Yeah, weird, I know

Sneezing Fetish and The Like: More "extreme" things like #mess or #contagion are usually tagged. #whump, #fevers, #caretaking, #crying, #noses are also things I frequently post about.

The scene reflected in his eyes like crystal panes. A tree climbed and stretched out wide and endlessly above him, with a brilliant sky to fill the space behind it. Long branches swayed about in the wind, leaves shuddering. Brilliant spots of sunlight flashed in and out of view. Somewhere beyond the hiss of the breeze, there was a faint but distinct tingling of wind chimes.

It could've been real to him, if the floor beneath him wasn't so hard. Simon’s fingers flexed, searching for soft grass or dirt, but there was only a smooth, cold surface to greet him. If only.

He laid flat on his back at the center of the room, entranced. The digital display surrounded him at every angle, arching over him in a dome-like fashion. How long had he been laying like this? He honestly wasn't sure. It didn't matter. 

He did badly want to believe it was real. Well, not that it was real, in the here and now. Rather that the footage itself was real, that it came from a real place like Ryland said. A planet teeming with trees and plant life the likes of which he hadn't seen in ages. Plenty he'd never seen at all. It didn't seem possible that this could exist anywhere after the stars died.

Faintly, Simon could hear an energetic exchange between two voices somewhere else on the ship. One voice human, the other a computer. Ryland and Rocky. It was from far enough down the corridor that he couldn't make out words, but the inflection implied their usual antics. He'd become acquainted with their dynamic in a short period of time. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Quite the pair, those two. 

Things went quiet, isolating him back to the ambience flowing out of the speakers around him. Then, he could make out footsteps, human ones, steadily making their way down the corridor.  

They stopped when they got close enough for Simon to feel the vibrations through the floor. “So you are still here,” Ryland’s voice said from above and behind him. 

“Yeah.” Simon’s eyes chased the sunlight that would flash in and out of view as the branches continued shifting around. His focus remained uninterrupted even when Ryland sat down at his side, quietly watching with him. 

“You're liking the nature views, huh?”

“Yeah. Nice to see trees again.” Simon blinked and finally looked at Ryland. His blue eyes softened as he met his gaze, and Simon nearly lost himself in them. Like an ocean, threatening to sweep him into the tides- that wasn't the most pleasant thought after everything he'd gone through, actually.

Simon’s gaze flicked more uncomfortably about the room. “We had one, in Eden,” he went on.

“Just one?”

“Yeah. After the Quiet Rapture, anyways.” He rested his arm across his torso, where he began to toy with the lower hem of his shirt. “It was special, somehow. We treated it like this… I dunno. A symbol of life, I guess.” That was how it had started, anyways. “They taught us that we were meant to sacrifice everything for it. When our own blood spilled, it would be the soil to grow more trees. Thousands of them.”

Ryland looked at him again, pondering his words. “Must've been some tree.” The sadness and shock lingering behind his glasses didn’t carry into his voice. Simon wondered what he was actually thinking. 

“You said you still have them growing everywhere on Earth, though?”

“Yep. Tons of plants, actually. At least when last I saw it. That was… a while ago,” Ryland added. 

Right. They had their own star problem in progress.

“Wish I could see it.” Sadness gripped Simon’s own features for a second as he spoke. 

Ryland leaned forward, hugging one knee to his chest. He looked to the left. “You can see it here in some way, at least.” He pointed at the screen, where the footage diverted into a proper field. Tiny pops of color were speckled throughout the tall grass.

Simon turned his head. His expression held even, but the light in his eyes brightened. “Wildflowers, right?”

“If I had to guess.”

“They’re beautiful,” Simon breathed. He swallowed hard before he shifted, struggling his way into an upright, seated position. With one arm missing and the other still sore, it would take time before such maneuvers felt effortless again. 

The effort was worth it though, to see the field straight on. The breeze disturbed the grasses not unlike the tree branches, causing a ripple to cascade through. The flowers bobbed around in tandem, like a dance of nature. Simon blinked wetness from his eyes, swallowing again. 

“So… did you have any other plant life on Eden?” Ryland spoke up again. 

“Mm-hm. I remember seeing certain flowers, at one time. They were too delicate to survive, though.” A stronger wind cut through, causing the blossoms to sway and bounce in more turbulent fashion. “There were succulents that managed to adapt without light, at least.”

“Mm.” 

They sat in peaceful silence for a moment, both watching, pondering, yearning for home when home was still conceivable as something they couldn’t lose. Wind chimes sounded again from somewhere distant, beyond what the camera displayed.

Ryland suddenly gasped. “Wait. Simon. Oh, my God. I forgot to show you. I can't believe I forgot.”

“Hm?”

“There's plants on this ship. Actual plants.”

Simon blinked. He finally looked to find Ryland already back on his feet. “Really?” He frowned. Was this some kind of trick? Would Ryland really do that to him?

“Yes! Yes, c’mon. I'll show you.”

Simon took the hand Ryland offered to him and pulled himself to his knees. He moved in slow motion, joints still aching just enough to leave him unsteady.

“How is that possible?” Simon said through a grunt, pushing off the ground from one knee.

“Grow lights! Plus some care from yours truly,” Ryland said. The footage continued to play behind them as Simon followed him out of the room. It had been dubbed the Don’t go crazy room, which he found fitting. He'd been spending a lot of time there the last few weeks for a reason, after all.

“There were a ton of seed packets sent up with us. Or with me, anyway. A few didn't grow well but the ones that survived are doing great!” Ryland rambled on as he led Simon down the corridor that linked to the observation room. “I'm not totally sure why specifically they were sent with. Most of what's growing isn't meant to be eaten. I like to think they were sent along for some form of enrichment, maybe. Like a callback to home.”

A callback to home, huh? Simon quietly let that settle in the context of his own past. How foreign.

As they approached the observation room, Ryland suddenly stopped. There was a door to his right, one which Simon couldn't recall ever opening, now that he was facing it. 

“Here. Take a look.” Ryland hit a button and the door slid open, revealing a small room. It was akin to a large closet or a small storage unit in size, surrounded with walls of white not unlike the rest of the Hail Mary. There wasn’t much to see, except for some garden supplies secluded into one corner of the room. Simon leaned to look further in, all the way to the left where he saw–

Simon’s eyes widened. What resembled a shelving unit was built into the wall, structured out of a glass-like, transparent plating. Neon, purple lights cast streaks of dazzling neon over the surfaces, making it seem as if the entire unit was aglow. And there were plants. So many plants, lined up like soldiers along the width of each shelf. 

Many of them were green, leafy, but as Simon moved his eyes throughout, he spotted blossoming varieties of different colors. Some were as small as sprouts, others big enough that they looked ready for repotting.

He stood in the doorway, unmoving. Ryland held out a hand. 

“C’mon. They don’t bite.”

Surely they were fake, right? For as many explanations as Ryland had already provided him, it didn’t seem possible. How could plants survive out here?

How did Simon himself survive, though? Was he even alive? He was almost certain he was. Maybe. Probably.

He needed to get used to the idea that anything was possible, now that he was here.

Simon numbly stepped into the room and approached the shelving. The plants looked real enough up close. He reached a shaking hand out and touched one, a viney thing that spilled over the edge of its pot and dangled down as it grew. The leaves were pale green and white, and they curled playfully around the tip of his finger. 

It wasn't plastic or fabric. It was organic. It was alive. 

Simon's eyes, one dark and one crimson, were unblinking as he looked down at it. So quiet, unassuming. Fragile too. Like looking in a mirror, if a mirror could turn back time.

This was life. He was standing face to face with life, life he was so certain had been lost forever. Life he had at one time cherished. A broken memory of the better part of his childhood struggled to resurface behind his eyes, blurry. No, wait, his vision itself was blurry. Why…?

“Si?”

Ryland’s voice pulled him back to the present. His eyes stung. Simon stepped back, suddenly aware of moisture streaking either side of his face. He blinked until he could see clearly again, sending more tears spilling down over his cheeks. He quickly brought his hand up, bewildered as he wiped them away.

He could sense that Ryland was standing behind him, closer than before and yet maintaining a wary distance. 

“Sorry, I just…” Words caught uselessly in his throat, thick with emotion. “I didn't think I would ever see this again. Ever since…” He couldn't stop thinking about it, that he shouldn’t even be standing here now. He shouldn’t have even had the chance to see this again, even if he had believed it might be possible someday. 

His breath hitched, nearly spilling into a sob. Something like panic unfurled beneath his sternum as he relived what should’ve been his final moments. Pain, so much pain. Excruciating pain. Thick, hot blood dragging him under, filling his lungs. Unruly voices screaming in his head, the Eel’s, his own, someone else’s, he wasn't really sure, he couldn't breathe–

A hand touched his shoulder. Ryland's hand. 

Without thinking, Simon latched onto his fingers with his own, feeling them out as though he'd never touched them before. 

Right. He'd woken up here. Alive. He was here. Ryland was here. Even the stars were–

“You're okay,” Ryland’s voice murmured behind him. “You're safe.”

Simon parted his lips for a shaking gasp. “I know. I– I know.” They stood still like that for a moment. Simon carefully timed and counted his breaths in and out, until the tightness in his chest loosened. Tears still fell from his eyes, slower.

“Thank you. For showing me this,” Simon finally said, breaking the silence with a voice gone hoarse. He hadn't let go of Ryland's hand. He didn't want to, if he didn't need to. 

Ryland stepped closer, standing at his left, but he didn't let go either. “I figured this would mean something to you.” Simon held his gaze for a moment, frozen, lost in ocean blue again. 

He should say something. One of them needed to say something. He–

“I can tell you about all of them. Um, if you like.” Ryland did the honor of breaking the tension. His hand did slip out of Simon’s grasp now, but slowly, as though hesitant to let go. 

Simon sniffled and wiped at his face once more. “Yeah. I'd like that.”

Ryland had such a way of explaining anything and everything, he'd come to find. There was something nearly intoxicating in how he'd ramble, so animated and excited regardless of the topic. It was clear to him why he'd taken up teaching as a career. He was meant for it. 

The angst remaining in his chest melted away as he focused on Ryland’s commentary about this plant, that plant, and so forth. It occurred to him how many of these plants he'd actually never seen before, beyond a drawing in a book or a description in writing. Even before the Quiet Rapture, his homeland's environment had limitations in what could thrive there.

“How do you know so much about all of these?” Simon interrupted, eventually. 

Ryland gave him a sheepish smile. “To be honest, a lot of it is what I could learn from the seed packets themselves. And some personal observations, although internet access has come plenty in handy.” He looked back to the plants. “I guess I found it soothing to care for them. And it’s a good challenge to learn and memorize what works for which ones– some of these guys are pretty unique, heh. Plus, considering all the supplies were here to make it happen, I figure it’s what I was intended to do.” His smile wavered. “It… helped keep me busy after I first woke up. I couldn't remember much about myself, and it was honestly kind of scary. This was a good routine to have until Rocky found me.”

Simon’s eyes traced over the pot directly in front of him, from which brilliant, purple-blue blossoms sprouted up. “I get it. Plants are soothing to work with.” He sniffed and passed a hand under his nose, chasing away a faint itch. “They make good company.”

“You said they were scarce where you're from though, right?”

“Yes and no… the environment wasn’t great for a lot of things to survive. But what we could grow was important to keep alive.” Simon bit his lip, brow knitting together. “I would've liked to be a botanist, or somethin’ like that,” he blurted out. “I… I wanted to study them. Maybe figure out how to maximize their survival, and in turn, ours. 

But I was still young then, and that was before, well…” Simon trailed off, leaving a multitude of things unsaid that Ryland already knew anyway. They didn't need to revisit that sad story right now.

“What was the environment like though? During your childhood,” Ryland asked.

Simon cleared his throat, but an irritation still clung to his soft palette. Was the air really so dry in here? “Think desert. Lots of sand and dust. Light was limited on Mars compared to what you’d probably see on Earth, though. Eden was darker yet.” 

Ryland’s attention was fixed to the very top shelf, where the purple grow lights were absent, yet the plants seated there appeared to be doing well. 

“I bet these guys up top would've done well where you were.” He reached up for one of the smaller pots, a plant made up of tall, long green leaves that stretched stiffly upward. “This one's a snake plant. They don't need any light to grow. And barely any water. Neat, right?”

Ryland continued on, first about the snake plant, and then the rest of the plants that lived next to it. They were mostly succulents, which Simon was intimately familiar with. He was content to let Ryland talk like he’d never seen them before though. The few that he touched were smooth and cool beneath his finger tips, just how he remembered. 

A callback to home. He echoed Ryland's earlier phrasing in his mind. It settled there easier this time.

On and on he went. Nearly an hour had passed by the time Ryland started to lose steam. Each and every pot that had a plant in it was covered, from the basic, most important things to know, to more trivial remarks. How he needed to re-pot one soon, deadhead another, and so on. 

Simon listened just as intently, seated on the paneled floor now as they focused on the bottommost shelf. The urge to paw at his face was however proving to be a frequent and useless occurrence. An itch stubbornly floated just inside his nostrils, and in his throat, a tickle. What was irritating him so much…?

“How do you keep track? Of what gets watered when, I mean,” Simon said, a knuckle pressing to his septum.

An urge to sneeze suddenly surfaced. Simon flared his nostrils and held his breath, tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth. He couldn't bring himself to interrupt. Perhaps it was the intimacy that the size of the room imposed, being one of the smallest spaces he’d occupied so far on this ship.

“Nothing special, to be honest,” Ryland answered. “Just a lot of reminders I’ve set to go off. It’s especially helpful for the guys on the top who only need water every two weeks.”

Two more times did Simon resist an urge to sneeze before Ryland was wrapping up. In the short period of time that had passed, whatever was plaguing his respiratory system increasingly got on his nerves. He was just beginning to feel restless when Ryland helped him to his feet, and Simon stepped back out into the hall, distracted.

Having reasonable space now between him and Ryland, he was intent on finally letting loose. Except now that he was trying, the actual sneeze itself just would not come.

With a frustrated huff, Simon squinted up at the lights above. Usually that worked, when he was already on the edge. Not this time. He'd just sighed out his defeat again when Ryland caught up to him, the door leading to the plants closing behind him. Simon rubbed his eyes.

“Simon, I was thinking… how would you like to take care of them?”

He paused. “You mean the plants…?” He turned to face Ryland, brow raised.

Ryland nodded. “I dunno if it counts as proper botany, but if it would fulfill you…”

Simon stood frozen as he tried to comprehend the true weight of what Ryland had just offered to him. “That would be– I mean– thank you, Ryland. I’d– I’d love that,” he finally managed to say. He really would, and he nodded before repeating himself, “I'd really, reallyhih…hhhffuck–” 

Correction: tried to repeat himself. Simon rolled his eyes as the itch suddenly swelled mid-sentence, only to retreat at the last second. As he swiped his hand aggressively under his nose, his eyes welled, the sensation prickling up behind them now too.

Now he had to wipe his eyes. And then his nose again. This was getting obnoxious. 

Ryland made a noise of sympathy. “Oh, Simon… I didn't mean to make you cry again–”

“I'm not. I-I just…” Another wave of tears took up residence on his water line. Meanwhile, the tingling in his sinuses reared again, this time enough to heave his chest with a breath inward– “hhHgh–! Huh…”– only to leave him hanging again. Moisture threatened to escape his nose now too, which he stubbornly sniffled back. “Snff, I keep feeling like I have to sneeze buhht I- hhH–! Fuck, I can't,” he finally managed to say. Heat scorched the tips of his ears as he realized how ridiculous he must look, breath uselessly catching and dripping from multiple channels.

Ryland seemed unfazed, however. He just frowned at him for a moment, looking him over. A thoughtfulness suddenly crossed his features. “Simon… do you have allergies?”

“What? Ndo, I don’t… snfff, think so…” He spoke in starts and stops as he rubbed frustratedly at his nose. And then his eyes again. Hell, even his ears itched, deep inside. Simon bit back another curse word. Why was everything so fucking itchy…? He desperately wished he was still equipped with another hand, just so he could tag team his nose and eyes at once. He settled for pinching at the bridge of his nose, thumb and pointer nails digging into his tear ducts.

It was then that Ryland grabbed his wrist, hesitantly at first. “Hey. Don't do that, Si.” Reluctantly, Simon let him pull his hand away, biting back a cough as he cleared his throat once more. “You’ll just make it worse. Trust me.”

“What would I be so ahh-hh–!” Simon hopefully flickered another glance at the lights above. The tickle burned hotter, and yet not hot enough. “...Ahhhllergic to adnyways?” he lamely finished.

“I think it might be the plants. The flowers.”

That made him blink, briefly pulled out of his torturous haze. “But I’ve never–”

“How long has it been since you’ve really encountered any pollen? Your immune system might not be taking it well.” Ryland gave him a look of sympathy. “I'm allergic too. Not to any of the plants up here. I was careful about what I personally planted, but back at home…” he trailed off, leaving an image of a miserable, itchy, sneezing Ryland to Simon’s imagination.

He wished he could sneeze. He should’ve taken the chance earlier, when it had seemed imminent.

His hand trembled in Ryland’s as the itch started to grow again. “Hhhow long do I have to put up with this?” 

“It should get better now that we aren’t in the room. I can give you an antihistamine too, although… you look like you’d be better off sneezing some first.” Ryland watched as he hitched uselessly again, expression somewhere between amusement and a sympathetic wince. “I know how frustrating that is. Have you tried looking at a light?”

“T-twihh-twice already. Ndo good.” The deeper tones of his voice wavered up into a desperate pitch. His nose threatened to leak again, and against Ryland’s advice, he stole his hand back, scrubbing at it with the base of his palm. Warm to the touch, his nose was surely adopting a shade of pink that he was only saturating further. Right then though, he couldn't find it in himself to care.

Ryland bit his lip, touching a hand to his chin. “I mean, you could try to…” His expression tightened further. “Normally I would never suggest this, as it’s liable to make things worse before they get better, but… just wait here.” 

Simon watched in confusion as Ryland suddenly disappeared back into the room where the plants were kept. He had something in his hand when he came back out. A sprig of something purple. Lavender?

“I can't guarantee this won't just make you more uncomfortable. But it might boost your histamine response enough to sneeze.”

Simon understood the idea. “Whatever. J–hhhust as long as I do.” 

Even through partially blocked nasal passages, he could already smell it. He’d noticed it before when he was in the room, but this close to his face, it was far more concentrated. A scent sitting between floral and herbal, it seemed to caress his senses with innocence.

Simon had a feeling it was not so innocent though, now that he was face to face with it. Ryland brought it close enough for him to inhale, and he sniffed it deeply, once, twice for good measure. And…?

He felt nothing at first. Until it hit him, and it hit him hard, like a punch in the face. Invisible to the naked eye, every individual pollen grain danced like a colony of fire ants under his skin. Crawling, biting, itching so fiercely he couldn’t think about anything other than how badly he wanted to sneeze.

Ryland was right. Bad idea. Really bad idea.

“Hihhgh– whatthefuhh-fuckhidh–! hHH–!” His breath hitched so hard and fast he nearly coughed, nostrils flaring to their widest. He thought it was bad before, but this? Nothing could compare. The sensation skyrocketed to immeasurable levels, buzzing and tickling and rushing its way to every corner of his very existence. 

He hoped the payoff would be worth it.

“HEHH’dt–!” The urge took him with such ferocity he forgot how to properly submit. Simon’s head bobbed down, but the rush of air caught in his throat uselessly. “hih–ghH…!” And it hurt. His arm instinctively hugged his midsection, bracing for another bout of pain. 

“HHEHh’gt–!” Again, he was unsuccessful. Pressure throbbed in his temples, sinuses, and throat. His lungs shuddered under his still healing ribs. Yet, the need to sneeze remained at critical mass, untouched. Overwhelmed and dizzy, Simon stumbled back into the wall behind him. 

A hand touched his back. Ryland stood at his side, speaking quietly into his ear, “Just relax, Simon. You’ll feel a lot better.” His hand rubbed between Simon’s shoulders in slow, soothing motions.

“I’mb t-tryig’– hhHH–!” Whether it was Ryland’s gentle command subconsciously at work, or his equally gentle touch loosening his posture in just the right way, his body finally remembered how to sneeze properly. “hHHR’ESHhhh–ih–!” Perhaps too properly. A harsh, angry sound split out of him through gritted teeth, tearing at his throat. His abdomen clenched tighter with white hot pain. 

Above the misery though, he would've groaned in relief- if the relief of finally sneezing had lasted longer than a half second. One proper sneeze was simply not enough to tame the wildfire burning at the center of his face now, and he was gearing up for another before he could even recover from the first.

“hH, huhhH–!” Simon’s gills fluttered at either side of his neck, furiously forcing air back into his lungs. He felt a shift within his sinuses as he tilted his head back– a warning sign that the next one would be far more productive. “hhehH–! hHEGHH-SCHeuhh–! Gh–!”

Fuck. Fuck, shit–

It bent him at the waist, spraying and spilling snot down onto his upper lip. That was where the problem came in. That in his mindless haze, he raised an arm to catch and cover himself– his left arm. The wrong arm. The one he didn’t have. 

This was a recurrent issue, trying to use it when it wasn’t there. He hadn’t gotten used to its absence and so far feared he never would.

Simon was able to open his eyes for a second, as he realized his mistake. He’d caught his own shirt in the crossfire, the fabric speckled with wet spots. Worse, he’d caught Ryland too, who was still hovering beside him, hand still rubbing his back.

“Ohh, shhit, Ryland, I’m sih– sorrihhH–huHH–!” He could barely apologize before he cycled back into the fit. “hHHR’SCHHhieuhh–!” Where they initially tore at his throat, they'd evolved to pull from a higher, more desperate pitch in his voice register. He wasn't sure he could ever sneeze like this if he tried. Not the sound, nor the pattern- it was unlike anything he'd experienced ever before. 

“Don’t apologize, Simon… It's okay. There, yes, just like that…”

There was that too.

Ryland’s voice in his ear sent a shudder down his spine, one which he couldn’t grasp enough clarity to acknowledge the implication of. “hiEHH–SHIEuuhh–!” His arm– the good one, which he’d managed to raise after his initial fuck up– was instantly drenched. There was no space for him to be mortified about it. He couldn't even find the time to whine at the pain shooting sharply through his sides, over and over. All he could do was keep– s-sneezing–! “hhHRH’ESCHHh–!” 

“There… you’re doing so good, Simon. Bless you. Oh, bless you.” 

His knees threatened to buckle. In fact they did, partially, and not just because he was lightheaded. For as strange as the circumstances were, this was the first time in a long, long time that words of praise were sweetly touching his ears. Before this, for most of his life, he'd only known voices that spat out propaganda and command after command, until he'd been molded into the perfect weapon they desired. The hand touching his back now too, would've been cold back then. Stained in sin, guiding him only to fight and maim, for whatever he'd been brainwashed into thinking it was worth.

But now, someone was being gentle with him. Yes, unapologetically gentle with him, Simon the Butcher, Simon the Convict. Did he really deserve this?

His knees buckled further. Ryland noticed him stumble. “Whoa, careful…!” His other arm hooked around his front, catching and pulling Simon towards him, mindful of his still tender ribs. He turned him around, holding him upright against him, chest to chest–

“Rhhyland, what’re you– I still hhhave to–” Simon gritted his teeth, eyes burning as he fought against another sneeze. He was painfully aware of how close he was to the other man, how firmly he was holding him at his hips, and the way he couldn’t help but lean into him despite his instincts telling him to resist. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to let go but smack dab between them.

“Let it out. It’s okay. I've got you,” Ryland assured. 

Simon’s hand trembled as it grabbed the closest thing it could find– the bottom hem of Ryland’s shirt. He held that handful of fabric like a lifeline as another sneeze shuddered through him. “hHHh…ehHH’SCHHIUehh–!” Ow, ow, ow. A sharp ache ran through his shoulders this time as he tucked his chin to his own chest, reluctant for Ryland to witness any part of this so close to him. 

Ryland wanted nothing of the sort though, apparently, as his arm maneuvered over the back of his neck. He pulled Simon in even further, obliterating the space between them. “hh…dhHh…!” He wheezed into his shirt, inhaling Ryland’s scent, something so familiar and yet never hitting his senses at a dose as high as this. Simon's head spun. “hhEEHH’MMFSChh–!” He had no choice but to sneeze into the fabric, into his chest. All but melting into him.

“Good, Simon. Breathe. Good. Bless you.”

Maybe he would melt away, if he kept talking to him like that. The soft cotton offered a relief he didn’t know he needed, and Simon quickly found himself freely muffling sneezes against him, bracing his full weight against Ryland’s taller form. Completely and utterly anchored to him.

Eventually, finally, the space he had to recover between sneezes began to lengthen. The fire in his sinuses died down to embers, diluting into a dull throb that climbed up between his eyes. The onset of a massive headache, he was certain.

He maintained his face against Ryland’s chest for a moment, breathing heavily. Ryland continued drifting sweet nothings into his ear. 

It was over. He could stop with the praise now, Simon thought. And yet, he did nothing to indicate that to him. 

When he finally had the strength to lift his head, the air was cold against his face where moisture still clung to his skin. “Oh– shit–” he hissed when he saw the mess he'd made. A massive wet spot darkened the fabric across Ryland’s chest. At the center, it was glossy, and Simon recoiled in further shame. 

“Better now?” Ryland was smiling at him. Smiling after he'd turned him into the equivalent of a human snot rag. Did anything make this guy cringe?

“But your– your shirt, I'mb sorry I–”

“It can be washed.” Ryland blinked, suddenly seeming to notice how close they were still pressed. He didn't move though. “I didn't realize you'd have such a reaction. I’m surprised Rocky didn’t come running to see what the matter was, heh. That sounded intense.“

Simon nearly flinched from the sudden rush of heat running under his cheeks. “I-intense, yeah,” he stammered. His hand still clung to Ryland’s shirt with a white knuckle grip. He couldn't find it in himself to relax yet. “I thought I would break another rib if I– oh–”

The words got stuck in his throat as Ryland’s hand suddenly moved up his back, all the way to the nape of his neck. Gently, he scratched at his scalp, fingers intertwining with dark, messy locks of hair. Simon closed his eyes to hide how they rolled with euphoria that could drop him to his knees, if he let it. 

Ryland’s hand slowly made its way to the top of his head, where he continued stroking his hair. Then, abruptly, he stopped. “Sorry. Is this too much?”

Simon blinked open his eyes. He kept his vision level with Ryland’s chest, close enough that he could make out the miniscule vibrations of his heartbeat. It was elevated. Was he nervous? “Ndo. Ndot at all, snff,” Simon finally said. Ugh. How could he still be so congested after that?

Satisfied, Ryland’s hand continued its delicate massage, sending goosebumps cascading over Simon’s skin. “I'm sorry the plants made you so miserable,” he said, eyes focused on the wall behind them.

“It was worth it. I think,” Simon said, the corner of his mouth twisting.  “I suppose I shouldn't be the one taking care of them, though…” 

“Hey, it's not the end of the world. We can try some antihistamines and see how you fare,” Ryland quickly assured. “Maybe we could separate them out too. Whatever ones don’t bother you could be yours, and I’ll do the rest.” He glanced at the door, continuing on, “The air might circulate better too if we leave the door open, so long as our gravity is active. Plus, you have to remember we were in there for a while. That’s a lot of exposure time…”

Simon knew it wasn't much, what he was describing. It wasn't as if shifting some plants around or digging out some pills for him was the equivalent of uprooting his entire life as he knew it. But it may as well have been. No one had done much of anything for him in this realm, at least not since he was…

He usually felt the absence at the right side of his chest, where he used to wear the holster his mother had given him. Prior to when he had to part ways with it on the SM-13, he always had it on, even after the blade inside had been confiscated by the COI. 

It had once served as a grounding tool for him. Something for him to nervously grab and rub his thumb over. Slow, soothing motions over smooth, dark leather. He wasn’t reaching for it now though, he realized. He just held on to Ryland instead. Ryland, who was treating him with more kindness than anyone he'd ever known, besides her.

“You keep telling me you aren’t an angel, but I still think you’re lying to me.” The words slipped past his lips before he could stop them.

Ryland stopped his rambling and stared at him with owlish eyes. He grinned as he spoke, “I'd only be lying to you if I told you I was.”

Simon bit his lip. His heart pounded in his ears. Why did his chest feel so tight right now? Residual allergy symptoms, right? Surely that was it.

“There’s more to life than what you’ve known, Simon. And I'll show you as much of it as I can.”

Everything stopped. The air left his lungs. His eyes burned fiercely again. Simon suddenly couldn’t bear to look at him, so he did the only thing he could think to: press in close, cling to him with an arm around the waist, stiffly until both of Ryland’s arms returned the embrace.

They stood like that for a while. Way longer than they needed to. Simon wasn’t completely sure what that meant. Did Ryland know? His pulse was still heightened, beating nervously against Simon’s ears. 

Maybe he was just as uncertain, and yet embracing it all the same. Maybe Simon could do that too.

He was forced to break away finally, once the congestion shifted and he was incessantly sniffling again. Not sneezing though, which he was grateful for. His sides still ached.

“Let’s get you something for your allergies. Then maybe I can show you more plants, virtually. I'll bet Rocky wants to see them too.”

“I’d like that a lot, Ryland.”

Simon stopped to glance back at the door leading into the plant storage. He had a vision of himself, calm, at peace, tending to them inside. Not a memory of his younger self, but a vision of the not so distant future. And he wasn’t alone. Ryland was there. So was Rocky.

More to life than what he’d ever known, huh?