm.

"O-okay, how about introductions? My name's Ryland Grace, but everyone just calls me Grace."

The man's name… was Grace.

You've got to be kidding me.

How more biblical could it get? He was aboard a ship called the Hail Mary, with a man named Grace, floating through space. What an odd thing for his judge to manifest as, but deep down it made a bit of sense. Simon had been tied to religion all his life. It was in every waking moment of his life. He was devoted to The Last Tree, to Father, and his cause. He believed in his missions, in Father's gospel and lessons of angels and death.

The man stared at Simon, beautiful eyes still wide but curious as opposed to scared. He wanted to keep staring at the man forever.

"You… probably don't even understand me," the man muttered thoughtfully. "There's hundreds of other languages you could speak. Guess we'll find out soon enough. I should get the laptop—"

The man was moving, turning his back to Simon. His heart dropped. The man was leaving. He was leaving Simon alone. Was this when judgement finally came, after the kind man disappeared? Why create something like him only to rip the only kindness he'd ever received from Simon?

Before Simon could stop himself, his hand reached out with alarming speed, his fingers gripping Grace's wrist tight. Skin and bone. Simon felt skin and bone. Warm skin and bone. A pulse raced beneath his thumb. Grace jumped, whirling around at the sudden contact. Simon's already dry mouth became drier, his tongue like dried fruit. Grace looked at him with horribly concealed worry.

Simon's tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips. "Stay," he managed in a raspy whisper, voice crackling and rugged. Desperate.

Grace's eyes widened again. He started speaking, though Simon's brain became fuzzy. Simon's grip around his wrist relaxed. He was warm, comfortable, and Grace's soft timbre was slowly lulling him back into unconsciousness. His body shut down before he could peel his eyes back open to see his saving Grace.

The next time he blinked his eyes open, they stayed open.

Simon was in the same place as the last time he woke up. The same pristine walls and floors flooded his vision, the same creepy robot arms hovered around him. His muscles, while still sore, were able to move. He wiggled his fingers and toes, feeling the unbearably soft blankets over his limbs. His arm was over the side of the bed and despite his limb not being under the blanket, he was warm.

Simon sluggishly looked to his right. He thought he'd wake up in the submarine again but no. Grace was still there. He stayed.

He was on the floor at Simon's bedside, his hand gently enveloped on Simon's forearm. Through the weird ambiance of the ship, he could hear Grace's breaths puffing from his lips. He could feel the air against his skin. He suppressed a shiver.

Simon wiggled his fingers again. His fingertips brushed over Grace's skin. The touch was too much and not enough. He wanted to curl his fingers around Grace's wrist again. His hand was so close to Grace's fluffy hair. He wanted to take a strand between his fingers.

No.

What right did he have to even think of touching someone so pure and kind? What right did he have to ask Grace to stay, to beg him not to leave him alone when that's exactly what he deserved? Simon couldn't remember if Father ever mentioned punishment by the hand of the judge other than the weighing of the scales. He didn't want to test his luck, though.

"Body movement detected," the robotic voice called.

Grace startled, his cheek brushing Simon's fingertips. Simon quickly pulled away, thoughts of The Butcher and The Convict flooding his mind. Grace stood up, adjusting his glasses. Dark bags hung under the man's eyes. Simon caused that. His arrival caused the man to lose sleep. He slept on the floor because Simon asked him to stay. Guilt weighed heavily on his tongue. He didn't deserve that kindness. Grace would see him for who he really is once he weighed the scales.

"H-hey, you're awake," Grace said in that same kind, warm tone. His smile lit up the room. Or maybe just Simon's vision. "How are you feeling? You've slept for a couple of days. You definitely needed it."

Simon ran his tongue along his teeth. He didn't taste metal. He was clean. Hell, his teeth tasted… minty. Simon inhaled deeply, opening his mouth.

"Whe—" he tried only to break into a coughing fit.

"Oh, hang on. Can I get a water pouch, Armando?"

"Yes, Dr. Grace."

The robot arms above him produced a bag out of nowhere. Grace took the bag, taking a straw off the front of the bag and stabbing it through the top of the pouch. He leaned forward.

"Here, careful," he said.

Simon brushed away the embarrassment of Grace practically feeding him water because God the water felt amazing on his tongue. The cool liquid ran down his throat and down to his stomach. A wave of chills covered his body, combating the intense heat radiating off of him.

"Okay. Feel better?" Grace asked as he pulled the pouch away.

Simon didn't understand why the man was wasting precious resources on him. Why he looked at Simon with intense worry, like he was someone worth something. Grace didn't even know him. He would eventually and that would break the illusion Grace was living under.

"I dunno how much you remember, but you're safe here. I'm not gonna hurt you. My name's Ryland Grace. You're aboard the Hail Mary. I have no clue how you got onto my ship but you kind of just… appeared. You were in pretty bad shape but Armando here fixed you up pretty well."

The robot above him waved one of its arms. Simon stared at it.

"I've got my laptop here. I'm not sure if you speak English because… well, you're probably not from Earth. Who knows what kind of language you speak. I'm really curious, though. Sorry I keep talking. I'm just… I'm so curious. How did you get here?"

Grace was holding a square device. A… laptop. It looked more advanced than the ones Simon had seen. Obviously. Everything in this ship seemed to be advanced. Simon watched him type on the keyboard, trying to get his stupid tongue to work.

Grace turned the screen around. It was a blank document with Grace's name written out in a neat font. Grace pointed at the name and then at himself.

"Ryland Grace," he said slowly, repeating his motions.

Simon inhaled, moving his one arm to push his body up. Grace made some sort of odd, distressed noise, setting the laptop down on the cot to his left. His hands hovered around Simon worriedly.

"Woah woah, hang on, take it easy. You're still recovering!"

Simon grit his teeth and pushed himself into a sitting position. His left side screamed in protest but he ignored it. He was tired of laying down, and he wanted to see Grace at eye level. He needed to talk to him. He needed Grace to understand how grateful he is that he's talking to Simon like an actual person, with kindness and curiosity instead of sharp language and harsh tones. Grace had stepped closer to where his leg brushed the edge of the cot, his eyes flickering over Simon's body like he was going to break with a puff of air.

"Y-you should probably lie back down. Your body's still recovering—"

Simon leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Grace's. He could feel the warmth of the man radiating off of him. It was intoxicating. And Grace didn't move. He just stared into Simon's eyes with intense nervousness and intrigue, his breaths huffing against Simon's face.

"U-um… this is…" Grace stumbled over his words. A flush coated his cheeks a cute shade of pink.

On Eden, contact was a privilege. When you were born, you were held until you could stand on your own. Afterwards, mothers were required to begin distancing to a certain degree. She was still allowed, obviously, to care and hold her child, but she could not hold for long enough. Simon vaguely remembered the warmth of his mother wrapped around him, whispering into his hair. He couldn't recall what she used to say, but he missed her warmth every day.

His brothers offered shoulder claps and pats on the back after a job well done. No one reached out just to reach out. If someone did reach out it was to enact punishment courtesy of Father. Or sometimes, Father himself would do it.

When Simon and his brothers settled down at the end of a day, very few would give thanks. Simon's closest brother would never fail to press his forehead against Simon's before going to sleep. A thanks for being there, for continuing to be devoted to a mutual cause. A thanks for being a soldier, a brother.

It had been a very long time since Simon had received or given thanks. Years of isolation broke him in more ways than one. Many months, days, and weeks were spent cooped up in a cell in the dark with his only contact with another life was through a guard sending in food for him. It wasn't much, but enough to keep him alive. He didn't experience touch for years, at least, not the gentle touch Grace offered. That was a privilege, and Simon felt the instinctual need to give thanks. With Grace here, in his space, he wanted to press closer. His heart yelled at him to hold Grace's arm again, to feel skin, to accept the warmth Grace continued to offer despite Simon's silence.

"Whaaaaat is happening right now?" Grace chuckled nervously.

Simon pressed against Grace's forehead harder for a few seconds before pulling away. He watched Grace take a deep breath, his ears pink and cheeks slightly red.

"Um… yeah… that just happened. C-can you tell me your name?"

Grace picked the laptop back up and typed his sentence out, pointing at it. Simon swallowed. He'd answer the angel. Anything the angel wanted, he'd oblige to return the kindness shown.

"Simon." His voice was rugged with misuse. If Grace was right, he'd been asleep for days. It was no wonder his throat was dry and itchy. Still, he answered. "Simon."

The way Grace's eyes lit up made the struggle of speaking worth it. He was smiling softly, the sight sending unfathomable warmth through Simon's chest.

"Simon," Grace repeated. Simon wanted to hear his name from Grace's lips again. "You understand me."

Simon nodded.

"Oh my God, this is… wow. I-I have so many questions." Grace set his laptop back on the bed, his smile wide, now. His teeth were white. "Where are you from? How were you covered in so much blood?"

"Who Grace talking to, question?"

Simon jumped at the new noise. Grace's head whirled around to face the doorway. A clear geometric dome with a weird looking thing stood in the entryway. The alien moved further into the room, the dome clanking against the ground. Simon's heart leapt to his throat. He reached out, grabbing Grace's arm and pulling him to stand behind Simon. Simon's interaction with alien creatures was less than ideal. It didn't matter if he could hear the alien talk, or if the alien's voice sounded similar to Grace's (somewhat chipper), he would not let the alien take away his saving Grace.

Simon swayed on his feet, the imbalance of his missing limb fucking with him tremendously, but he didn't falter. Despite the primal fear at the sight of the five legged alien, he puffed his chest out and stood in front of Grace protectively. The alien seemed to take it as a threat and raised his back leg, snapping it at Simon, making him jump.

"Hang on, Rock—what did I tell you about staying outside?" Grace said. He tried to move past Simon, but he didn't let him. Simon blocked his path.

"New human hold Grace hostage, question? Bad bad human! Let friend Grace go!"

Simon's fingers trembled as the alien drew closer. He took a step back, feeling Grace's chest just a few inches from his back. Protect the angel.

"Hang on! Everyone take a chill pill!" Grace announced. "Rocky, can you please leave for just a few minutes?"

The alien, Rocky, stomped a foot.

"New human hurt Grace, question?"

"No, no, he's not… Rocky, please."

The alien stood still for a moment, considering, until it lowered its arms.

"Rocky watching bad human."

"Okay."

The alien slowly rolled back out of the room, vibrations of different pitches and tones echoing in the room. Simon released the breath he held. The danger was gone.

"I'm sorry, he's not very fond of boundaries," Grace said.

Simon turned to face him. He vaguely recalled the first time he woke up where Grace told him they were heading to a planet, home of Rocky. A… spider rock? That was Rocky? He called Grace a friend. What kind of judges did his brain conjure up for him? Why a rock spider?

Grace glanced at the wall behind him and Simon. "You should probably lie back down."

"No," he said.

"No?"

"Where are the scales?"

Grace tilted his head, brows furrowed. "Scales?"

This was so weird. Why did his angel not know about the scales? Or did the scales uptake a different visual, like Grace himself? Did his brain morph the scales into the laptop Grace held? Simon glanced around the room, paying attention to his surroundings more. There were shelves with big bags on the far wall. There were a few items strewn about on the floor from metal to cloth.

"The scales of judgement," Simon said. "You're here to judge me and guide me to the afterlife, no?"

"Afterlife… no. No, Simon, you're… you're alive. I-I'm not a judge. I'm not a guide. I'm just Grace. There are no scales, no judgement," the man said softly, as if he were consoling a child.

"Then why am I here? I have to be judged. You are my judge, angel," he insisted.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not an angel."

"You know of what I've done. You have to know. It's the only reason I'm here."

Grace only seemed to grow more confused, same as Simon. "No. I don't know anything about you. I want to learn more, if you'd let me, but all I know is your name."

"The Quiet Rapture? The C.O.I.?" Simon questioned, the frustration and fear crawling up his throat. He staggered backwards. Grace didn't lie. Simon knew when someone was lying, and Grace wasn't. His eyes were too open, to true and naive. "Filament Station? Sixty-two?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know what any of that means."

Where the fuck was he, then? Was it really true that he was alive, that Grace had saved him, pulled him from perdition and given him a second chance at life? He certainly felt alive. His heart raced in his chest and his limbs shook with the weight of Grace's words. He didn't know. Grace didn't know about the rapture or the C.O.I. Where the hell was he from, then, that none of these things existed?

"You're shaking," Grace said. He raised his hands, his gentle, warm hands, and grasped Simon's wrist. "Come on, let's sit back down and we can talk."

Simon sat back down on his cot. Grace pulled one of the blankets from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around Simon's shoulders. He sagged into the warmth. Grace then grabbed the half-full water pouch and handed it to him. As Simon sipped on the water, still in utter disbelief that there was an abundance of water, Grace sat on the cot opposite of him.

"So… okay, I guess I'll start. My name's Ryland Grace, as I've said. I'm from a planet called Earth, about eleven light years away. I was sent on this mission to find a cure to a star-eater, an infection to my sun, called Astrophage. We found it and sent some back to Earth on probes, but now we're on our way to Rocky's home planet to save his sun, too."

Star-eater. Grace lived in a place where stars were visible at night. He could see blips in the sky where all Simon saw was darkness. Something was eating his sun. Simon almost couldn't believe it, but there was no reason for Grace to lie. All those hours he spent in the Iron Lung trying to find an answer to the rapture, to gain a bargaining chip for his freedom, and now, he may have an answer. It sounded believable enough. Something ate all the stars, leaving humanity in the cold and dark.

Grace continued as if he hadn't just shattered Simon's worldview yet again. "Rocky's an Eridian. His planet, from what I know, has a very thick atmosphere and gargantuan mass, so his people evolved to live without light. He doesn't see like we do. He uses echolocation. He speaks in hums, like music, but I created a program to translate the hums using a dictionary we compiled together. A voice reads it out so we don't have to keep staring at the screen. I know he's kind of… intimidating, but he's a good guy."

"He's a rock…"

"He's good."

"Why's he in a ball?"

"His atmosphere isn't compatible with ours. He lives in high temperatures that would melt us if we tried to live in it. He lives in ammonium while we live in oxygen, and he's accustomed to high pressures than we're prepared for."

Simon slowly nodded as if he understood any of that. Grace cleared his throat.

"So um… what about you? What's this C.O.I.?"

"The Consolidation of Iron. They sent me down into that ocean to find out why the rapture happened."

"The Quiet Rapture?"

"It took all the stars and planets. And most of humanity."

Grace's expression fell. He looked utterly devastated, guilty. Simon frowned. He didn't understand why Grace looked so crestfallen.

"They sent you where?" Grace asked after a moment of silence.

"A moon. AT-5. Welded me into a submarine and dropped me into an ocean of blood."

"What the… ocean of blood? That doesn't make sense."

"Well, it happened, and the ocean was very much real," Simon bit back.

Grace raised his hands. "I'm not saying it wasn't real. I-I've just never heard of anything like it."

Simon set the empty water pouch to the side, jumping when the robot arm immediately took it away. Grace worried his bottom lip between his teeth. The movement captured Simon's attention. Plush lips. He wanted to feel them, to touch. He shook his head. Stop it. It wasn't right to think such a thing about someone so holy.

"Okay. Um, are you from the C.O.I.?" Grace questioned.

"No. I'm from Eden." When Grace tilted his head again, Simon elaborated, "a space station. The rest of humanity was scattered across many stations, but Eden was considered the best. We had the Last Tree."

At that moment, Simon's stomach decided to announce itself. He placed his hand over his stomach with an embarrassed flush. He perked up when Grace chuckled. The sound was heavenly. Simon wanted to hear it again and again.

"You hungry? Armando, can we get some food?"

"Yes, Dr. Grace."

As the arm retrieved food, Simon faced Grace. "Doctor?"

"Oh, yeah. I have a doctorate degree in molecular biology. I'm not a medical doctor, if that's what you were thinking. I'm the kind of doctor that likes to look at cells under a microscope." Grace took the food pouches from Armando and handed one to Simon. There was a straw on the pouch, much like the water. "Not that it matters anymore. There's no one else here…"

Simon stared at the pouch. Another resource. Another case of Simon leeching from humanity. "If you're not a judge, an angel, why are you being so nice to me? Using precious supplies on me when I don't deserve it?"

Grace looked up from where he sipped on his pouch. He frowned. His eyes, having been happy and excited throughout their entire interaction, were now sad and hurt. Simon's gut churned, knowing he put those emotions there.

"Don't deserve it?" he repeated. Grace shook his head. "Simon, you… you deserve food and water. You deserve common decency and kindness. You're human, too. What's mine is now yours, too. I have enough food and water for the both of us hopefully until we reach Erid. It's not a question if you deserve it or not. You need it. You can have it."

Simon couldn't control the way his vision blurred, or how his hand shook around the food pouch. The Hail Mary was abundant with resources. He didn't need to hide rations, to hoard them. He didn't need to worry about food. Grace… called him human, too. Like his life was worth something. The man may claim to not be an angel, but to Simon, he was everything. He knew in that moment, he was in debt to Grace forever. He'd do anything to repay the kindness Grace showed him, the patience he had with Simon's outburst.

Simon stood again, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Grace's. He felt the tip of his nose brush Grace's. He inhaled, smelling something sweet, comforting, and so distinctly Grace that it was mesmerizing. Still, he forced himself to pull back when all he wanted was to stay in Grace's orbit forever. The man stared at him in confusion as he returned to his cot.

"Why do you do that?" Grace asked softly, gesturing to his forehead.

"It's to show thanks," Simon explained.

"Oh. That's… interesting." Grace sipped on his pouch, his eyes fluttering between the doorway and Simon. "We don't really have that back on Earth. We usually just say thanks."

He couldn't tell if Grace said that because he was uncomfortable or not, but Simon remembered the way Grace looked so nervous the first time he did it. Simon fiddled with the straw on his pouch.

"I can stop it if it makes you—"

"No! No. It's okay," Grace said with a smile. "I don't want you to feel like you need to change. It's okay. I actually… I kinda like it."

Simon mirrored the small smile on the man's face. "Okay."

Grace nodded. "Good. Do you think you'd be up to meeting Rocky? It's okay to say no, you don't have to."

Simon shook his head. All the talking made the exhaustion slowly begin to creep back into his muscles. He wanted to lie down. He finished the slurry in the pouch, which tasted miles better than the stuff on Eden, and let the arm take the empty pouch away. Simon lay back on the cot with a sigh.

"I'll let you get some rest. You need it," Grace said as he stood.

Simon felt the same panic as he did the last time Grace tried to leave. Now that he's gotten to know the man, at least partially, and felt his presence, he didn't want to be alone. He's spent so long alone, both in his cell and in the SM-13. He liked the way Grace filled the silence even if he wasn't talking. He wanted Grace to stay because if he left, there was a chance he wasn't real, that none of this was real. There was a sliver of a chance that Grace would disappear forever.

But he couldn't ask that of the man again. He's already taken so much.

"I'll be just down the hall if you need me," Grace said. It was like he could read minds. How did he know what Simon was thinking? "Can we dim the lights?"

"Dimming lights," the chipper robotic voice said.

The lights slowly turned to a lower setting to where Simon could barely see Grace's face. Simon bit his tongue as Grace headed towards the hallway. He took deep breaths as Grace's footsteps retreated.

It's okay. It's fine. Grace said you're safe, you're safe.

He closed his eyes. He was safe. Grace was just down the hall. He wasn't alone.

He tossed and turned for a few hours, wondering when his visit in paradise would be over.

Blood was everywhere.

It was in his eyes, his ears, his tongue and mouth. It stuck to his clothes.

It dug under his skin. Searching, melting, molding into one with his bones. The invasion of the blood wracked his entire body, convulsing.

Claiming.

The ocean wanted him.

Simon couldn't fight. The blood was restraining him and tugging him at the same time in some fucked up game.

The hull groaned under pressure. He could see the metal creaking, puncturing. The monster was closing in.

Simon had hope, so much of it, only for it to be taken from him in the blink of an eye. The blood pooled in the sub, screaming, willing him to fall into it. He didn't fight it.

Under the blood was nothing. His mind was blank. His body didn't even feel like his anymore. He'd lost control over his destiny the second he surrendered. This is what he deserved. He was a monster before the ocean. Now, it was simply telling him what he already knew. The Convict would never see the light again.

"Simon? Simon!"

A distant call, an echo that somehow rippled through the dense liquid. A familiar voice. Not Ava's gut throat words, not the knowing voice of Father calling for his son to come home.

A new one. Kind, smart. Full of worry. No one was worried about him.

"Simon, come on. It's okay. Wake up."

The voice of his angel called him to the light. Simon risked opening his eyes. His vision flooded with red. It was dark, but he saw it. A sliver of white cutting through the red. It grew brighter and brighter with each passing second, each inch he floated through the bottomless pit.

He saw a shadow in the light, reaching for him.

"Simon."

Grace.

"Simon, wake up!"

Death cradled him in its arms, its claws. The light surrounding Grace seemed to burn the wretched claws from his body. Simon reached.

"Simon."

"Simon?"

He gasped awake. He coughed, finding no blood pushing up from his lungs. His body felt heavy with exhaustion, not the weight of dense liquid. He inhaled, exhaled. He inhaled again.

"There you go, it's alright. You're okay."

Simon blinked, finding Grace leaning over him with worried blue eyes. He managed a small smile when Simon met his gaze.

"You were having a nightmare. It's alright."

Simon started to sit up, thankful for Grace's hand on his arm to stabilize him. He took a few more breaths while Grace's hand absentmindedly rubbed circles into his shoulder. The touch sent electricity through Simon's body to where he couldn't suppress a shudder. Grace must've thought he was cold because he pulled the blanket back up to cover Simon's shoulders.

Grace was so close. Simon could feel his breath escaping his nostrils. He could see the laughter lines in the corners of his eyes. Most importantly, Grace was the embodiment of comfort. His clothes were light, loose against his body. His hair was like a halo over his head in the light. His skin, the little of it that was touching Simon, was soft. Unbelievably so.

Simon, in his sleep-induced panic and fear, couldn't resist the way his body fell against Grace. The man caught him as he thought he would, one hand sprawled across Simon's back and the other still holding his arm. Grace was so warm, so soft. Simon didn't even realize his one hand had gripped the back of Grace's shirt in an iron-clad grip until he felt the fine fabric in between his fingers, yet another luxury he'd never had the fortune to feel, and Grace had given him the same fabric willingly. Simon buried his face in the space between Grace's neck and shoulder, inhaling the clean scent of the man.

"Simon? You okay?" Grace said softly. Simon didn't deserve it. None of it, and yet he couldn't help but cling to his savior.

Simon's breaths stuttered against Grace's skin. He felt the man shiver, little bumps forming across his neck. "'M fine."

"You sure?"

"Thought I was back there…"

"I'm sorry."

"Why you sorry?"

Grace shrugged. "No one deserves to relive their trauma over and over again."

Simon clung to Grace even tighter, feeling the muscle on his back below his fingertips. He took measured breaths, willing the wetness in his eyes to retreat. He pulled back, feeling Grace's shoulders relax, before bumping their foreheads together. Grace's soft smile was worth it. He pulled back and tugged at his shirt. It was a little tight, one of Grace's shirts. It felt like him.

From there, Simon found himself unable to leave the man's side.

Whenever Grace left the room, Simon followed like a shadow. Meeting Rocky was interesting because the alien still thought he was some violent person, which, fair enough. Simon didn't make a very good first impression even though he thought he was protecting Grace.

Grace, ever patient, allowed Simon to follow him around. He even smiled whenever he looked back and saw him following. Simon was once again blinded by the pure kindness and heart of gold that Grace possessed. He let Simon hover over his shoulder when he did scientific things. He always checked on Simon with a questioning glance or a careful checkup on his bandaged stump. The attentiveness never failed to make Simon's heart leap in his throat.

Grace insisted he wasn't an angel. Simon thought otherwise.

He didn't just look at things under a microscope. He asked Simon questions about Eden, and Simon answered dutifully. A part of his brain still wondered if he fell asleep, if he'd wake up in the submarine. He wondered when Grace would walk into the lab and come out with a scale and announce his judgement. Though Simon took every act of kindness and tender care as something precious, much like how he used to hoard food, he wished he could put his growing unease to rest. Grace told him he wasn't a judge, that they were going through space to a new planet.

Simon answered the questions and allowed Grace to take a blood sample to analyze. He listened as Grace rambled on about the results, something about his blood being different than usual. He memorized the way Grace put his glasses haphazardly under his chin, or how he tussled his hair when he was stressed.

He didn't like being alone with Rocky. The alien was… ironically judgmental. He would say passive aggressive things to Simon, snark at him, telling him he was a bad human. Simon tried not to let the words get to him no matter how true they were. Five minutes would pass without Grace in his sight and Simon's chest would constrict painfully. He'd work himself into a panic, wondering if Grace had finally contacted the real judge and was giving him over to his fate.

He wanted more time with Grace.

Grace showed him the room with the screens. He called it the Mental Health room. There, Simon was mesmerized by pictures of trees, dozens of them. Grace showed him all different sides of his home planet, Earth. Simon immediately fell in love with the planet and understood why Grace had a certain sad look in his eyes whenever he spoke about it.

Days passed, full of Grace's smiles and small touches here and there that drove Simon crazy for more. They spent countless hours just talking to each other, learning more about one another. Simon learned that Grace hated spinach, whatever that was. He learned about Grace's childhood he spent in his town's local library, learning everything he could. He learned about Grace's academic career and how it cut short, and how he found comfort in teaching the next generation the wonders of science. It fit him so unbelievably well. Simon could picture him in front of a class with that soft cardigan he loved, pointing at a board with pictures of scientific equations and such.

Simon found it difficult to speak about the oceans, but Grace made it easy to open up. Simon spoke about his childhood, what it was like on Eden and how Father ruled the place. Though, the more he spoke, the deeper Grace frowned. He didn't understand why. Did it really sound that bad?

"Simon… I think you grew up in a cult."

"Cult?"

"It's a community that has an extreme belief or sense of devotion. Your space station… this man you call Father, he spoke of religion?"

"Yeah. He held lessons every day."

"And if you ever didn't do what he said, did he hurt you?"

It was Simon's turn to frown. Grace spoke in a questioning way. Not pressing, not interrogating like Father. His questions dug deep into Simon's brain, resurfacing thoughts he'd had before but squashed under Father's boots.

"It depended on how bad you messed up," he said. "You could receive lashes or burns. Stick your head underwater for a few seconds."

Grace looked utterly horrified. "Yeah, this is a cult. That's not good, Simon. It's not okay that they did that to you."

"Wha—it's not… we were just protecting the tree."

"At what expense? It's not right. You can believe in religion all you want, but this man you speak of was not a good guy." Grace bore into his eyes pleadingly. "Simon, you have to understand that this isn't normal. Nothing about Eden is normal."

Simon thought over his past. The punishments. The lessons. He clung to the religion because he believed in it, believed that there was something out there watching over them and trying to push them in the right direction. He believed because the alternative was exactly what Grace was laying out for him; the idea that he was part of something sinister and fucked up. Deep down, he must've always known. He just never allowed himself to look past the dirty pages he stuck his head into, leeching off the fading ink.

"If you're religious, that's totally okay. That's not the issue," Grace said gently. "The issue is the punishments, the devotion to a cause that results in harm. You may have been protecting the tree, but Eden… it doesn't sound like a good place, Simon."

"Of course not. There was nowhere else to go," Simon snapped. "Where could we have gone? What could we tell ourselves? What could we say to ourselves to comfort us in a universe so fucked up?"

"I-I didn't mean—"

Simon huffed and leaned against the wall, staring out the window. Stars. "Whatever."

Grace looked at him with those eyes again. Guilty, sad. It made Simon's stomach churn.

"You can believe anything you want to believe here. Just know that I'm… I'm not expecting anything in return, okay? I don't want money or anything else. I just want you to know we saved you because it was the right thing to do, not out of obligation. You're safe here."

Grace walked away, presumably to the lab, dragging Simon's heart behind him.

Why did he have to go and fuck everything up?

The closer they grew to Erid, the more Simon became enraptured with Grace.

He couldn't help it. Everything he learned about the man he stored into a box at the forefront of his memory. He preened under any touch Grace gave, and Simon returned the touch tenfold. Maybe a bit too much. At least, Rocky seems to think it's too much.

There were no apologies exchanged for their little dispute. Simon simply approached the other man in the lab and brushed their foreheads together for a split second. Not a thank you, not an apology, but something else he couldn't name. And Grace just smiled back.

From there, Simon couldn't help himself. The warmth and coziness radiating from Grace made it difficult for Simon to stay away in the first place, but now that Grace didn't mind random hugs and touches, he couldn't quiet the part of his brain that screamed for more. If Grace was working in the lab, chances were Simon was standing behind him, arm wrapped around Grace's waist and his face resting against the man's shoulder. Grace just continued to work as Simon used him as a standing pillow.

Simon was always touching him in some regard. He would always hold Grace's shoulder, arm, hand. The nightmares stayed away whenever Grace was within arms reach. It seemed to be another superpower the angel had—banishment of Simon's worries and nightmares. It seemed to help Grace sleep better, too. They never really spoke about it, but they put their beds together on the floor. When Rocky asked about it, not happy at all, Grace claimed it was because humans needed to share body heat. Rocky stomped his foot and told Grace that his xenonite barrier was warm and that Grace could sleep on it, far far away from Simon.

Grace just rolled his eyes and continued to sleep on the floor with Simon.

It seemed that Simon's hands couldn't keep to themselves even in sleep. Many times had Simon woke up to see he'd pulled Grace into his arms during the night. The man snored softly, face lax and peaceful. In those minutes before Grace would inevitably wake up, Simon would allow himself to thread his fingers through Grace's hair. As expected, it was soft like the rest of him. Fluffy, like a pillow. Simon would never get tired of the feeling of those strands carding between his fingertips. Not for the first time did he wish he could stop time and stay in that moment forever.

Some part of Simon's brain told him that his actions were less platonic than he thought. The forehead thing was purely platonic, a way Simon showed his gratitude. The lingering hugs? The way Simon clung to him in sleep? The way he seemed to do nothing but stare at Grace every day? Simon wondered if he was creeping the man out. Rocky certainly thought so, but Grace never said anything. In fact, Grace seemed to like the new arrangement as much as Simon did.

One day, a few months after Simon's sudden arrival, he and Grace sat in the lab while Rocky slept in the dorm. Grace kept a monitor up with the camera feed of the dorm. Simon didn't like the custom of watching people sleeping at first, but he grew to depend on it quickly. He already couldn't fall asleep if Grace wasn't in the room, but he actually liked having Rocky observe them. It made him feel… safe. Protected, even if the alien didn't seem to like him at all.

Simon sat near the window, watching the stars. He loved watching them as much as he loved watching Grace. Speaking of, the man removed his gloves, tossing them in a bin as he stretched his arms over his head. Simon saw his shirt ride up around his stomach. He couldn't keep his eyes off of the skin peeking out. Grace insisted on changing in the restroom for privacy, which Simon understood and respected. It meant he never saw skin that wasn't his arms or sometimes his calves. The sight sent his heart into loops.

"Okay… enough Taumoeba for today." Grace checked the monitor, nodding, before turning to Simon. "How're the stars?"

"Good. Pretty."

Grace started cleaning up in the lab, something he only did when he was forced to. Simon watched him work. He couldn't tell if it was just his brain being weird, but Grace looked particularly… soft today. Was it his hair? Maybe it was the cardigan he wore, the one with the orange animal on it. He seemed to like that one the most. It hung from his broad shoulders, showing his lean stature. He wore his glasses correctly, though they slipped to the tip of his nose and Grace didn't bother to correct them. He moved at a slow pace, taking his time. They had enough of it, Simon thought, but why was his brain being so weird?

He'd been working through his thoughts in regards to religion and he still believed in it. He still believed something out there took pity on him in his last moments and deposited him with the universe's most heartfelt man as a reward for his suffering, but Grace's words from their first few meetings swirled in his head. Grace claimed not to be an angel, claimed that he wasn't this divine being on a pedastal that Simon insisted he was. That was probably the one thing Grace couldn't convince him was wrong, because out of everything Simon had ever seen and experienced, Grace was still the most holy thing he'd ever come across.

"You um… you've been staring off into space a lot. Is everything okay?" Grace asked as he worked.

There was the consideration. Always so considerate, so worried about Simon or Rocky instead of himself.

"Of course," he replied simply.

"It's just that you like to stare. Not that it's a bad thing, it just… I'm just curious what's got you so quiet."

"I don't talk much to begin with."

"Yeah, but you seem even deeper in your head lately. Is there something wrong?"

Simon sighed. "No. Nothing's wrong."

Grace sent him a look, one that he'd come to realize was a no bullshit kind of look. "Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?"

"Of course not, no. You've done nothing."

"Is it Rock? I know he's a bit harsh but he's just not used to another person being around."

"It's not Rocky." Simon gazed out at the stars.

"Well, clearly something's bothering you, and we're not leaving the lab until you tell me what it is," Grace declared as he set dry dishes on the counter. He leaned his hip against the white countertops, crossing his arms. His arms were nice. Lean muscle.

Simon adverted his gaze, thoughts of what those arms felt like around him flooding his mind and making his cheeks flush involuntarily. "I told you already, nothing's wrong."

"Si, we're the only two people out here for light years. Please don't shut me out. C-can I help at all? Maybe talking about it will help?" Grace said as he moved to sit in front of him. The already tight windowsil felt more claustrophobic, though Simon wouldn't complain because the man was sitting so close to him that he could feel the warmth of Grace seeping into him. "Is it the cult stuff? I'm sorry for bringing it up earlier—"

"No, no, don't be sorry. You opened my eyes, Grace. I'd been blinded by Father's gospel that I didn't see it for what it really was. I've been meaning to thank you for that. It's given me a lot to think about."

"Is that why you've been so quiet?"

Simon swallowed, seeing Grace's bright blue eyes so close, and the way Grace's tone remained soft and sweet. The words dripped from his tongue like honey, and Simon desperately wished he could get a taste, too.

"Simon?" Grace prodded gently.

Contact on Eden was a privelage. Couples were encouraged to reproduce to add to the steadily declining population, and since there weren't many couples on Eden, it seemed reasonable. Simon had never really delved into romantic relationships. He's shared kisses in the dark, a few experiences that went a little too far that were both exhilerating and horrifying at the same time, because God forbid if Father or his subordinates caught you. It was mostly why Simon clung to the shadows whenever he got desperate for that kind of touch—the kind that was tender and loving, the kind he didn't deserve.

Based on Grace's testimony, Earth was starkly different, as to be expected of a planet with over a hundred times the population of Simon's galaxy. Grace spoke of couples who got together, who broke up over petty reasons, people who saw each other romantically only to present as friends to the rest of their little friend groups. It was confusing as it was intruiging for Simon. From what he understood, Grace had a partner before he was launched on the mission. He'd experienced a romantic relationship before.

Simon saw the way Grace's gazes sometimes lingered, along with his touches. He saw the deep sadness that sometimes gripped his eyes tight when he woke up in Simon's arms, knowing he'd have to leave the embrace. Simon thought he was hallucinating because nothing as holy as Grace should take interest in the Convict, at least not in a romantic sense. It made sense for Simon to feel that way for Grace because Grace saved his life and gave him a second chance. He gave Simon purpose again, and Simon loved him dearly for it.

Except, he didn't know whether those lingering touches or glances meant anything, because Grace had been alone for a long time. Maybe, like Rocky, he just wasn't used to having another human aboard.

"Simon? Earth to Simon?" Grace chuckled lightly, though his eyes retained that same nervousness as their first few meetings or whenever Simon got real quiet. He'd leaned in closer as if inspecting Simon.

"I…" he tried, his voice crackling and trailing off. He cleared his throat, stomach tied in knots when Grace's eyes lit with endearment. "I've just been thinking…"

"About…?"

Simon watched his lips move with the words. His heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed to know what it felt like.

His one hand came up to cup Grace's cheek—gently, always gentle with him the same way he showered Simon in delicate care, like he was important—and Simon pressed his lips firmly against Grace's. He felt the man freeze underneath his touch, but he barely registered it. Grace's lips were soft, almost unbearably so. He couldn't get a difinitive taste, but it was soft and warm like the man himself, and Simon felt something inside of him snap.

It felt right. It felt like heaven. Simon had gotten a sliver of a taste of the heaven he'd been told of long ago, and he wanted more.

Grace pulled away quickly, his face flushed a beautiful red that made his eyes pop out more. "Wha—Simon? You—"

His tone. Upset, distressed. Simon quickly retracted his hand from Grace's cheek, shame crawling up his neck.

"I-I'm so sorry, I wasn't… I wasn't thinking, I just—" Simon interrupted himself, taking a panicked breath as Grace's eyes landed on him. "I-I'm sorry. I can leave, I can—"

"No, hey. Hey, I'm not upset or angry. I'm not upset," he repeated softly. Always softly. "I-I'm just a bit confused. Where did that come from?"

But the panic hadn't left Simon. He'd messed up the only good thing he had. He fucked it up. He couldn't leave Grace's question unanswered, though.

"I've been having these thoughts that won't go away and—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

Grace, ever patient Grace, just put his hand on Simon's arm and squeezed, eyes imploring. "What kind of thoughts? Is it something to do with what Father said?"

"No. No, this is a me problem."

"I wouldn't say it's a problem. Take a deep breath. In and out. Talk to me, Si."

Simon took in the person before him. All his brain could supply was angel and savior. He saved Simon from the jaws of death. He downplayed his part in Simon's recovery, saying the robot did most of the work when Simon knew that wasn't true. Simon just couldn't separate himself from Grace. He loved Grace probably more than he loved anything in his life, which was a scary thought since he's only known the man for a few months, but it was true. Grace made it easy to adore him.

"You're… everything," Simon said.

Grace's brows furrowed but Simon didn't let him speak.

"You saved my life and say it was just the right thing to do. You say you're not an angel but to me, you are. You're my savior and I've been trying to come up with a way to repay your kindness, but nothing seems like enough. My devotion doesn't feel like enough."

"Simon—"

"I know, I know, I don't need to repay you. I just… Grace, you've changed my life forever, literally. A-and I can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop thinking about you. Your smiles, laughs, all of it. It's so overwhelming and I didn't want to throw that on you but I couldn't help but wonder what it'd feel like to… you know."

Grace's hand remained on his arm, though his gaze was slightly troubled. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do something in return, Si. That's not why we saved you."

"I know."

"So what you're basically saying is that you…" Grace paused, swallowing. Simon's eyes followed the motion of his throat. "You like me?"

"I mean, yeah. I love you."

"Oh." Grace's face flushed impossibly redder. "Oh, okay. Don't look at me like that, it's not a bad thing! Love is never a bad thing! I—you just surprised me, is all. You're a lot more blunt than a lot of humans I knew back home."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yeah. There's no one else out here to judge."

Simon smiled, heart soaring to see Grace mirroring his action. He slowly leaned forward to press their foreheads together. Grace let out a chuckle, his breath puffing against Simon's lips.

"What's this one for?" he asked.

"For everything. For you being you."

This time, it was Grace that shuffled his head, effectively nuzzling him as he closed his eyes.

"Don't have to thank me for that," he murmured.

"Still." Simon watched the man release a deep breath. He looked a lot more comfortable now that the one-sided tension on Simon's side was finally aired out. Grace's hand slid down his arm to take his hand. "Grace?"

"Hm?"

"Is this okay? Really? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Grace opened his eyes, smile tender. "You don't make me uncomfortable. You're perfectly fine."

"You sure?" he asked uncertainly.

"Of course." Grace squeezed his hand. "I um, I've been kind of thinking about it, too."

"Love?"

"Mhm. It's been important to me as of late, more than I thought it was. I should be the one thanking you."

"For what?"

"For helping me remember how important this is."

"This?" Simon said, confused.

Grace glanced down at their joined hands. He lifted them up so Simon could see their fingers intertwined. "Touch."

They shared a smile. Simon didn't think he'd ever get tired of seeing Grace's eyes alit with fondness, much less having that fondness directed at him. Simon's gaze flickered down to Grace's lips again. The kiss happened less than ten minutes ago, but Simon could still feel the warmth and plushness of Grace's lips against his. Heavenly. The same urge he felt cut through the affectionate silence. He wanted to show Grace just how much he meant to him, how much he loved him. It teetered the line between worship and sanity.

His eyes snapped back to Grace's when the other man's hand brushed his cheek. Grace pressed his forehead against Simon's harder, eyes steady and sure. He sat still, feeling Grace's thumb brush the skin below his eye. Delicate, caring. He surpressed a shiver, heart racing. The touch was perfect, everything Simon hoped for. He stared into Grace's eyes, seeing something reflecting back in those blue irises. A need, a subtle desire that was slowly taking over like a poison.

Can I?

Simon closed the distance again. He kissed Grace firmly, squeezing his hand as he pushed. Grace's hand cupped his cheek, fingers sprawling in the ends of Simon's hair. Grace moved in tandem with him, tilting his head and pushing back with equal force. Simon shuddered, his back hitting the wall. He couldn't think of anything else but his savior kissing him, him, like he was worth all the love in the world.

Simon let go of Grace's hand to grab his hip, tugging him closer. He probably should've been more gentle in his touch, but he couldn't help it. He felt like he was dying and Grace was the answer. And Grace went willingly, basically sitting in Simon's lap and cupping his face with both hands. Simon pulled away for a second, their breaths mingling in the inches of space between them. Grace's pupils were blown. The man brushed strands of Simon's hair away from his face before leaning back in.

Simon met him eagerly, fingers digging into Grace's hip. He couldn't get enough of him. He bit Grace's bottom lip, hungrily swallowing the groan that tore from Grace's throat and sweeping his tongue against Grace's. And oh, was that even more than Simon imagined. Satisfaction curled in his gut, greedy, which only fueled the fire further. Grace tasted sweet like that candy he loved to snack on, making Simon feel drunk on something he couldn't describe. He gripped Grace's waist tighter, his fingers trailing under the hem of his shirt. He brushed the warmth of Grace's skin, his sides, his lower back, his stomach, reeling in the way Grace's muscles twitched under his hands and the small noises he made that Simon took hungrily.

Grace's hands pulled his face closer, fingers tugging Simon's hair. He grunted, letting his hand trail up Grace's chest. Grace broke the kiss with a stuttering breath.

"Simon," he said, inhaling through clenched teeth when Simon's palm spread over his ribs. "Simon—"

Simon's heart soared at the sound of his name, especially in the way he said it. Breathless, desperate, and Simon returned the feeling with a chaste kiss. He pulled away a moment later, lungs burning and aching, but the sight of Grace's beautiful flushed face and slick, kiss-swollen lips lit a fire in his gut. Simon couldn't stop. He kissed Grace's cheek, the corner of his mouth, his jaw. He trailed down Grace's throat with open-mouthed kisses, occasionally sinking his teeth gently into his skin that made Grace jolt under his fingertips and moan, the sound vibrating in the space between them. Grace's hand planted in his hair, fingers curling around the inky strands. Simon kept kissing, biting, worshiping like Grace deserved.

"Si—" he said, gasping.

"Ryland."

He leaned back up to capture Grace's lips again, feeling the man push back with fervor. Grace's legs trapped Simon's torso in place as he licked his way into Simon's mouth. Grace kissed messy, saliva-slick lips sliding against his. He was shaky in his motions. Simon wondered if he was feeling the same thing, that desperation and hunger of finally feeling the touch of another after so long without it. Simon couldn't hold back a guttural moan that rattled his chest. He kept faltering between it's too much and I need more, his grip on Grace's hip bruising as his brain turned to mush.

The sounds in the lab were lewd in nature, something that would've earned Simon punishment on Eden but earned him intense kisses from his savior on the Hail Mary. The wet smacking of their lips, Grace's little gasps and groans, Simon's heavy breaths as he cherished the one person that treated him as a human being instead of a nameless soldier. He almost wished the ocean hadn't taken his left arm because he wanted to cup Grace's face like he did to Simon, wanted to return the way Grace's hands brushed through his hair and down his neck and splayed across his chest.

Simon had never felt so loved, so cared for, before Ryland Grace chose to save him. Simon kissed Grace like a starving man, hoping that through their lustful haze, he understood how important he was to Simon. He didn't kiss Grace to feel good or satisfy the itch in his brain that became impossible to scratch whenever the man was in the room; he kissed Grace to show his love, his devotion to his angel, and he was so lucky to have his savior love him back.

The two parted, chests heaving, a thin strand of saliva connecting their mouths. Simon caught his breath, staring at the beauty that was Grace. His lips were pink, slightly red from Simon's bites, his face slightly sweaty and flushed. His pupils were wide, boring back into Simon. Simon could see the trail of nips he made along Grace's neck. He raised his hand, fingers lightly brushing the pink skin and snickering when Grace trembled at the touch. He chuckled when Grace hid his face in Simon's neck, his arms wrapping around his middle.

"Could get used to this," Simon murmured as he carded his hand through Grace's hair. So soft.

Grace shook with laughter. He brushed his lips against Simon's neck, making Simon's heart twist in his chest in a way that sent a wave of cold through his body. He pressed closer into Grace's hold. "Yeah… haven't done that in a while."

"Same. It… it was okay, right?"

Grace responded by pressing another kiss to Simon's neck, though his mouth moved lower, peppering Simon's collarbone with kisses.

"Okay, okay, I get it. Actions speak louder than words," Simon smiled, making Grace laugh again.

Grace sat up and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Simon's lips. "You should think out loud more often."

"Even if you don't like what I have to say?"

"I'd listen to you either way."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Grace said.

His smile was as bright as the stars outside. Simon brushed away the blonde locks from Grace's forehead, bringing his hand to hold Grace's cheek. The man leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and sighing. Simon wished he had a camera to capture this moment forever; Grace, so calm and relaxed and not stressed about something in the lab for once, his smile soft and loving and everything Simon imagined heaven to be like.

Grace lightly pressed his lips to Simon's palm, sending a wave of goosebumps through his arm. The man snickered, tightening his hold around Simon's waist and resting his head on his shoulder, staring out at the vast canvas of space dotted by stars. Simon continued to run his hand through Grace's hair, whatever kept his saving Grace happy and relaxed.

The stars must've taken pity on Simon for once in his life. If it was the result of him going on that suicide mission into the ocean, he would've done it all over again if he knew it would lead him to salvation. For now, he held Grace until he felt the man's breaths even out, fanning against his neck. The Convict that prayed to the stars, devoted his life to the Last Tree, lost faith and hope in that submarine had finally gained something the eel or C.O.I. couldn't take from him. They couldn't drag him back to Hell now that the wings of an angel kept him safe.

Whatever the future held with his savior, he would face it without fear, for as long as Grace continued to smile and love, Simon would reciprocate tenfold.