Fuck If I Know

“-said he’s showing remorse?” 

Simon hears a voice he’s never heard from down the hall along with three sets of footsteps. 

“Yes, Mrs. Grace, but he’s still-“

“I don’t care, mark him down. Dr. Grace needs another set of strong hands. His file says he’s strong, right?” The voice is pleasant, more pleasant than anything he’s heard while in this cell. He doubts it’ll stay pleasant once it sees him, but it’s nice to listen to right now. 

“If that’s what you require, ma’am.” 

Huh, that was an easier deference than Simon is used to hearing. Normally these assholes put up more of a fight. Mrs. Grace must be important. 

His cell is a one person cell, light grey concrete floors, light grey concrete walls. His bed is built into the wall, just enough clearance for him to be able to sit up. He’s currently wrapped up in the single, thin blanket he was given, facing the concrete wall. The footsteps near but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t think they’ll be stopping for him. Though he was given a clean set of clothes this morning (given is generous, they were pushed through the slot in the glass that covers the front of his cell and he was ordered to change and push through his old ones). His old set had been the same color as the concrete walls, but this set is dark green. It’s the most color he’s seen in months. 

The footsteps do actually stop in front of his cell, and yet he still doesn’t turn. Maybe they’re just making a quick stop to talk more about the lucky bastard who’ll get out of here. 

“His name?” The voice asks softly. He can hear you pick up a clipboard, one that was hanging on the wall outside his cell, to the left, “no last name?”

“Didn’t give it if he does,” it’s one of the guards that aren’t as harsh to him, the one that brings him his half breakfast bar each morning. 

“Thank you, you may take your leave. I’ll call if I need anything.” 

The two guards you’re with hesitates but ultimately walk away. Once you're satisfied he hears you say his name. 

“Simon?”

He flinches a bit but doesn’t respond. It’s the first time his name has been used since he arrived. He was either called Convict or Eden Boy or Eden Scum. He’d almost forgotten what the sound of his name felt like in his chest. 

“My name is Y/N Grace, has anyone talked to you about the Convict Realization Program?” You ask, voice soft, warm, alien to him. 

“Yeah,” he doesn’t turn away from the wall but the mention of the program does draw out a word from him. A woman named Ava had been in front of his cell just yesterday, talking about the program. She’d talked about an exploratory mission to a moon that had been found, though, and he’d agreed to do it. 

“Great,” he can hear the smile in your voice, “I know you already agreed to Ava’s program, but I was wondering if you would be okay listening to what I have to offer instead? I promise it’s much better.”

“Sure,” comes the one word response. He still doesn’t turn though, maybe out of some notion it gives him a sliver of power, more likely because he’s just so tired. 

He hears the little slot open, “I have something for you, in exchange.” 

That peaks his interest enough that he turns and looks over his shoulder, sees a hand dangling inside his cell, holding a small silver foil square out to him between two fingers. He’s not sure exactly what it is. His eyes travel up the hand, up the arm, and to your face, and he has to stop himself from just staring. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, standing there in the ugliest place he’s ever been. You’re smiling at him, eyes flashing conspiratorially. 

“I know I’m not really supposed to be giving you anything, but I figured this might help break any tension. Ryland loves these, I had to sneak them out of his stash, but I know he won’t mind.” You laugh softly, and even your laugh is pretty.

Rolling over slowly, he stands and makes his way to the front of the cell, waiting for you to drop it and move away. But you don’t. You stand there, waiting for him to approach, and when he does you drop it into his outstretched palm. He brings it close and unwraps the foil, peering down at five different colored circles with what looked like crystals on them.

“They’re sour skittles,” You answer his unspoken question, “Well, homemade sour skittles. Real ones are probably all gone now, but Ryland likes them so he commissioned someone to make them for him.”

“What . . . is it?” He asks, voice rough from disuse, “Is it . . . a meal replacement?”

“Oh!” You laugh softly, and for some reason he knows it’s not meant to be a mocking thing, “No, it’s candy, just a little treat really.”

He’s heard of the concept, but never seen anything like it before. His earlier suspicions were correct, you and Dr. Grace are very important people, very wealthy people.

“Go ahead, they’re a little sour at first but sweet when you bite down,” You coax. Your hand is still in the cell, and he could grab it, tug on it sharply, see your face hit the glass, break your nose, but it doesn’t even cross his mind. 

Picking one up with his other hand, he places it on his tongue, keeping eye contact with you. You’re right, it is sour, he almost spits it out, he’s not used to real taste because of the bland meal bars he’s been fed for a couple years now here. But he remembers what you said and bites down on it, the sweetness bursting over his taste buds, soothing the sting of the sour crystals.

“What do you think?” You ask. He watches as you pull one out of another package and pop it into your mouth, “I can’t have too many, but Ryland will make himself sick off of them.”

“Good,” he says simply, closing the foil and tucking it into his pocket. He’ll stash it under his bed later, once you leave, savor them.

“I’m glad you like them! I’ll bring you some more the next time we meet,” Your posture is relaxed and you bring your hand in, resting it on the lip of the slot, elbow facing him, resting your chin on your wrist, posture relaxed, “Can I tell you my offer?”

He nods, standing at one step down from attention, facing you. You’re the first soft thing he’s encountered in a very long time, and he’d really like to hear what you have to offer him.

“So my husband, Dr. Grace, or Ryland, needs help around his lab, and I need help around the house. You’ll live with us, we have a bedroom for you on the other side of the house, so you’ll have your own space. Essentially we would like for you to split your time between the lab and our home. We’ll give you a communication device so if one of us needs you while you’re at the other place we can let you know. You’ll have free time at the end of the night, after dinner, and we can work out a day or two every month that you can have totally to yourself. Does that all make sense so far?”

Not really, actually. He doesn’t know a single man who would willingly let another man help his wife around the house, alone. It would make more sense if he was going to be relegated to the lab at all times, but to have his own room in their house? He nods anyway.

“Good! If you agree, we have to follow a protocol, meaning you and I will have to meet two more times here just to make sure you don’t show any aggression towards me, but Ryland and I are going to buy out your sentence, so even though you’ll be with us, you’ll be free from your sentence.” 

Free of his sentence?? Did he hear that right?? “. . . Free?” he asks, his voice breaking.

You nod, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like you aren’t offering him a second life that he just doesn’t deserve. He eyes you, taking you in. Your clothes are nice, in good shape, fabric that needs to be washed regularly. You look well groomed, like dirt and grime has never touched your skin. If he was under your protection . . . he could be untouchable. 

“Yeah, Simon, free. Ava’s offer still stands, of course, I did kind of take your name off her list already because I think you’d be better suited with us, but if you wanted I could get you back on.”

He shakes his head, the fastest movement he’s made so far, “No, no I want your offer. Please.”

Your smile is the brightest thing he’s ever seen. 

—--------

You come around again the following week and he knows it’s happening because he gets another new set of clothes, this time blue. Your footsteps are unaccompanied this time. He still has one skittle left, he wanted to have it in your presence, to show you how much he appreciated it. 

The first thing he sees is your hand again, it proceeds you. Today your fingernails have polish on them, a bright red, and you’re holding a small cloth bag that has a star pattern on it with a yellow leather draw string at the top. When the rest of you comes into view he thinks you must have come from an event, because you’re dressed up. You look beautiful.

The slot is opened and you thrust the bag through, a smile on your face, “Evening, Simon!” 

He was waiting for you a few feet behind the glass, holding the open tin foil in his hand, ready to pick up the last skittle. Instead he steps forward and gently grabs the bag from you, finger tips brushing yours. The touch of your skin sends shivers down his arm: when was the last time he touched another person? A very long time, he thinks. 

“Promised I would get you more skittles! Ryland even gave me this bag so I could give you more, he’s very excited to meet you, you know. But he’s really busy right now, says he’s on the cusp of a break through. He tried to get the warden to let us bypass this whole two more meet up thing but he didn’t budge. Did say I could come back next week though, normally they want at least a month in between visits but Ryland helped him out a while back and so he owed us a favor.” You ramble idly, watching as he opens the bag and sees the bag is half full of those skittles. 

“Thank you,” He bows his head slightly, adding the singular skittle to his new pile. He realizes halfway through the head bow that’s an Eden thing, not a C.O.I. thing, but when he looks up you aren’t looking at him with disgust, you’re still just smiling pleasantly. 

“Of course! Have they been treating you better?” You ask, “I asked them to give you more than half a ration for meals because we need you to not be starving and have your muscles waste away.”

He nods, because yeah, they actually have been treating him better. As soon as his clipboard was updated with his intended designation the half ration bars became full and they were no longer chucked into his cell in passing. They were still dropped in, but now it didn’t feel like they were trying to whip him with them. He’d also been given a new blanket, the same color blue as the outfit he’s wearing now.

You peer into the cell and your eyes light up when you see the blanket spread out over his bunk, “Oh good! And they gave the blanket to you, I was worried they wouldn’t.”

“It’s very nice, I am in your debt.” He has to stop himself from bowing his head again.

You wave him off, “Don’t worry about it Simon, we’re in the process of getting your room together right now and Ryland bought it for you because I told him how thin your blanket looked. We weren’t sure what your favorite color is, so he picked mine.”

“Blue is your favorite color?” He asks, “Why?”

He can tell you’re delighting in the full sentences he’s giving you because of the way your eyes sparkle, “Ryland’s eyes are blue. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green, like plants.” He wants to meet this Ryland, he’s not sure if he trusts your perception of him, if him being your husband gives you rose colored glasses. He hopes Ryland is as good as you say he is. 

“Oh! Do you like plants?” You ask quickly, interested, “I have the opposite of a green thumb, I can never get them to stay alive, and Ryland has too much going on in his head to water them.”

He nods, looking away as he thinks of the sprout that was taken from him. The chord is still on his wrist, he rubs at it absentmindedly, “Yeah, I like plants.”

“Would you like me to get some for you to take care of? I would love some more greenery in the house.” You’re asking him what he wants, it’s so foreign. The ask seems genuine, so he nods. 

“I would, thank you. Will Dr. Grace be okay with that?” He’s not sure how the ownership of the plants will work, if they’ll actually be his or if they’ll be the Grace’s and he just takes care of them. It doesn’t really matter either way in the end. But it’s better to double check if this is something that might be taken away from him. 

You wave your hand, not dismissive of him, but of the thought that Dr. Grace might care, “No, he won’t mind at all. It may take him a while to even notice plants,” You laugh softly, “Also, you can call him Ryland.” 

He will not be doing that, just like he won’t be using your first name either, but he nods anyway.

“Okay so I need to get you plants,” he watches as you take a little notepad and pen out of your pocket, “I wanted to write down some stuff you think you’ll need so I can finish the shopping tomorrow.” He watches you scribble.

Simon has no idea what to say right now, which seems to be a common occurrence around you. You’re treating him like he’s not a convict, like he didn’t blow up a station and kill 62 people that you may or may not have known. You and/or Dr. Grace are high up here, that was obvious, but what exactly did either of you do for the C.O.I? You’d mentioned a lab the first time you were here, was Dr. Grace a scientist? If so, what kind? 

“What else do you think you’ll need?” You ask, smiling at him, pen poised, “We’ve already got things like your bed and some furniture. I’ve already got some clothes being made for you, they’ll mostly be in our family colors because, well, you’ll be part of the Grace family. I did actually want to ask about that, you don’t have a last name right?”

He blinks rapidly at you, thrown by the rapid changes in the conversation. He’s not used to people talking to him, let alone asking questions. He’ll need to try and be better about keeping up with you, hopefully Dr. Grace doesn’t do this as well. Maybe he’s more of the strong, silent type. He doesn’t miss the talk about family colors, though. That’s another notch in his theory that you and Dr. Grace are way above any station he’s ever dealt with. 

“Uh, no, I don’t.” You should know that he’s from Eden, it’s his chart. There’s no last names on Eden, only designations. He’d been ‘Simon, Son of Eden’ there. Now, without Eden, he was just Simon.

“Would it be okay if we started signing your documents with Grace as your last name? It’s completely fine if not, you can always pick your own, it’s just making this a little more difficult because they’re just so into full names here.” You huff out an annoyed laugh, “I was using Grace before we were properly joined just because of it all.”

What would be the price for using Grace as his last name? Would he have to give more of himself? “What, uh, what would I have to do if I did?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, confusion on your face.

“Sorry, I’m not great at . . . talking.” He cringes a bit, “I was wondering what kind of debt I would be in, taking your last name.”

“Oh! No debt, it would be a gift, mainly just a tool really.” You shrug, “Like I said, you can just pick one and I’ll say you told me while we were talking today. Ryland is okay with it, if that’s also a hang up. He actually suggested it over dinner last night.”

Before he can respond something beeps on your wrist, and he realizes you're wearing some kind of watch, “Shoot, I have to go, I’m so sorry but we have this stupid dinner tonight with the Talbot. I really don’t want to go but Ryland is so bad in social situations like this, he’ll freak out if I’m not there.”

Talbot is the captain of the space station they’re both on currently. That’s . . . okay yeah that’s a really big deal. 

“I am going to see if I can take you home sooner than next week though, his partner and I are - not quite friends? But friendly enough.” You stick the pad of paper and the pen through the slot and he stares at it for a moment, “Write down the things you want and give it to your guard? Like I said, I really want to try and have your room ready for you.”

He takes it gingerly, looking at where you’ve scrawled his name at the top and the words plants, underlined neatly, “Okay, I can’t promise the guards will give it to you, though.”

“They will,” You smile cheerfully, your tone has no room for argument, like you know that if you ask the guards will just do it, “Take your time, of course, but if you could give it to your morning rotation guard that would be super duper helpful!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Grace,” another head bow, rotten soil, why can’t he stop doing that??

You bow your head back, a smile curving at your lips as you turn and start to walk away. He hears your footsteps stop then double back, “Oh! Our family colors are blue and yellow, by the way. I really hope you don’t hate either of those!” and then you’re hurrying down the hall. 

—-------

The next morning he’s waiting for the morning rotation guard. He spent all night trying to figure out what to write, what he thought he might need. He’d written down things like ‘food’ and ‘water’. He’s pretty sure you would give those to him regardless, but he had nothing else in his mind that he could think to ask. Of course he wanted homey things, like maybe a plant for just his room, a clock, an extra pillow, but how was he going to ask that of someone who’s already done so much? He’s wrestling with the idea that he’s going to be in a far greater debt than he ever was here through yours and Dr. Grace’s generosity. Well, at least he would be in debt to a pretty face.

He hears the footsteps of the guard as he walks down the hall, and he rises to his feet, making sure his skittles bag is hidden under the thin pillow. He’d been taking one at a time from the bag and chewing them thoroughly, savoring each one. He was determined to make them last, just like he’d done with the first ones he’d been given. The guard's footsteps slow as they reach his cell, and he waits in the customary spot, in the far left corner, hands in front of him. He’s got the notepad and pen in full view, and he’s looking at the floor.

“Okay Simon, change of clothes. Dr. Grace will be here today to get you.” The guard says, and Simon can hear the sound of fabric being shoved through the slot and dropping onto the floor. 

Simon looks up, stunned. Today? He was being freed today??? 

“Don’t look so surprised,” the guard, he thinks his name is Marco, stands at the slot still, arms crossed, “You’re a lucky bastard.”

“I -” He starts before immediately shutting his mouth. He almost asked a question, which would have gotten his ass beat.

Marco motions for him to continue speaking, “You’re technically a free man now, I’m not allowed to lay a hand on you. Paperwork went through last night after hours. You want to ask me a question about the Grace’s, don’t you?” Simon just nods, eyes drifting to the fabric on the ground. Instead of sweat material he sees a pair of thick navy cargo pants and a bright yellow t-shirt. Both look like they’re exactly his size, made with proper material. He also notices a pair of clean, thick white socks, a pair of navy blue boxer briefs, and Marco is holding a pair of dark brown boots made of what he thinks might be actual leather. 

“Dr. Grace is the leading scientist here. He’s the reason everyone stays alive. He’s eradicated most illnesses, aside from the big ones of course like cancer and shit, but the reason why no one gets a house cold anymore is because of him. In terms of importance, even the captain will defer to him on some things.” Marco shrugs, “He’s been here for a little bit, her not so much, both of them are outsiders. Dr. Grace went to a different station to collect some data and he apparently met her there. Brought her back and said she was his wife. No one questioned it, of course, and no one really knows where she came from, but she’s nice and she’s pretty, so-” 

Simon nods, “So . . . what you're saying is my sentence was bought out by one of the most important people in the C.O.I?”

“Ding, ding, ding! Looks like Eden scum can be smart, after all,” Simon tries not to flinch at the insult, it should be normal, it shouldn’t make his heart race and make him feel like a stain on the floor, “Dr. Grace never lets anyone into the lab to help him, so when Mrs. Grace came down saying they wanted to be a part of the Convict Realization Program so he could have some help, it sent everyone in a fucking tizzy. The amount of paperwork the two of them had to sign was astronomical. Not to mention the fact that they’d been given a list of prisoners that were deemed ‘acceptable’ and Mrs. Grace plucked the full list of prisoners off the warden's desk to read and they just let it happen. You weren’t on that original list, by the way.”

“I figured I wouldn’t be,” he murmurs, drifting towards the pile of clothes on the floor. He strips off the sweatshirt, chest bare save for the harness they let him keep. 

“They tried to get her to change her mind, even tried to circumvent her and talk to Dr. Grace, but he said that all decisions would be going through her. Ain’t that something?” Marco whistles low under his breath. He’s looking away from Simon now, he’d always been the most respectful one of the guards. Not that Simon cares anymore, at this point every single guard has probably seen everything he has to offer. 

He nods, shucking his pants off and putting them next to the sweatshirt. He’s about to take off the underwear too when Marco stands up straighter, and Simon hears hurried footsteps down the hall. The gate is different from yours, it sounds like the person has longer strides, but it’s also not the rhythmic footfalls of a guard. 

“So sorry I’m late, I had to sign even more paperwork. Which is kind of ridiculous, since Talbot sent word that this was all okay." The voice is masculine, hurried, bright, it sounds nice in Simon’s ears, which surprises him, “Talbot wanted me to get him, it was part of our agreement, just in case. Where is he?”

Marco motions to the cell Simon is in and steps to the side. Simon remembers a little too late that he’s almost naked when what he assumes is Dr. Grace steps into view. Dr. Grace is just as pretty as you, and the breath leaves Simon as he remembers how violently bisexual he is. He’s a little taller than Simon, but slimmer, with a head of blond, tousled hair that falls just to his ears, pushed around like he’s been running his hands through it absentmindedly. His gold, wire rim glasses accentuate ocean blue eyes, and Simon understands why you said blue was your favorite color. Dr. Grace has on a pair of light wash jeans, a tucked in matching jean button down, and a cream colored cardigan with foxes on it over top. 

Dr. Grace looks over into the cell, a smile on his lips, before taking in Simon’s state of (un)dress. A blush flashes over his face and he immediately turns away, covering his eyes with both hands, “Oh cheese and crackers!! Simon I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t . . . fudging fudger!” He watches Dr. Grace do a complete 180, “Please let me know when you’re done changing!!”

Simon’s lips quirk up at Dr. Grace’s antics, unused to people being flustered by his body. He changes quickly though, folding the clothes he’d been given last night. Like he suspected, the clothes fit perfectly and feel good on his skin. 

“I’m done,” He says, turning to the bed and grabbing the blanket you had given him. It’s already folded and he puts it under one arm, holding it tight to his body, slipping the notepad and pen into one of the pockets of the cargo pants. He grabs the bag of skittles last and slips that into another pocket on the other side. 

Dr. Grace turns around, the blush still firmly on his cheeks, but he’s got that smile back, “Great! As soon as you get your boots on we’ll be heading home, Y/n is waiting for us with some breakfast.”

He nods, staying back as the door to the cell opens. It’s such a weird feeling seeing that cell door open not for the purpose of showering or using the restroom. He’s not sure if he fully trusts that he won’t be back here just yet, but Dr. Grace seems to be as nice as you say he is. That might change once they get to their house, but for right now he can at least step outside the cell in real clothes, wearing real boots, and towards a man saying they were going home. 

Dr. Grace takes him through the maize of the prison system and up an elevator. He’s been quiet, but Simon can tell he’s buzzing to talk. He likes hearing people talk, but he’s not really sure how to get the blond to start. 

“Um, I wanted to say thank you,” He starts, clearing his throat before he speaks.

Bright blue eyes turn to him, “Thank me? For what?”

“Buying out my sentence,” he gives Dr. Grace a little headbow because he’s kind of just decided fuck it, they know where he’s from, and you hadn’t had a bad reaction when he’d slipped up and done it twice to you. Besides, this may be a good test to see how Dr. Grace will react to being reminded he’s from Eden. If Marco was correct it didn’t sound like he had a real say in him being picked.

“Oh, yeah, you don’t have to thank me for that,” Dr. Grace laughs softly, “It felt weird to bring you into the family while you still were incarcerated by the C.O.I.”

The way he says ‘the C.O.I’ pings something in Simon’s brain, like Dr. Grace doesn’t count himself among them. He doesn’t ask though, he doubts Dr. Grace would give him that type of information freely. 

“Well, thank you then, for . . . bringing me into your family.” That felt even weirder to say. It would have been so much easier if they referred to him as the help or the servant, or even the convict they bought, but to be labelled as family already? After barely meeting you twice and Dr. Grace once? It was just weird. 

Dr. Grace shrugs, “We needed another set of hands, and Y/n said she fell in love with you the moment she saw your photo on file. Said something about how you looked strong and capable. I mean, I agree, of course, I’m excited to work with you in the lab. Oh! Y/n kept forgetting to ask, do you know anything about molecular biology or botany?”

“I know about botany, actually. I was trained to be a Gardner.” Simon didn’t realize the elevator would take this long. How deep in the station had he been? The very bottom?

“Great!! That’s incredible!! I’ll put you in charge of the plant studies then, we’ve been trying to grow different types of plants here, including trees and such. But the soil kind of sucks here so I think we need to try and see if we can genetically modify either the plants or the soil. I have a bunch of research material you can go over, probably some classes as well that you can take on the computer, just to fill in any gaps. Do you know if Eden teachings are pretty comprehensive? Like did you learn about the molecular structure of plants?” Dr. Grace is talking so quickly, and Simon realizes that it’s both of them that does that. And the way he so casually asks about Eden? Like it’s nothing? Like he knows anything about it and is comfortable with it?

“We did a little bit, enough to understand what the different plants needed.” He responds, the elevator finally signaling that they were at the top of where they needed to be, “But I’d like to learn more, if you would allow.”

The doors open and Dr. Grace turns to Simon with a serious expression, “Simon, you never have to get permission from me for something like that. Both Y/n and I love to learn, and anything you want to know, you can either ask us or ask Arm-ando, okay?”

“Who -” He stops himself, if no one had mentioned another person living with them, then he didn’t need to know about it. 

“Whoops, sorry, Arm-ando is our robot,” Dr. Grace laughs softly, starting to walk to a four person utility vehicle. Simon watches as he pulls a set of keys out of his pocket. They have a little beaded fox charm on them, “He helps with our health and can get you almost any answer you’re looking for that isn’t like, how we feel about something or whatever.”

Simon follows, waiting till Dr. Grace is settled in the vehicle before climbing into the passenger seat himself. There’s a little high walled basket under the dashboard in front of him. It’s dark green and looks to be made of a sturdy cloth.

“That’s for you, by the way.” Dr. Grace says, motioning to the basket as he starts the vehicle and guides it onto a pathway designated for them. 

“For me?” Simon’s brows knit together as he smooths the blanket on his lap, bending over to pick up the basket. 

“Yeah, Y/n wanted you to have it as soon as possible. I told her it could probably wait till we got home, but she insisted. And since Talbot wouldn’t allow her to come get you today as part of the agreement to let you come home early, I figured it wouldn’t hurt. She really sweet talked Talbot, you shoulda seen her.” Dr. Grace has a look of such fondness on his face, it’s obvious how much he loves you. It makes Simon’s heart clench a bit, and he’s not sure why. 

He peers into the basket and the first thing he notices is his mother’s sheath. He can’t help the small gasp that escapes his lips and he reaches in, stroking the leather with his thumb. How did you know about this? He thought it was lost forever, that they’d gotten rid of it with the rest of his clothes. 

“She’s really smart,” Dr. Grace says, conversationally, “She has this incredible knack for finding things out, getting information. I guess it has to do with her upbringing, she said she had to learn it. I’ll let her tell you her story, of course, but I think this is her way of trying to tell you that you're not alone, not anymore.”

Fuck, he doesn’t know how to respond to that. What was there to say? He could possibly blame the wind from the fast pace of their vehicle in his eyes for the tears that spring, but even if he tried Dr. Grace wouldn’t believe him. 

The next thing he pulls out is a small, dark green journal with a lock and key attached to it and a set of black pens. 

“I suggested it might be a good idea for you to have a place to put your thoughts that no one else can see. Y/n does the same thing, though she leaves her key in the lock because she knows I won’t invade her privacy like that. But we can get you a chain or something for yours so you can keep it close to you. I promise we won’t go through it, but I understand the trust isn’t there yet.” Dr. Grace shrugs a shoulder, taking a turn down a section of the station that’s much better lit than the common areas. 

Simon just nods and sets the journal to lean against his stomach. He almost doesn’t catch the way Dr. Grace’s eyes linger on his stomach, move up to his pecs. That’s an interesting development. Was Dr. Grace gay? Were you two in a marriage of convenience? Or was he possibly like Simon? He distracts himself with the next item, which is another large bag of sour skittles.

“Y/n said you really liked them, so I had a bigger stash made for you,” Dr. Grace smiles pleasantly, “We have more kinds than these, but these are my favorite, as she probably told you, so you’ll see more of them around the house. This one is for you to keep in your room and refill whenever you want. If you ever see that we’re out in the kitchen, just let one of us or Arm-ando know so we can place the order for more.”

Finally they get a section of the station with parking spots. Dr. Grace maneuvers to one that has ‘Grace Residence’ carefully painted on the outside of a large white box. There’s another one already parked, and Dr. Grace stops right next to it. He turns off the ignition and slips the keys back into his pocket, stretching as he does. 

“Do you by any chance know how to drive one of these?” Dr. Grace asks as Simon gets out, holding the basket and blanket close to his body.

He shakes his head and Dr. Grace purses his lips in thought, “That’s okay, we can teach you. You’ll need to be able to use one to get back and forth from the house to the lab. Unfortunately the lab is almost all the way across the station. It sucks but it’s a necessary evil. Once you learn how to drive one we’ll get you your own.”

“My own?” The words slip out of his lips before he can catch them, and he immediately wants to stuff them back inside. Why is he questioning anything right now? He needs to just be silent, let Dr. Grace talk to him, take in as much information as he can about who owns him now. 

Dr. Grace nods, motioning for him to follow down a hallway, “I need mine to get back and forth from the lab, Y/n needs hers for her errands, and you’ll need your own for the lab and for anything Y/n may need you to run out and get while she’s working. She’s probably already started making a charm for you.”

Simon watches as he pulls out his keys again and dangles the little fox charm, “She made me this a while ago, held up really well honestly. It helps us distinguish whose keys are whose. Very helpful early in the morning when I’m half asleep and the coffee hasn’t kicked in.”

It’s been a while since Simon has seen real beads or thought about coffee. 

It’s a trek down the hallway, they pass a handful of doors coated in different colors with different names. The only one he recognizes is the Talbot Residence. He quickens his pace as he walks past that one. Finally they make it to a yellow door, Grace Residence in script font affixed to it. Dr. Grace pulls his keys out again and slides a large one into the lock, turning it swiftly. 

“Darling?” Dr. Grace calls, stepping inside, leaving the door open for Simon to walk through. 

The inside is luxury unlike anything he’s ever seen before. He thinks this is what a real home on earth would have looked like. The floors are a medium stained wood, the walls a beautiful light blue, it reminds him of what the sky looked like in the documentaries from Earth he’d watched on Eden as a kid. Straight in is a white, fluffy carpeted, recessed living room with a step down into it, a dark grey sectional couch with fluffy cushions and blankets folded on it, a large TV mounted on the wall, and glass windows that have a simulated scenery of cliffs and waves playing. To the left is a decently large kitchen, and to the right is a dining room. The tables been set with three plates and three sets of utensils, as well as empty cups. 

There’s a hallway to the left and another to the right, but from where he is he can’t see down to take in what’s there. There are personal effects everywhere: pictures of Dr. Grace and you, a bookshelf half filled with science books and the other half filled with different types of literature. Against the glass window there’s also five different plants. He immediately spies a monstera, a pothos, a bird of paradise, a jade plant, and something he does recognize. They look brand new, a little neglected from where they’d been bought, but nothing he couldn’t get to perk up soon with a little care and attention. 

“Coming!” He hears our voice from down the hall to the left.

“So, what do you think, Simon?” Dr. Grace smiles, hands on his hips as he looks around as well, “We tried to make it as homey as possible, try to put as much of ourselves into it as we could while we’re here. You’ll have to tell us things you like too, so we can get some of you in here too.”

“It’s very nice, Dr. Grace.” Simon responds as he looks around again. He’s not sure what ‘some of him’ could mean. He wasn’t really much of him right now. So long in a jail cell will do that to someone. 

“Did Y/n not tell you you can call me Ryland?” He asks. At first Simon thinks it’s a rhetorical question, a type of question where they both know the answer and this is more of a reprimand than anything. But he takes a peak at Dr. Grace’s face and it’s open, earnest, confused. 

“Uh, yeah, she did.” He looks away, unable to meet Dr. Grace’s eyes. He doesn’t want to be asked why he won’t ever call him Ryland, why he won’t ever use your name either. You and Dr. Grace own him now. It wouldn’t be proper, wouldn’t be right. It would blur the lines too much, and the generosity between the two of you has already blurred a lot of things for him. 

Before Dr. Grace can ask though, you come walking in, wearing blue sweatshorts and a matching sweatshirt. The shorts are shorter than he’s seen any other person wear, and they cause a blush to creep to his face and he has to look away quickly. 

“Simon!” You cry, smiling wide, running over and throwing your arms around him in a big hug. He stiffens immediately, unsure what to do. He’d touched your skin in the cell briefly, but feeling it like this is causing electric pins and needles to sweep through his whole body. He wants to push you away, he wants to hold you closer. He does half of each, putting his arms around you and just holding them there.

He looks over at Dr. Grace, who's watching with a soft smile. He must be incredibly secure in his relationship with you, and the look he’s giving you makes him sure that he’s not fully gay. Dr. Grace’s eyes travel from where Simon’s hugging you to the swell of your ass, and yeah, Dr. Grace is definitely not fully gay. He’s most likely like Simon, half gay. It sends a little thrill through Simon for some reason, amplifying the electricity from your touch. You pull back too soon and cup his cheek with your hand, smiling blindingly at him. “I’m so happy you’re here and not in the cell anymore! I hated thinking about you being there.” You say, and he thinks the feeling of your palm on his cheek will be imprinted into his DNA forever. 

“She’s right, she ranted a lot about it,” Dr. Grace chuckles, dodging your swatting hand. 

“Honey, will you grab the stuff from the kitchen for breakfast while I show Simon around?” You ask Dr. Grace, and Simon is convinced that Dr. Grace will get huffy, that he’ll refuse, because kitchen duties aren’t a husband’s job. Instead though, Dr. Grace nods and the smile stays on his face as he walks into the kitchen. 

You grab Simon’s hand and tug him towards the hallway on the right, “C’mon, I wanna show you your room and bathroom first!”

His room and bathroom? He got his own room and bathroom?? Sure enough, straight down the hall is a closed door that you open, showing him a room bigger than his cell. There’s a large bed with silken looking black sheets, and a thick dark green comforter with plants etched in embroidery in the middle of the room. On either side are dark wood side tables. The walls are a rich, deep green, and there’s a false window set to the same rocky beach scene that’s out in the living room. There’s actual warm lights, a matching dark wood desk with a chair, empty shelves, and a closet with an open door, showing off all the clothes inside. The floors are that same wood from the front, but there’s a black rug under the bed that encompasses a good portion of the room. 

“This is you! I had the walls painted, if the color isn’t what you want just let me know! Also, since this was such short notice, I obviously never got your list, so I wasn’t sure about the things you wanted in here. We’ll go shopping tomorrow, I think today should just be about you settled in.” You’re bustling around the room, smoothing the sheets down, fluffing one of the four pillows on the bed, “However you want to decorate this room is up to you! I want you to feel at home, you know?” 

No, he doesn’t know. Even on Eden he’d never been given anything like this. A room of his own, with a lock? With a bed that looks like it could fit three people? Clean sheets, a wardrobe full of clothes, space for his few, meager possessions? What can he say to this? What would be enough of a repayment? 

“I - this is - I’m not . . . I’m not used to this.” He forces out, looking down at the blanket that’s still in his hands. He’s still holding the basket and the blanket. Part of him is terrified that if he sets them down they’ll disappear, that if he acknowledges that all of this is for him and he accepts it, that he’ll wake up right back in that cell and the guards will tell him neither you or Dr. Grace exists.

You pause your flitting, looking down at the bed and smoothing it again with your hand, thinking, “They don’t really prioritize comfort on Eden, do they?”

He shakes his head, “No, uh, they don’t.” 

“Well, Ryland and I prioritize it here. We’ve both been in situations where comfort was an after thought, and we made a vow that we would find comfort wherever we are, and that vow now extends to you, Simon. We want you comfortable here, okay?” You smile warmly at him, “I mean it, I know you won’t believe me for a little while, I understand what Eden’s indoctrination does to a person. But I’m going to do my best to show you every day, okay?”

That’s the first moment Simon thinks he might be in a different kind of trouble. 

—-------

The first few weeks are a whirlwind of getting settled into the sporadic routine of the Grace household. During the week Dr. Grace will leave early in the morning, before you’re awake generally, and come home before dinner. Simon has started making sure he’s awake before Dr. Grace is so he can have coffee ready in a thermos after the fourth time Dr. Grace came home complaining about having to go to the cafeteria for his coffee ration. The first time he did it Dr. Grace had jumped when he noticed Simon in the kitchen, he wasn’t expecting to see him there. 

“Oh! Hey Simon, is everything okay?” Dr. Grace had asked after jumping out of his skin. 

Simon held a thermos out to him that he’d dug out from the bag of the cabinet, it was blue with stars on it. It held more coffee than the one Dr. Grace always forgot so Simon thought it would be better received. 

“Is . . . is that for me?” Dr. Grace asked, gingerly taking it from him. He slid back the top and took a sniff, “Oh! You made me coffee??”

Nodding, Simon shifted from foot to foot, “Yeah, you, uh, complained about forgetting it and I’m normally awake at this time,” he was not, “so I figured I would just have it ready for you.”

“Ugh you’re a fudging angel, thank you so much!” Dr. Grace had taken a sip as he walked out, “Bye Simon, have a great day!!” 

That was about a week into living here, and every morning he wonders when Dr. Grace is going to take him with him to the lab. So far he hasn’t, which has left Simon to find things to do around the house. He’s fixed everything already, there had been a few small leaks here and there, the air conditioning was sporadic, he’d also learned how to mount the TV on the wall and how to hide the cords. Yesterday he was so bored he sorted the books on the shelf by authors last name while keeping respect to the fact that the science based books were kept separate. 

You didn’t have as strict a schedule as Dr. Grace, so it was hard for Simon to pin down when you would be out of the house or not. It seemed like you did a lot of random work here and there, mainly keeping people company. You mentioned to Simon that you used to have people over often, but wouldn’t for a while until he was fully settled in. He was grateful for that, he didn’t really want to deal with people staring at him or being weird towards him, didn’t want to put either of you in that situation. 

Simon was quickly growing . . . fond of you and Dr. Grace. It was weird, how quickly he felt like he assimilated into your lives. You never forgot to set out a third place setting, never forgot to make a third portion of food. You’ve added him into the movie night picking rotation and he’s gotten to watch whatever he wants with you and Dr. Grace. He has his own blanket on the couch including the blue one he’d first gotten in his room. It’s all very . . . domestic. 

It’s early in the morning a month in and he’s waiting for the coffee pot to percolate, Dr. Grace’s thermos freshly washed out by it. His thoughts are hazy in the early morning, the after images of his dreams flitting through. Images of soft skin, blue eyes, a warm feminine voice. It’s interrupted by slow footsteps heading towards him from the hallway. He turns to look, seeing Dr. Grace in an oversized sleep shirt and short boxers. 

He’s seen Dr. Grace in an outfit like this before once, when Simon couldn’t sleep and he’d been reading. Dr. Grace had come out to get a glass of water and hadn’t noticed Simon on the couch with a little reading light you had given him that day. He’d let himself watch Dr. Grace move over the top of his book, ready to look down if he saw him. Even if he had wanted to, Simon wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from looking at Dr. Grace’s ass, his long, mostly bare legs. Simon had to concede that he thought Dr. Grace was attractive, wouldn’t have minded having someone like him in Eden to fool around with. Though honestly, Simon also felt the same way about you.

“Mornin’, Si,” Dr. Grace yawns, voice soft, “I need you to come with me to the lab today if that’s okay?”

That was a new nickname, Dr. Grace hasn’t used it before, he likes it. 

“Yeah, I can do that.” Simon keeps his voice soft as well, not wanting to wake you, “Do I need to bring anything?”

Dr. Grace shakes his head, another yawn overtaking his face, “Nah, just wear long sleeves and pants. I’m gonna have you sorting through some things for me. I got another project put on my desk last night and I need another set of hands to make sure the old project gets finished.”

“I’ll go get ready.” Simon nods, heading back to his room. He feels Dr. Grace reach out to him and grab his wrist gently. He stops, looking back at the blond with confusion.

“Wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve done around here, before I forget again,” Dr. Grace’s smile is warm, unguarded, something like fondness in his eyes, “I keep forgetting, scatterbrained.”

“Uh, it’s nothing, just trying to be useful.” Simon shrugs, the feeling of Dr. Grace’s skin on his sending sparks up his arm. What is wrong with him? Sure he doesn’t really get human touch even now, it’s like the two of you are hyper careful about not touching him, but it’s just Dr. Grace.

Dr. Grace squeezes his wrist, “Well, even so, thank you. You also don’t have to be useful to be important to us, by the way.”

He has no idea what to do with that. You and Dr. Grace say shit like that all the time to him and no matter how many times he hears something like that he can’t get a hold of the blush or the way his mind races at a million miles an hour. When he doesn’t say anything Dr. Grace lets go of his wrist and pats his shoulder, heading back to his and your bedroom. 

Simon shakes his head and goes and gets ready, a little more worked up than normal. It was because of the dream he had last night, the one with two bodies next to him in his bed that he couldn’t remember who they belonged to, as well as Dr. Grace’s pajamas and his honeyed words. He gets frustrated as he tugs on the navy blue long sleeve shirt, this all would be so much easier if you both treated him like he deserved to be, like a convict, a bad guy. But neither of you did, you both treated him like a person, like a human being without blood on his hands. 

He’s pouring the coffee into a second thermos, one with a yellow sun on it, when Dr. Grace comes out, dressed in his usual khakis, blue striped polo, and that stupidly endearing cardigan with the foxes on it. 

“You ready?” He asks Simon, taking the thermos Simon holds out to him with a nod of appreciation. 

“Lead the way.” Simon nods, following behind Dr. Grace. 

—-------

A couple months in all three are sitting at the dining room table after a long day of research for Simon. Dr. Grace had given him a project of his own, trying to figure out why the soil on the station won’t let any plants take deep root. Simon spent all day researching different ph levels, what makes roots tunnel so deep, what would cause a root to travel back upwards instead of down when there was plenty of soil. He was tired mentally, and honestly it was a pleasant feeling to not be so in his head. He’s never flexed his brain muscle this hard before, he really likes it. 

“Simon, could you please pass the mashed potatoes?” You ask, patting his arm to get his attention.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” He mumbles, reaching over and grabbing the bowl. He hears Dr. Grace’s cutting stop and he looks over, noticing both of your surprised faces, “Did . . . did I say something?” 

“You, uh, called me sweetheart.” Your smile is confused, but it’s trying to not be anything that might scare him. 

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck how had that slipped through?? He’s been holding it back for the last month, somehow your name had morphed into sweetheart in his head because that’s exactly what you were, a sweetheart. You were so nice and sweet to everyone around you, especially him and sunshine- Dr. Grace. Yeah, another fucking thing he had to deal with. While you were sweetheart, Dr. Grace had somehow become sunshine. He couldn’t even bring himself to use your first names, why was he so hung up on cute little pet names?

“I’m so sorry,” He says after a moment of pure panic, “I, uh, it won’t-”

“It’s okay,” Dr. Grace says, shrugging, turning back down to his plate, “She is a sweetheart, though that’s not a pet name I tend to use, right darling?”

You nod, turning back to your own plate, “And I don’t mind it, I think it’s cute.”

Simon stares at the two of you for longer than he probably should, trying to understand how he isn’t being punished, especially by Dr. Grace. He’d just called the man's wife a pet name reserved for husbands. Why was he letting that slide? Acting like it didn’t matter? That it was normal? Eden’s Roots they were so fucking kind to him. 

“Um, R-” Simon clears his throat and starts again, determined to get it out, “Ryland, you offered to teach me about the water cycle, could we do that tomorrow?” The smile that broke across Ryland’s face was in one word: beautiful. Simon thinks it’s radiant, beautiful, and he wants to see it again. He sneaks a look at you and you have the same fucking smile on your face. Fucking hell, it’s just his luck that he’s so insanely attracted to both of you. 

“Yeah!! I would love to teach you about the water cycle!!” Ryland says, still beaming, “Also, I really like hearing you say my name. I mean, I like hearing you say anything, but especially my name, if that makes sense? Like you could probably recite the alphabet and I would like to listen, so you can say anything really-” 

He sees you lay your hand on Ryland’s forearm gently, which interrupts the weird spiral he was going down. Simon doesn’t miss the appreciative look he gives you, or the way you laugh softly. 

“I think what Ryland is saying, is that we’re very glad you’re starting to feel more comfortable here. It’s what we’ve been hoping for, honestly.” You place your other hand on Simon’s arm, and the three of you are connected for a moment. 

He likes feeling connected.

—-------

Ryland is crying again. 

Simon knows why, it’s because Ryland hasn’t really slept the last week and he’s been freaking out over an experiment that keeps failing. Simon is sitting at the kitchen table, unsure what to do right now. He wants to try and comfort Ryland, but he’s not sure how to. There’s also the fact that Ryland is trying to pretend like he’s not crying, hiding behind his tablet, his sniffles soft and quiet. Finally Simon stands, heading over to the couch and sitting down on the other side of it, still looking at the book he’s reading. Simon’s kind of hoping that his close proximity will help, but it seems like when Ryland sees him he just cries harder. He flounders, trying to think of something to say, when finally you enter the living room, humming softly under your breath.

“Hey you two how - Ryland? Honey, are you okay?” You ask after seeing Ryland’s tear streaked face. You quickly hustle over and sit next to him, a questioning glance at Simon, who shrugs. You know Ryland’s been overworking himself again, it happens at least once a month. He doesn’t know, however, why his presence is making it worse. 

Simon feels really bad about it, he wants to be helpful, wants to be good for you both. He thought he’d been doing really good, you both seemed really happy with him. But how good could he be if he couldn’t comfort Ryland when he was crying? “Sorry, sorry, I’m just . . . so tired,” Ryland hiccups, looking at you. Simon sees the way his eyes cut to Simon for a moment before going right back to your face. 

“It’s okay, you’ve been working too hard. You agree with me, right, Si?” You soothe, running your fingers through Ryland’s hair. Simon immediately clocks the way Ryland leans into the touch, how much it calms him down. 

“Yeah, yeah sunshine, you’ve been working too hard,” Simon echoes, entranced by the action, not realizing he’s let the nickname slip. He’s been so good about it since that time at dinner. 

He hears Ryland’s soft, wet gasp at Simon’s words, his words almost a whisper, “Have I?”

You nod, and Simon watches as you lean forward and kiss Ryland on the lips. There’s a deep ache in Simon as he watches that, unsure of who he wants to be more: you or Ryland. Or both, maybe. Maybe he wants to be in the middle . . . maybe he wants to feel both of your lips on him.

Ryland melts into your touch, tugging you onto his lap, your lips still connected. The tears have stopped streaming down his face, replaced with a primal need that Simon wants to continue watching, but finds himself quickly standing and heading towards his room. He can’t watch, he can’t intrude on this private moment between the two of you. And if he takes care of himself in the privacy of his bedroom, listening to the soft moans and whimpers from the living room, then that’s his cross to bear. 

—-------

“Hey Simon, did I ever tell you where I’m from?” You ask one afternoon as he cleans the kitchen.

He’s got his hair up in a bun, gloves on, scouring the oven. It’s a once a month chore and you’d mentioned that you had it on your list, so he decided to do it before you could. This was what he was here for, after all, to make you and Ryland’s lives better. He wasn’t needed in the lab that day, and he really didn’t have anything planned save for pruning the plants and sweeping the floors. 

You’d come into the kitchen a few minutes prior, surprised to see him already halfway done. 

“No, you haven’t.” He grunts out in response, trying to get a particularly tough build up of food out. Ryland always made such a fucking mess when he cooked, no matter what it was. Simon would bet anything this was from that stupid cheesy chicken casserole he made a week ago. 

He hears you walk over, your footsteps soft. You sink to the ground next to him, leaning your back against the cabinets as you watch him work. He pulls out of the oven and looks over at you, and eyebrow raised, waiting for you to start talking. He doesn’t really know much about you or Ryland’s past, just that you both don’t really view yourself as part of the C.O.I.

“Well, I was born on Mars,” You start just as he sticks his head back in the oven to work over that spot. He pauses his movements, listening intently. You were born on Mars? Like him?

You’re quiet for a few minutes, maybe gathering the strength to say what comes next. He knows you weren’t on Mars during The Quiet Rapture, or you wouldn’t be here. 

“My family made the leap to Eden a few years before The Quiet Rapture.” Your words are soft, contemplative, trying to distance yourself from what you’re saying by making it sound like a story or an academic paper, “And I spent most of my life there.” 

He keeps his head in the oven, worried that if he moves the spell will be broken and you’ll walk away, giving him nothing more. 

“I, uh, I was in your classes, growing up.” You confess, nervous, “You kept to yourself and I . . . I didn’t want to be on Eden so I never made any friends. I think the only reason I knew who you were was because of your connection to Claude.”

Claude, Father Claude, the Father. He’s never heard anyone say Father’s first name like that before. It felt wrong, a hold over from living with the man and his brothers for so long. But damn, you were there? Why didn’t he remember you?

You continue, he’s not sure how you take his silence but you keep talking anyways, “I ended up being designated as a Finder. I found scattered bits of information that float in the vacuum of space between the different stations and factions. I was the one who came in contact with Ryland’s ship first when it circled around. It was all so hush, hush, I don’t think even the Sons of Eden were made aware.”

“We weren’t made aware of a lot, despite popular thought,” Simon says finally, pulling out of the oven. He looks at you and sees how scared you look, like he’s going to tell you how much he despises you, demand to know why you didn’t tell him before. 

He honestly had a feeling you were from Eden, or at least had been there. Little things that added up to the picture that’s been laid out in front of him. The way you didn’t flinch at his head bow, how you casually used Eden verbiage sometimes. It makes sense, honestly. 

“So, did you know I was . . . Who I am when you came to the prison?” he asks, sitting back on his haunches and wiping his gloved hands on a towel. 

You nod, “Talbot’s partner mentioned a few weeks before I met with you that a person from Eden had been in the prison for a while, that Ava was looking for volunteers for her program. Ryland and I hadn’t been told of any prisoners surviving Filament. I mean, it made sense why we weren’t, no one knows I’m from Eden. But when I was told Ryland agreed to go and see who it was. I recognized you instantly.”

“Why did you save me?” His voice is soft, a little broken. Suddenly there’s a new angle to this, to you and Ryland buying out his sentence, saving him from what he knows now after reports spread around the station of the AT-5 incident, “You knew who I was . . . what I’d done . . . and you still saved me?”

“Oh, Simon, the things you did weren’t your fault.” You sigh, looking at him intently with your soft eyes, “Claude made you believe it was the only thing you were good at. Being . . . being Him.”

Being the Butcher. 

For the longest time he did believe that. He did believe that the only thing he was good at was killing and hurting and ripping apart lives. Had believed it until you and Ryland threw yourselves into his life and helped him see he was actually kind and gentle and loving. 

Leaves Above, he was loving now. He did things out of love, because he wanted to, because he wanted to make you and Ryland feel happy and good. He didn’t think like a man in a cage anymore, didn’t look for exits immediately walking into a room. You both gave him a freedom he never experienced before. He has his own space, his own vehicle, his own things. Anything he requested was given to him with a smile. 

“I’m sorry,” You say, voice small, looking away, “I should have told you sooner.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He smiles, turning back to the oven, “I’m just glad we both got out.” 

—-------

It’s almost a year in when Ryland is called to assist an exploratory ship. You’re beside yourself with worry, pacing in Simon’s room as he sits on the bed. It’s his day off and he’d been scrolling through a catalogue, trying to figure out something he could get each of you for his anniversary of coming to live with you two. Ryland had given him a line of credit a week after arriving and he’d only used it a handful of times: once to get himself a plant for his room, and another time to order hot chocolate mix. He knew you two were getting him something, he’d accidentally overheard the other night and he wants to make sure he has something in return. 

“I can’t believe they’re doing this, again!” You’re ranting. He’s listening and halfway watching your form as it moves back and forth. He’s got a little debate with himself on whether or not you’re going to wear a path in his floor, “They promised he would be done with these!!”

“Can’t he just tell them no?” Simon asks, glancing up, “And is it really that bad? It’s supposed to be exploratory, right?”

“He tried to tell them no, said I needed him here, that the station needed him here, but they refused. They said they wanted him to do studies on board of the thing they plan on picking up. They won’t even tell him what the thing is!! It feels bad, Simon, I hate it. I don’t like him being so far away from us.”

Simon watches in horror as you start to cry, big tears filling your eyes. He jumps up quickly, taking you in his arms and holding you tight to his body, “Hey, hey it’s okay! Ryland will be okay, I promise. He can take care of himself.”

You cling to him, and he can feel you try to get a hold of yourself, to stop the tears from flowing. It’s not working, in fact you're just crying harder. He wants to comfort you somehow, to distract you from your spiraling, but he doesn’t know how. He hates when either of you cry, Ryland tends to cry when he’s over tired and over stressed, you cry when you’re overly emotional. He’s seen the way you and Ryland stop each other from crying, but there’s no way he can do that, no way he can go that far. He still remembers the first time, can still see it in his mind's eye. 

“What if he dies?? What if something happens and he leaves us alone??” You sob, gripping the front of his shirt tight, tears dampening the front of his shirt, “I can’t live without him, Simon!!”

Simon walks the two of you back, feeling the back of his knees hit the bed. He sits and pulls you onto his lap, feeling the way your knees bracket his hips. Your move against him as you situated yourself more comfortable, and he takes in the look of surprise on your face. Thankfully the tears have stopped, but you're still sniffling a bit. 

“You back with me, sweetheart?” He asks gently, trying to ignore how close your face is to his. It wouldn’t take much to bring his lips to yours, to taste you after so long wanting you. 

Your gaze is a little dazed, you aren’t back with him, clearly, but at least you aren’t crying actively anymore. 

“He’s gonna be okay, I promise. Sunshine isn’t gonna leave us. He’s gonna go on the trip and come back before we know it.” Simon soothes, rubbing your back. He leans his forehead on yours, as close as he’ll allow himself to get to your face.

“Simon?” You whisper, voice still thick from the tears.

“Yeah?” He whispers back, feeling the change in the air. It’s no longer a desperation for Ryland’s safety, but a desperation for something else. 

He feels your lips on his before he fully understands what’s happening. He’s moving his mouth against yours, drunk off the sensation, feeling the way you draw yourself tighter to him. He’s had so many dreams of this moment, and it’s better than even his imagination could come up with. Your lips are soft against his, insistent. Your tongue swipes against his lips and he opens them for you with a soft groan, allowing you to slip your tongue inside his mouth and explore. He grasps the small of your back, feeling the way your shirt rides up so he can touch your bare skin. You suck on his bottom lip, drawing it into your mouth and biting down on it softly. The gasp that escapes him brings a smile to your face and you do it again. He feels your fingers dig into his back, pulling yourself even closer, your clothed heat dragging along the bulge in his pants. It draws another gasp from him, and his hands go to your hips, holding them tight. Whether or not he plans on stilling your hips or moving them back and forth he isn’t sure, because he hears a throat clear from his doorway.

Breaking the kiss quickly, he looks over at Ryland, who’s standing there, leaning against the doorframe. The reality of what just happened comes crashing over him like a tidal wave, pulling him under into the depths of panic. Eden’s Roots he just kissed another man’s wife. Another man’s wife is on his lap, grinding down in his erection still. 

“Hey honey,” Simon can hear the smile in your voice, feels your lips kiss his jaw.

“Hi darling,” Ryland smirks, and Simon’s never seen this look on Ryland, this . . . self-assured arch to his brow, the slight purse of his lips, the hungry eyes. 

Ryland moves then, pushing off the doorframe and using his long legs to close the distance towards them with ease. Simon braces. He’s not sure for what honestly, for Ryland to deck him probably. Instead, Ryland gently grabs him by the back of his head and slots his lips against Simon’s in a possessive kiss. Simon has never kissed a man before, and he’s sure that he’ll never want to kiss another man other than Ryland again. The kiss is everything he’s dreamed about, just like with you. In his dreams though, he’s the dominant one, moving both of you to his whims, taking what he’s craved since the moment he’s met both of you. It’s obvious now though, as Ryland bullies his tongue into Simon’s mouth, that will not be the case. And he’s more than okay with that. 

You’re still moving your hips against him, your lips moving from his jaw down to his neck, down to the juncture between that and his shoulder. You bite down softly and he whimpers against Ryland’s lips.

“You like that, sugar?” You ask, nipping again at the same spot, soothing your tongue over it.

His lips are still on Ryland’s or he would be nodding emphatically. Instead he whines, his hands tightening on your hips. He hears your pretty laugh and Ryland pulls away from his mouth - he already misses the feeling on his lips. 

“Stop teasing him, darling.” Ryland admonishes, burying his fingers in your hair and tugging back gently. You willingly follow where he leads, arching her head back, exposing the column of your throat.

Ryland turns to him, a wicked grin on his face, “Do you want to give her a little payback?” 

He looks between the two of you, wild eyed. He wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into the soft skin of your shoulder, to mark you up. But this is insane, right?? There’s not a world in which he gets to have this, have both of you, wanting him. 

“C’mon, starlight, bite her back. She gave you a pretty bruise, give her one too.” Ryland coaxes, using his hand to move your head back farther, a little whine leaving you at the sensation. You're humping his lap still, chasing friction that isn’t enough to satisfy you. 

Finally he leans in and attaches his lips to your skin, biting softly at first. He feels your whole body shudder and he bites down harder, drinking in the moan that spills over him. Fucking hell that sound is like music to him, so much better in front of him than separated between walls.

“Good boy,” Ryland coos, smoothing his hand over the back of Simon’s head. Well, he didn’t expect to like that so much. 

Simon pulls back and kisses you again, feeling Ryland’s hand still on him, knowing Ryland’s other hand is fisted in your hair. The idea that he’s touching both of you while you kiss makes his cock twitch and he’s desperate for it to be freed, to be touched. He wants so badly to be buried inside you or Ryland in some way, doesn’t matter which way. Keeping on hand on your hip he removes the other, waving it around, trying to find purchase on Ryland somewhere. He makes contact with Ryland’s side and holds on tight, shucking up Ryland’s shirt so he can grab onto the bare skin there. Ryland’s chuckle just spurs him on, breaking the kiss with you in order to drag kisses down to your collarbone, sucking marks there.

“Oh fuck, Simon!” your voice is breathy, like heaven, like sin. 

“He making you feel good, darling?” Ryland asks, leaning forward and placing a couple quick kisses on your mouth.

“Wanna taste him, please can I taste him, honey?” You plead, moving your hips faster against Simon’s aching, still clothed cock. 

“Only if he wants you too,” Ryland’s voice is patient, with an edge of barely constrained hunger and want, “Simon, do you want Y/n to suck your cock?”

He can’t lift his head fast enough to respond, in fact the sudden motion triggers a bit of vertigo, but he powers through to say, “Yes! Yes please!”

You lift yourself off Simon’s lap, and Ryland quickly removes your shirt, letting Simon get a good look at the soft flesh there, at your breasts. He brings his hands up slowly, waiting to be told no, but Ryland and you watch eagerly as he places his hands there, kneading them reverently, listening to your soft noises in wonder. 

“Isn’t she pretty?” Ryland asks, voice low, “She’s been so needy for you, starlight. We both have.”

“Really?” He breathes, looking between the two of you.

“Yeah, we have.” you bite your bottom lip, “for a while now . . . we weren’t sure if you felt the same.”

“I do, fuck, I do. Been dreaming about this for so long.” He removes his hands and slides off his own shirt, eager to feel both of you.

Clothes are removed quickly and Ryland guides Simon to rest with his back against his head board in the middle of the bed. Simon feels a bit self conscious, exposed, completely naked on the bed with you and Ryland there. How many times has he dreamed of this? Honestly too many to count, but it was nothing like the real deal. 

He watches as you crawl up the bed towards him and get settled between his legs, looking at him with a wide, eager smile. Ryland kneels on the bed next to him, capturing his lips again in another possessive, fiery kiss. He leans into it, jumping only a little when he feels your lips on his cock, feather light kisses up and down his hard shaft. He whimpers into Ryland’s mouth, and Ryland runs his hands over Simon’s skin, just feeling him. Simon brings his hand up and encircles Ryland’s waist, holding him close to his side. 

When your lips close around him fully he gasps softly, feeling the smile on Ryland’s face. Ryland pulls back a bit, lips barely brushing over Simon’s, “How does her mouth feel, starlight?”

“So good,” Simon moans softly as you travel farther down his shaft, tongue flat against him, “So fucking good!”

“Yeah, she’s so good with her mouth, aren’t ya, darling?” Ryland coos, placing his hand on your head and guiding you down faster just a little bit. You hum against his cock, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of him on your tongue, of Ryland’s hand on your head. 

Simon watches with wide eyes as his cock disappears more and more into your wet mouth, getting closer and closer to the back of your throat. When it hits he sucks in a ragged breath, hips twitching as you swallow around his cockhead. 

Ryland gently guides Simon’s head to look at him, “Are you good with your mouth too, starlight?” 

He nods quickly, “Yeah, yeah can I taste you?”

“Of course, asking so pretty for me, of course I’ll let you taste me.” Ryland breathes, Simon’s words obviously getting to him. He maneuvers himself so it’s easier for Simon to draw Ryland’s hard cock into his mouth and run his tongue up and down, circling the tip once, twice, a third time. Ryland’s moan above him is like an aphrodisiac. 

Simon’s eyes flick down as he sucks Ryland off, making eye contact with you as you bob your head up and down. You’re watching with enrapt eyes, hand starting down to your cunt and starting to rub your clit as you watch. He wants to tease you, to ask if you’re enjoying the show, but with the way he’s fucking his mouth on Ryland’s cock, it’s impossible. Besides, he doesn’t want to take his mouth off for a second, even to try and draw more whimpers from you. You’re doing a fine job on your own anyways, yours and Ryland’s moans filling his bedroom like a fantasy come true. 

He starts to get close, to close, and somehow you sense it. You pull back with an obscene pop, smiling wide, panting a little bit, “Can I ride you while you suck Ryland’s cock?”

You’re already straddling his hips when he pulls back and nods, gasping in quick breaths, “Please, wanna feel you around my cock, sweetheart.”

“I agree, let’s see you bounce on his cock, darling.” Ryland smiles wide, leaning over and giving you a quick kiss. 

You line yourself up and sink down slowly, and Simon whines at the feeling. Your pussy is so warm and slick, your walls like velvet around him. He’s worried he won’t last long with how good you feel, how good this all feels. Then Ryland gently tangles his fingers in Simon’s hair, brings his head back to his cock, and slots himself deep in Simon’s throat. He starts fucking into him gently, watching as you bounce and whimper and moan. Ryland matches your pace and Simon feels so full, it’s incredible. Tears prick his eyes at the sensations and he’s never felt so happy to just be used before. He doesn’t feel like it’s a bad kind of used, it’s a kind where you both care so much about him that if he wanted you’d both stop immediately. He’s confident that if he pushed back against the cock bullying his throat Ryland would immediately stop and ask him what’s wrong, how he can fix it. Same for you, if he put his hands on your hips and stilled you you would check in with him, ask what’s wrong. He trusts you two in a way he’s never trusted anyone else before. He loves you two. 

Ryland pulls out of his throat after a few sloppy thrusts, panting heavily. Simon watches as he pinches the base of his cock, trying to stave off the release he was close too.

“Fuck,” Rylands pants, voice wrecked, “God, Simon, your throat is incredible. You’re incredible.”

He kisses Simon again (Simon’s never been kissed this much during sex before) before getting off the bed, legs a little wobbly, “I’ll be right back, don’t stop.”

Both you and Simon nod quickly and Ryland laughs softly as he quickly heads out the door. 

You attach your lips to his as you roll your hips, kissing him like you needed the air from his lungs to breathe. He willingly gives it, putting both hands on your hips and feeling the motion as you grind into him. He thrusts up into you on a whim, then does it again when you gasp so sweetly into his mouth. 

“Simon!” You whimper, nails digging into his shoulder, the pinpricks of pain so sweet.

“Is that the right spot, sweetheart?” He murmurs, snapping his hips up harder, “Is that the spot that makes you see stars?” 

“Yes!! Yes!! Feels so good, love it!! Please!! More!!” you plead, babble really, voice high pitched as whiney. It sounds so good to his ears, his cock twitches as he drives up into you again and again.

Ryland comes back shortly holding a bottle of lube. He stands and watches for a moment, appreciating the sight of his wife and Simon joined like this. 

“Pause for a moment,” He says then, and the tone of his voice leaves no room for argument or disobedience. With a whimper Simon stills his hips, looking around you at the blond. 

“Simon, how would you feel about my cock in you?” Ryland asks, crawling up the bed and moving behind you, pressing his front to your back, “If you don’t want to right now I can always fuck Y/n’s ass, it’s up to you, pretty boy.”

Pretty boy. Roots Below The Last Tree, Simon’s never heard anything so filthy, so salacious, so hot.

“I want it,” He whimpers, fingers flexing on your hips. He wonders distantly if they’ll leave a bruise, if you’ll wake up in the morning and see the marks on your skin and think of him. He’ll carry marks of the two of you forever, burned into his soul, into his DNA. He’ll never, ever be the same after this. And that’s okay with him. 

Ryland smiles wide, brilliant, blinding, and he instantly preens, ecstatic to have made Ryland so happy, “I was hoping you would say that, pretty starlight.”

Ryland moves you off Simon’s lap, depositing you next to him. He then grabs Simon by the calves and yanks him down so he’s laying flat on the bed. Ryland’s strength surprises him, he didn’t think the scientist would be able to mandhandle him like that. He loves it. Ryland then directs you back on Simon’s cock, pressing a hand to your back, laying you flat on top of Simon. He’s surprised for a moment, he thought Ryland would have you sit on his face, but instead he lets you sink back down on him, lets his cock warm in your fluttery cunt. You must be close, he sure is. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go slow. Darling, will you fuck your sweet little cunt on his cock? Help loosen him up?” Ryland asks, voice sugary sweet in contradiction with his filthy words. 

You nod and start moving your hips again, yanking another long, low moan from Simon. You bite into his collarbone and immediately soothe the area with your tongue. Your teeth drag dark colors to the surface from shoulder to shoulder, the pain so delicious it almost makes him miss the generous slathering of lube on his asshole, almost makes him miss when Ryland slowly presses his cockhead in. He doesn’t miss it though, thank Mary, he feels every push, every bit of stretch, as Ryland slowly slides home. 

“Ah! F-fu-uck! Ryland! Y/n!” He moans, holding onto you like you're the only solid thing left in the world. You keep bouncing on his cock, keeping a steady rhythm, sucking a harsh mark in front of the base of his throat. 

Ryland moans as he bottoms out, holding onto Simon’s knees, which are spread as far as they’ll go on the bed, “Simon, holy fuck, you’re so tight, you feel so good! Such a good boy, taking my cock, letting Y/n ride you. You’re so perfect, so fucking perfect for us!”

Simon loves the praise, loves every little bit of it. He didn’t realize how much it would affect him, being your and Ryland’s good, pretty boy, but he loves it, wants to do anything and everything to keep that title, to please you both. 

You’re nodding along with Ryland’s words, hips moving faster and faster as you chase your climax, “Yes!! Yes!! So good for us!! Love it, love you, love you, Simon!!”

“Yeah, yeah, love you, Simon, fuck, love all of you!” Ryland’s voice is breaking the closer he gets. 

Simon is about to tip over the edge from the words, from the feeling of fucking and being fucked. It’s all so much, so good, so much, so everything. There’s not a world in which he gives this up, where he doesn’t confess the thing he’s been hiding for months now, the reason he gets up early in the morning, the reason he tries so hard to please you both. He’s in love with both of you.

“I love you both too!!” He forces out, tears in his eyes. He lets go of your left hip and reaches out to Ryland, who takes his hand and squeezes tight. 

From there it devolves into streams of moans, whimpers, whines, praises, declarations. You’re the first to tip over the edge and into euphoria, collapsing onto Simon. He holds you tight as you keep moving your hips against his, wanting him to cum as well.

“C’mon starlight, ‘m so close, you are too, I know you are. Be good for me, for us, fill her with your cum, make her drip with you.” Ryland babbles, his rutting turning sloppy, driving in and out of him at a relentless pace. 

And he does, he climaxes with a choking sob, holding your hips down onto his cock as he releases deep inside you, painting your walls with his hot cum. Ryland follows immediately after and he gets a taste of what you must feel as Ryland fills him up as well. 

Three panting, sweaty bodies lay still on top of each other as the three come down from the euphoric high. He can’t believe that just happened, that he was allowed to be a part of that. He feels like the luckiest man in the world, a man who doesn’t deserve a second chance and not only gets it, but gets it with the best people this cruel universe has to offer. He wants to hold you both tight and never let you go.

Ryland pulls out first, pressing a couple kisses first to the back of Simon’s hand that he’s still holding, then to the back of your shoulder as you lay on top of Simon’s chest still. 

Simon watches as he makes his way to the bathroom, running the water for a moment. He comes back with a damp washcloth and gets to work cleaning all three of you up. You sigh happily, nuzzling your head into the crook of his next. His softened cock is still inside your slick pussy, but neither of you make a move to remedy that. Ryland doesn’t comment on it, in fact he’s careful to not dislodge it as he cleans, humming softly to himself. 

After he’s done, Ryland lays down next to Simon on his side, curling around both of you, resting his head on the pillow next to Simon’s head. 

“What do you say about us getting a bigger bed?” Ryland smiles as you slip into a content sleep. 

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” Simon laughs softly, kissing your forehead, then turning to kiss Ryland’s nose. 

“Good, good. We meant it, you know.” Ryland yawns a bit, removing his glasses and placing them far away from where he might accidentally roll over on them.