geulp ...

Half the battle of recovering after physical trauma is the physiological condition.

The human body can find a way to function, even under the most obscure circumstances. With enough time, life will find a way to persist.

It may not look the same as it did before… smooth lines become jagged, even tones become blotchy…

But cells, blood, muscle, organs, and skin don’t care about how they look. Life in a body is about utility, not aesthetics.

As true as all of this is, ithe words fall meaninglessly flat to someone who may be physically healed, but not entirely emotionally.

Words can only go so far…

-

“Don’t pick at your skin, Si, you’ll irritate it.”

I mutter, hunched over a hunk of metal I was in the middle of clumsily dismantling, removing hammed screws with nothing but thick, hooked pliers and hope.

“It’s itching.”

I look up to see where Simon was scratching, since I’d only responded to the sound before.

His hand, clawed and rigid against the marred half of his face, raked at the skin around the split that gave way for long, sharp teeth protruding from the back of his upper and lower jaw, across almost to his canines.

I nod slowly. “Yeah, that area’s gonna be a little sensitive for a while. Still, don’t mess with it.”

“It’s been months- everything’s done healing… it’s just this stupid face thing!”

“Well, the skin on your face had to stretch and break in… kinda unconventional ways to accommodate your new teeth, so your body’s still acclimating.”

“God I hate these stupid fuckin’ things.”

“Your teeth?”

Simon grunts in reply, leaning back in his chair. There was a resentful darkness in his eyes.

“Why? I think they’re awesome!”

“You think everything’s awesome.”

“Somethin’ wrong with that? I’m a positive guy, what can I say.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “They make everything 10,000 times more difficult. Eating, talking - I bite my tongue like… five times an hour… and they’re just hideous- I mean- why on the outside of my face?!”

“Hey, hey - first of all they’re not hideous, don’t say stuff like that. You’re just not fully used to them yet. As for everything else, that’s just dental recovery, bud. I mean, yours is a special case, sure, but all your symptoms are normal!”

“How the fuck would you know?”

I smile, setting the pliers down.

“When I was in my 20’s I had to get my wisdom teeth taken out. All four of ‘em. I knew it was important, I knew I had to do it, but you wanna know what I did?”

Simon tries to look disinterested, but he takes the bait.

“What.”

“I waited. Years. Like, four years. I was in excruciating pain all the time, they were growing in crooked, and bashing into other teeth and impacting them- oh it was a nightmare. Once I finally bit the bullet and got them all removed, and got all the teeth I messed up in the process fixed, you wanna know how long it took for me to fully heal up?”

“…How long…”

“Two. Years. Two years! My jaw was so sore and jacked up the first six months alone, my brother had to feed me soup like a baby. I couldn’t talk, eat, sleep comfortably, or use a straw for at least 3/4 of that time. And I managed to give myself a dry socket at some point too… beside the point. What I’m saying is, I get it. It’s normal. And my dental work was internal.”

“…Why the hell did you wait so long?”

“I’m scared of the dentist- is that really what you gleaned from my story? My dentophobia?”

“Is that a word?”

“I promise it is.” I chuckle, reaching across the table to catch Simon’s hand before he instinctively scratches at his face again.

He groans. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just be careful.” I smile, releasing his hand, and going back to my work.

Simon nods slowly.

“It’d be so much easier if I could just-“ he snaps his fingers. “Get rid of them. Have a symmetrical face again…”

He sighs, carefully watching me pull and yank at old nails, wiggling them out slowly but surely.

“Symmetry is so overrated. You’ve got character this way. I would have killed to look that cool as a kid.” I smile.

Simon hums softly.

I take a look at the clock mounted on the lab wall. It’s getting to be evening - not that it matters in space anyway.

“Why don’t I make us some ramen?” I suggest, sitting upright on my stool. “It’s soft and easy to eat. Won’t irritate your jaw.”

Simon chuckles. “Everything we eat out here is soft.”

“Wrong. You ever try uncooked ramen?”

“Raw?!”

“Yeah, with the seasoning backet sprinkled over it? It’s great! It’s like a bag of chips’l

“Euch…”

“Oh come on, it’s the same thing as cooked ramen, just dehydrated! It’s not bad!”

Simon wrinkles his nose.

“Whatever, hater. Go wash up while I get supper ready.”

-

It’s been fifteen minutes…

Thankfully our soup was well insulated in the food heating system, so I wasn’t nexissarily worried about dinner getting cold.

I was concerned about what could possibly be taking so long.

“Grace!”

“Woah-! Rocky! Hey bud- w-where have you been? I haven’t seen you for hours.”

I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t even heard Rocky’s thundering hamster ball careening down the hall… somehow.

“Rocky working up in cockpit.”

“On what..?”

“Third chair. Rocky make chair for Rocky!”

I tilt my head, hands on my hips.

“You already had a chair, buddy- yours was the copilot seat. What, you don’t wanna be my copilot anymore?”

“Rocky still copilot. Two copilots now! Rocky give human chair to Simon, and Rocky build new chairthat can accommodate ball!”

I smile. Honestly, that’s really sweet of him.

“Ohhh Rocky that’s really nice of you to give your old chair to Simon, I’m sure he’ll really appreciate it.”

“Good good good.”

Roxky shifts around proudly in his ball, trilling softly.

“Speaking of Simon… he’s taking forever to come up to eat.”

“Why, question?”

“I dunno! I sent him down to wash up almost 20 minutes ago…”

Rocky stands still, a stream of clicks echoing through the hamster ball.

“Rock, you don’t have to spy on him I’m sure he’s alright-“

“Rocky see Simon in bathroom in dorm.”

“W-what? Still?”

“Sitting on floor, statement.”

My heart sinks. “On the floor?”

Rocky trills in reply.

“Cannot see much else. Very still.”

“Like- alive still? Or passed out still?”

“Cannot tell, statement.”

I hufff, hesitating for a moment, before starting off to the dorm.

“Rocky come too, question?”

“N-no bud, you stay up here for now. I’ll call if I need you. I don’t wanna overwhelm him.” I call over my shoulder as I jog through the lab to the hatch.

I pass the table I had been sitting at with Simon e just a little while ago. Everything was, for the most part, in place…

But my pliers were missing…

-

“Simon? Simon! Where are you, man?! Your noodles are getting cold!”

…no reply.

I crawl down the ladder, doing my best to be as quiet as I can.

“Simon..?” I reach the landing, standing still, waiting for any sign of life.

There’s a rustle from the bathroom. Found him.

“I’m coming in, bud… just- just a warning…”

“N-no…”

I freeze. That’s Simon’s voice for sure, but he sounds different… weak, maybe.

“Not an option.” I don’t mean to sound as stern as I do.

I take a deep breath, and approach the open bathroom, knocking on the wall to announce myself before turning the corner.

Oh my god… oh my god oh my god…

“H-holy crap- Simon?!”

The hunched, heaving figure in the corner doesn’t reply.

I can see red, but I can’t see the source. It’s on him, there’s some streaked on the floor, and he’s got his hands clenched by his face.

He’s got something.

“SIMON-! Simon, drop it, NOW!”

I shout, rushing into the room barely large enough for one person, let alone two.

I nearly slip on a small, slick puddle of blood, steadying myself on either wall, before dropping down in front of Simon, who I’m not even sure is fully aware that I’m here.

He’s breathing heavily, so much so that he’s growling upon every exhale. His eyes are wide, looking through me, rather than at me, both hands, real and prosthetic, grotesquely sparkling with blood, wrapped around some kind of tool.

My pliers.

The blood’s coming from his mouth… the teeth on the side of his face.

“Simon, listen to me… drop the pliers. Now.” I plead with him, desperately trying to keep my voice calm and even.

I want to reach for the pliers, but any number of things could happen if I make the wrong move here.

I could jab him in the face, I could accidentally aid in removing whatever he’s got a hold on - anything could happen. My safest bet was to talk him down.

“Simon. Can you hear me? I need to know that you can hear me.” I shuffle closer to him. My knees streaked red, but I don’t care.

I carefully raise my hands, opting to take Simon by the shoulders in an attempt to ground him.

“I’m here to help you - I’m not here to do anything but help you.”

“You can’t help me.”

“Yes I can! Let me try!”

“There’s NOTHING YOU CAN DO.”

He lurches at me, and I tumble backwards, landing on my elbows.

Simon lets go of the pliers with the stronger, xenonite hand, using it to prop himself up above me. That’s progress. He’s only holding them with his thumb and two fingers now…

“Simon-“

“NOTHING.” He grits through his teeth, blood dribbling down his chin, landing like raindrops on my thankfully red shirt.

“Try me, Simon! I can’t help you if you don’t tell me how I can!” I can feel my heart pounding through my chest.

“I want them gone.” Simon’s voice is deep, manic.

“You want what gone…?”

He grips the pliers tighter.

“Y-your teeth! Ok, understood, you’ve want them gone…”

“I look like a monster…”

“No, you don’t, I promise you don’t…”

“I want it all gone, Grace… I want the gills gone, I want my face back… I want these fuckin… teeth…”

He sits up, gripping the pliers with both hands again, eyes squeezing shut.

“NO-! NO NO, SIMON, STOP!” I sit up, grabbing Simon’s wrists, desire my better judgment.

“I JUST WANNA BE NORMAL AGAIN. I DON’T WANT TO BE UNCOMFORTABLE ALL THE FUCKING TIME.” His voice breaks, slurred through his gritted teeth.

“OKAY, T-THAT’S REASONABLE! JUST- LET GO SO WE CAN TALK!” I plead, doing my best to pull his arms outward to release pressure on whatever tooth he’s got a hold on.

“WHY DOES IT FUCKIN’ MATTER TO YOU?! YOU DON’T KNOW THE HALF OF THE PAIN I’M CONSTANTLY IN.”

“EXPLAIN IT TO ME, SIMON! I’M ASKING TO UNDERSTAND!” I shout, putting everything I have into dislodging the pliers.

Simon is much stronger than I am, especially on adrenaline.

Brute force alone isn’t enough… I have to think of something else.

I look at my hand, streaked with Simon’s blood, and I have an idea. Understanding the risk of injury to myself, and more importantly, to Simon, but it’s my best shot.

I weigh my options, deciding it’s worth a try.

I loosen my grip with my left hand, letting Simon gain control of the pliers. I ease up with my right hand as well, lowering the resistance between us.

I swipe my hand upward, as though I slipped, sliding my palm against the hook of the pliers, hissing in “pain” and yanking both my hands away, holding my left tight.

“AH-! Crap-!” I wince, looking down at my unscathed hand, groaning and hunching over.

“GRACE-!” As I’d hoped, Simon’s attention diverts to me, and he reaches a hand out to me, lowering the pliers with the other.

I grab his arm tight, yanking him towards me, flipping both of us over, landing Simon on his back, stunned.

Both my hands find Simon’s wrists, pinning them to the floor. The xenonite elbow joint hisses and clicks in protest, and I make a note to take a look at the damage is no doubt caused later.

“Drop the pliers.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“NOW. DROP THEM.” I shout.

Simon winces, opening his hand, letting the bloody tool fall to the ground.

I flick them away with two fingers, and they skitter across the floor, out of Simon’s reach.

“How much damage is there.”

“Get o-“

“Answer my questions, or I will put you under and look for myself.”

“Is that a treat?”

“It’s a promise. What did you do with the pliers, Simon?”

“…two.”

“Jesus…”

“They were coming out anyway.”

“What?!0

“They were already loose.”

“You can regenerate teeth?!”

“Yes.”

“What..? Whatever, Fine, fine- then why are you bleeding so much?!”

“They weren’t completely loose.”

I can feel my stomach turn.

“Let me see.”

Simon narrows his eyes at me.

“I’m trying to help you, let me see the extractions, so I know how I can help you.”

He hesitates.

“Open.”

Slowly, Simon loosens his jaw, opening his mouth. The left side opens just a little wider to account for the extra teeth behind what used to be his molars.

I can see two, dark, reddish black sockets among the spiked teeth. They weren’t too big, nut they weren’t the cleanest extractions either.

The surrounding tissue was red, swollen, and littered with pokes and nicks from the pliers - failed attempts to grip onto a tooth.

I grab Simon’s chin, tilting his head to catch the low light at a few different angles, making sure I haven’t missed anything.

“Two extractions, no fragmented teeth left behind … minor abrasions in the gums and surrounding tissue…” I sigh, releasing Simon’s face.

Simon rests his head back on the floor, closing his mouth again, and I sit up on his hips, taking a long breath.

“That the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Woah-“ Simon flinches, looking up at me like I’m out of my mind.

“Do you have any idea how much danger you could have put yourself in?! Any idea at all?!”

“…”

“What if you struck a larger vein? W-what if you gave yourself some crazy infection that neither myself nor Armando could handle?!”

“Gracie, I-“

“There’s a nonzero chance that you could’ve… I-… how many… never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind, I do t wanna know.”

“What were you gonna ask? You want me to talk things out, let’s start here.” Simon says softly.

“Fine. How many times have you done this? How many times, while I have been busy, sleeping, or otherwise occupied, have you been down here mutilating yourself to make yourself less of a monster that you never were to begin with?!”

“…Never.”

“Bull.”

“I promise, Ryland, I’m being honest.”

“You’re not just saying that because the teeth have grown back, and if never know the difference?”

“No.”

I sigh, nodding my head slowly.

“Please don’t ever do this again.”

“Okay…”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“You scared the hell out of me.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“No… no, don’t be sorry, it’s selfish of me to make this about how I feel- c’mon, sit up.”

I scoot myself back, freeing Simon’s legs from under mine, and he sits up slowly.

The moment he’s upright, I reach out, and pull him into a hug. The tightest I’d ever held him.

Simon’s hands find my back, holding me just as tight, his head buried in my shoulder.

“Are you in pain?”

“Not really… just sore.”

“Adrenaline…”

“No…”

“No?”

“No, remember I said they were already on their way out? Besides the initial… resistance, there was barely any pain. Kinda like a paper cut. Doesn’t hurt a lot, bleeds like a gunshot.”

“Okay- Simon you don’t have to explain this to me right now- we can do this later.” I pat him on the back a few times.

“It’s find. Talking through it helps. R emember the eel tooth I gave you?” Simon pulls back from the hug, and points to the xenonite pendant on my chest with a tilt of his head.

I look down as well, lifting the pendant in the palm of my hand to take a closer look at it.

“See how the root is shorter? Thats exactly how my teeth look. They’re not embedded as deeply as human teeth are.”

He’s got a point. At the top of the curved, saber tooth, is a short, flat root, barely half an inch long.

“Fair enough… ok, fair enough.” I let the pendant drop back down to my chest. “Shouldn’t be too hard to patch you up then… c’mon.”

I release Simon, and stand up, brushing the wrinkles from my shirt.

“But… The bathroom- I- shouldn’t I clean this up first?”

“I’ll handle it later.”

“Grace, I fucked everything up in here, I can clean it myself.”

I sigh shaking my head. “I said I’ll handle it later. I really don’t want you in here by yourself any more than absolutely necessary. It’s fine, I scrubbed the whole ship clean of ocean blood, I can handle half of a half bath.” I extend my hand down to Simon, with a thin lipped smile.

He hesitates for a moment, opening his mouth as if to protest. He thinks better of it, nodding, and accepting my hand. 



-

“Okay, swish this around and spit it back out.”

“Why do I have to spit it out?”

“It’s salt water with peroxide.”

“What-? Is that safe?”

“What’re you worried about safety for? Didn’t you tell me you drank isopropyl alcohol?”

“Same thing as the stuff you drink.”

“…vodka? Ethanol? No, not the same at all. A-anyway, yes, peroxide is perfectly safe fo sterilization purposes. It’s just water with an extra hydrogen atom. H2O2. It will upset your stomach if you swallow it though, especially mixed with salt and blood.”

I hand Simon a warm plastic cup, and he takes it, covering the toothy half of his face with a hand, sealing any gaps as he swishes the water around.

He winces - fron the sting of the salt in the extraction site, and whatever little nicks and cuts he’d made around his mouth, I imagine - and spits the now bright scarlet solution back into the cup.

“Yeah… doesn’t feel great, I know. But it’ll keep the area clean. I’m gonna have you do that twice a day until the new teeth starts coming in, and the internal cuts heal up, just to minimize infection risk.”

Simon nods, watching me set down a bucket of steaming, soapy water, only filled an out a quarter of the way for conservation sake.

“Shirt please.”

I have Simon seated on the dorm floor, with a few towels draped over his lap, and on the floor under him, hair tied back in my best attempt at a bun.

He slid off the black t-shirt without protest, setting it down beside him.

Thankfully there wasn’t too much blood on his chest or torso.

I think being in a dim, dark bathroom made everything look worse than it was. The majority seemed to have soaked into the collar of the shirt, concentrating the thicker streaks to his face, jaw, neck, and a few smatterings on his collar.

His hand was washed, and his prosthetic was removed to be properly repaired and sanitized. I could make quick work of the rest.

I wring out the sponge, bringing it up to Simon’s shoulder.

I don’t touch him until he gives me the cue to do so. Once he nods, I gently scrub away at the red streaks.

“I uh… I don’t know, I guess I thought it would make me look more normal…”

I raise a brow.

“What’s up?”

“Taking the teeth out, I mean… I dunno.”

Oh…

“Ah, okay. I can live with that reasoning. A little skewed, but…”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll give you two answers - one from a scientist, and one from a friend.” I dip the sponge again.

“Let’s say for a sec that your teeth didn’t regenerate, and you wanted to remove them all, given your current condition.” I start, scrubbing away at the top of Simon’s chest. “The extraction points would be visible from the outside, based on how those teeth are rooted, and once the wounds healed and closed, the scarring would most likely leave dents in your cheeks and jaw. Not to mention, you’d probably be in a world of pain… I don’t know what you consider “normal”, but that surely wouldn’t be it.”

Simon hums in thought.

“Now, as your friend, I really don’t think there’s any need to get rid of your teeth at all. Simple as that.”

“Why? I mean, thank you, but they’re so obtrusive, and they get in the way…”

“Same with my arm. My acid burnt arm, neck, and chest. I’ve lost so much feeling in the most random little areas, the skin is rough and tight and discolored and dry… but it’s part of me now. Ryland on earth would probably hate the way Ryland in space looks with a broiled body - or maybe he’d love it, I dunno, he’s a strange fella - but regardless, it’s part of me, my body, and my story. The series of scars tells a crucial story about how I got here… why I’m still alive, and what I’ve endured to still be breathing today.”

I tilt Simon’s head to the side to remove the blood from his jaw and beard.

“And the same goes for your scars, aand your mutations. Like yeah, old Simon didn’t ask for saber teeth, two sets of gills, one red eye, and a missing arm, but without gills, you would have drowned! That alone is incredible! Look at how much we’ve been able to learn about you through the changes your body’s endured! I- I mean it’s incredible! You can breathe fhrough four different parts of your body, you’ve got teeth that can rip through metal, dude- you’re a biological marvel! You could be from Marvel!” I smile, pulling back for a moment to assess my work. He was nearly clean.

Simon ponders my words for a while.

“…Thank you, Grace, I- I really do appreciate what you’re saying-”

“But…”

“But… even still- I just feel like I look scary. That’s not- I don’t think it represents me anymore.”

“Scary? Y’think?” I frown.

“Yeah… right?”

“If that’s really what you’re worried about, you’re a good looking guy, Simon. And that’s with scars and mutations. Good looking people tend to look even better with battle scars.”

“…What?”

“I’m being serious! How many movies have we watched with protagonists that take hit after hit, bump after bruise, and by the climax of the story, they look like the most powerful person in existence?”

“Those are movies. That’s fiction.”

“I could be convinced that you’re a movie protagonist like that.” I shrug, setting my fists on my hips.

Simon lets out a quiet, amused chuckle, which I’m ecstatic to hear.

“I’m just sayin’… I know I’m biased here, but I don’t think you need “symmetry” or stupid boring average features to be normal. You’re cool! You look cool, Simon.”

“…Thank you…”

“Don’t mention it… plus, I mean you’ve got fanged canines, which is like… objectively attractive…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, I genuinely didn’t near you. You know my hearing’s shot.”

I clear my throat, willing away the red heat on the tips of my ears, and reaching back for the sponge, squeezing it a few times to reignite the suds.

“Just talking to myself. Anyway, I’m just about done… and now you smell like lavender, thanks to whatever infinite shelf life NASA soap they sent me out here with.”

“‘Now’? You sayin’ I smelled bad before?”

Yes. Like iron, sweat, and man. But I’d never say it like that.

“You said it, not me.”

“What?!”

“Hey! I’m just sayin…”

“Oh come on! Gimme a break, I’m aquaphobic. Rocky gets to walk around smelling like cat piss all the time, and you don’t say shit!”

“Ammonia, first of all, ok? It’s not cat urine, Rocky doesn’t even know what a cat is.And besides, that’s not his fault. His atmosphere is made of ammonia- and he doesn’t have an olfactory system, so he can’t smell anyway.” I huff.

“That’s probably why he still hangs out with your funky butt when you haven’t showered in days, stinkfish.” I chuckle, making a few final passes with the sponge over the side of Simon’s neck. I take extra care around his gills, though I can see his shoulder twitch.

“Stinkfish is ridiculous.”

“You know It was funny.”

Simon huffs, shaking his head.

“Oh- see?! You laughed! Told you!”

“That wasn’t laughter, I exhaled at you.”

“What’re you a bull?” I raise both index fingers to the sides of my head, letting out a heavy huff like an angry bull.

Simon gives me a thin lipped smile. Tough crowd…

“Oh come on, that’s a weak one. Let’s see that pretty smile with all those pretty teeth.” I snicker.

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?!”

He rolls his eyes at me.

Abandoning the sponge in the bucket beside us, I take Simon’s face in both my hands.

“Get the hell off me Gracie.”

“One smile. For the both of us. C’moooon.”

Simon narrows his eyes at me.

With the tips of my fingers on both hands, I gently scratch behind Simon’s ears, whatching his poker face shift just about as fast as the iodine clock reaction.

“GrahahAhahace! Get the hell away from me-!”

He rounds his back, shrugging his shoulders up.

“Oh! Oh, what’s this?! I think we’re getting somewhere!”

Simon attempts to grab both my wrists, only managing to grab one, forgetting he’s currently short one hand with his prosthetic missing.

“Ohhh, tough luck, buddy, your shields are down by half, womp womp!” I move one hand up to gently scritch along the spiked shell of Simon’s altered ear, tracing the fin-like shape as though I were trying to commit it to memory, and rolling the sturdy spiked tips between my fingers.

“AAAAahahahAHA- s-shIHIHIT- A-AH- AH-!”

Simon snorts, tucking his chin down towards his chest.

“Nuh-uh. No no no, Look up, look at me.” I purr, tilting my head to stay in his sight line.

“Shut uhUHUHUP-! Fuckin’ asshole!” Simon hisses.

“Up up, Simon, c’mon. My face is up here- lemme see yours!” I move one hand to his chin, tilting it up with a little resistance. He finally relents, keeping his face straight with mine.

He wears a reluctant, wobbly smile - still trying to hold himself together, but for what reason, I really was t sure.

That’s alright. Easy fix.

Without warning, I shoot my hands down under Simon’s arms, scratching against the uppermost rungs of his ribs.

“AaAAAHAHA-! WHAHAHA?!” Simon shrieks, wobbling backwards, rolling onto his back.

I follow him down, skittering lower, down his ribs.

“There we go! Look at that handsome smile! Tktktktktk!” I bring a hand down to his knee, squeezing the muscle just above it over and over.

“SHUHUHUT UP! A-AHAHAAAAAA- UUURGHAHAHA!” Simon growls through his laughter, thrashing around under my hands.

“Settle down, jeez! You’re gonna kick me in the nose!”

“GOOHOHOD.”

I gasp. “You would never.” I give Simon’s side a pinch, earning me a sharp jolt.

Simon lifts a leg at me like a cat gearing up to swipe.

“I wish you would!” I playfully threaten.

He kicks blindly - not quick enough to hurt me, if it were to land, of course.

I catch him by the ankle, turning my back to Simon, and putting his ankle in a headlock.

“NO! M-NONO WAIT- WAIT- I- I’M SORRY-!”

“You’re sorry you got caught, dummy.” I smile over my shoulder at him. “I’m a twin for Pete’s sake- you think I don’t know how to catch a kick?” I chuckle.

With my free hand I suddenly rake at the bottom of Simon’s socked foot, playing a little rougher than I usually do.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-! A-AHAHAHAHAHA- SHIT SHIT SHIHIT FUCK-! GRAHAHACE-!”

My goodness he’s loud… I wince, honestly not expecting him to scream bloody murder.

“Holy crap! Seriously?!” I look back at Simon again, and he’s covered his face with his hand, shouting into it, writhing around violently.

“GRACE- PLEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAAAAA- AAAAAHAHA-!” He can hardly form coherent sentences

“Grace please what? Use your words, please.”

“SOMEWHERE EEEHEHELSE-! I- PLEHEHEASE-!”

I smile at him over my shoulder. Honestly I’m thrilled he seems to be enjoying himself.

“Move your hand away from your face and I will.” I drag all five nails up from heel to toe, waiting for him to consider my offer.

With a howl of laughter, Simon forces his hand down to his side, cackling freely into the echoing air of the dormitory.

“OKAHAHAHAY OKAHAY STOOHOHOP! STOP! MAAAARY! MARY!”

I slow to a stop. Releasing Simon’s ankle.

“Good evening, Simon.” Mary replies through the intercoms.

“Stop bothering Mary, man, I already promised I would stop.” I sit up beside Simon, allowing him to catch his breath.

“UuuuuuUUUGH.”

I smile, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder. “You alright?”

“Mhm…”

I nod, smiling rather fondly at him.

“…why are you staring at me like that?”

“I’m just sitting here!”

“Smiling like an idiot! What?!”

“Nothing! It’s nice to see you smile!”

“Oh shut up.”

“What! I’m being serious! You’ve had a tough day! Ohhh what is it a crime to wanna see you happy?!”

“Why’re you being so saccharine sweet right now?”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“I think you’ve just been so mean to yourself all day, you’ve forgotten how love, care, and kindness are supposed to feel, you semi-aquatic storm cloud.” I jab him in the navel to punctuate my point.

Simon jolts with a strangled wheeze.

“Who’s the last person to actually treat you with kindness, hm?”

Simon is silent for a while, pondering, while I patiently wait, sitting crisscross beside him.

“…”

“Wow, seriously? The bar’s so low it’s in hell, huh…” I mutter.

“Do you count?”

“…You have to be joking.”

“I’m being serious!”

“No! Before me! Pre-Hail Mary!”

“…”

“No one?!”

“Nothing springs to mind…”

“Man… no wonder you’re so tough on yourself…”

Simon shrugs.

“We’re hopeless…” I joke, shaking my head.

“Hang on, who the fuck is ‘we’?”

“Us. Simon Fisher and Ryland Grace.”

“I’m not hopeless, I’m a work in progress. I just have my moments.”

I give him a look.

“And today was one of those moments.” Simon mutters.

“…”

“…”

“I’m really the last person in recent memory to be nice to you?”

“In all memory.”

“…jeez.”

“Yeah.”

“How’s it feel?”

“So bizarre.”

“Really?”

“Yeah- before, any positive interaction was uh… y’know, was expected to go both ways.”

“Transactional.”

“Exactly. I do something for you, you give me something back. Problem is, if you’re too nice, you end up getting ripped off, taken advantage of… So it’s not entirely a matter of everyone just being as asshole. You learn to keep your guard up. Safety, and all that.”

“Man, that’s brutal.”

“Mhm.”

“…”

“You don’t… feel like that here, do you? Like you’re indebted to us, or feel like you need to stay on guard?”

“No, no… not anymore.”

“Anymore?!”

“Well I didn’t know what I was up against before, or who you were… I- I dunno, it took time to trust you, but I can comfortably say that I do now.”

I nod slowly, eyes fixed on the floor. There’s a melancholy sort of happiness in my chest that I’m unsure of how to emote.

“I’m still coming around emotionally… evidently… but for what it’s worth, you’re the first person in my life that I feel like I can trust not to stab me through the back of I turn around. And maybe that’s because you saved my- oh- ohhhh shit… Gracie…”

I sniffle, wiping my eye with my sleeve.

“N-no, no it’s- I’m fine… I told you I’m a crier.” I chuckle through my wavering voice, smiling down at Simon.

Simon snickers, sitting up slowly, opening his arm out.

I fall into the offered hug, a bit dramatically, but the sets par for the course.

“Y’know, now that I think about it, I really didn’t get a lot of hugs back home either…” Simon mutters, wrapping an arm around my back.

“Oh come on, now you’re just trying to make me cry.”

Simon shrugs. “I mean… it’s kinda funny…”

“Ohhh you jerk!” I scoff, dropping my hands down to Simon’s hips, digging my thumbs into the bone like drill bits.

“SHIHIHIT-! A-AHAHAHA- OKAHAHAY!” Simon wriggles, trying his hardest to get away.

He manages to turn, but I catch him around the waist before he can scamper away.

The tractionless towels on the floor give way under his feet, and he tumbles onto his side.

“Unbelievable.” I tut, shaking my head. “You think it’s funny, huh?”

I push Simon down onto his stomach, giving him barely a second to catch up before I latch onto his ribs, scratching with purpose.

“A-AHAHAHAHA-!! I- IM SOHOHORRY!!”

“‘Hilarious! Grace cares about me so much it makes him cry!’ Thats what you sound like.”

I rake my fingers up and down Simon’s ribs, feeling the seams of his gills close tight under my nails.

“I- I’M SORRY, IT- AHAHA-! IT ISNT FUNNY, i’M SORRY I- AHAHAHA-! SHIIIHIHIHAHAHAHAHA AAAAA-!”

“What’s that? I can’t really understand you…”

I turn my wrists so that my fingers scratch against the grain of Simon’s gills, my nails every so often briefly catching on the edge of the plates, not enough to lift them, but definitely enough for him to feel it.

“AAAAAA- *hic* AHAHAHAHAHAHA- GRAAAAHAHAHACE! A-AH AH-! I SAID I’M SORRY! *hic* OHOHOH GOHOHOD!!”

“Ha! Aw, you’ve got the hiccups?!” I chuckle, moving down to the lowest pair of gills.

“Y- *hic* YES- YEHEHES-! I DUHUHUNNO WHYHYHY-!”

“Diaphragmatic spasms. They can easily be triggered by excessive laughter. Makes total sense.” I shrug.

“Y-YOU’RE SU- *hic* SUCH A FUCKIN MEHEHRD, MY GOHOHOD. STOOOHOHOP!”

I finally bring my hands to a stop, sliding them up to Simon’s back.

“Don’t you *hic!* dare.”

“No, no, I’m done, promise. Let me try something. For your hiccups.”

“What- ouuugh…” Simon groans, his body relaxing into the floor as I dig the heels of my hands into the muscle, slowly sliding upward.

“Relaxing your diaphragm with firm pressure… it relaxes the diaphragm, encouraging the spasming to stop.” Suddenly, I lift my hands away, folding them against my chest, though he can’t see with his head faced down.

“But I guess if it’s too nerdy, I won’t use my understanding of anatomy to help you.” I shrug.

“N-no no… *hic* I’m sorry, it’s not nerdy, Gracie… M’sorry.” He mumbles with an oddly desperate whine.

Oh how couldn’t I smile at that? I can’t help but wonder how many other people had the privilege of his trust the way I do right now… if anyone at all.

“Alright then.” I replace my hands on Aimon’s back, gently working the muscles around his diaphragm, wincing at just how tense he was.”

“You’ve gotta start stretching, Si… you’re wound tight like a guitar string.”

“I do. *hic* I just hold onto a lot of stress.” He grumbles.

“A knot or two is stress. This is insane.” I shake my head, continuing to coax Simon’s muscles to settle and relax.

Little more than a few minutes pass, and Simon’s hiccups fade.

“Better?”

“Mhm…” Simon mumbles.

His arm is bent at the elbow, supporting his head, which is turned to the side, eyes closed and relaxed.

“Sleepy?”

He groans in reply.

I carefully climb off of him, beginning to gather up the long forgotten towels, bucket, and sponge, sliding them away to be properly dealt with later.

“Well you can’t sleep on the floor…”

“Watch me.” Simon mumbles.

“Not a challenge. C’mon- just- at least get up on the bed down here. I won’t make you go all the way upstairs.”

“Tha’s your bed though.”

“Mhm. It’s better I keep an eye on you tonight anyway.”

I take a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling the quilt back, and patting the mattress.

“C’mon. You sleep, I watch.”

Simon doesn’t move for a moment, only offering me a heavy sigh. Before long, he groggily stands himself up, shuffling over to the bed.

I smile, letting Simon take the space between myself and the wall, and he plops down like a sack of potatoes.

A small, wall mounted light is perched above the night table - I flick it on, and pick up the book on the table.

“Mary, dorm lights off, please.”

“Dormitory lights: off.”

The room falls into dim, warm light from the fixture beside me. Simon sighs quietly, turning over, and resting his head on my shoulder, his body just about as close to me as possible without his atoms passing straight through mine.

I wormmy arm behind him, combing idly through his hair, along his scalp.

“Grace..”

“Hm?”

“…I’m sorry. About earlier…”

“Please don’t start with the apologies again.” I sigh.

“I- I just…”

“There’s absolutely no reason for you to apologize for a mental breakdown you couldn’t control, okay? Get that out of your head. It’s okay.”

“…”

“All I ask is that the next time you feel like you’re on the edge of your tipping point - for any reason- come to me.” I say softly. “I will always be here for you, but I can’t help to my fullest potential if you don’t let me.”

“M’sorry...”

“No, no sorry. Just say “okay”.”

“…okay.”

I smile, gently scratching the back of Simon’s head. “Good. Now go to sleep.”

Simon sighs, relaxing into the silence.

“…Angel?”

“Human?”

“Love you…”

I feel my heart swell. How many people has he said that to before?

Better question, how many people have ever said it to him..?

“Love you too.”