Chapter Text
The artificial sun of our enclosure floats through the window and lands warmly on Ryland’s stomach where he squirms, content, with as much of his bare skin as possible pressed to mine. Scars and all, he’s never once shied away from my touch even though I think he should; Why would something as pure as an angel ever want to touch me? Convict, butcher, monster-
Almost as if he can hear me berating myself again and spiralling into less than productive thoughts, Ryland turns in his sleep and presses his cheek against my chest with a soft grunt that shatters something small and vital in me. I could’ve ignored him and kept at it, I could’ve gotten up entirely so he couldn’t cast whatever gentle spell he’d infused into himself that calmed me…but I didn’t. I just took a breath, calm and practiced, as I ran my fingers through his hair to cup the base of his skull. I know why he’s so tired and that’s eating at me too, the fact that he’d been awake for 36 hours trying to help the Eridians build me an arm and crashed on his desk in a puddle of his own drool was…my fault. I grimaced and reached for one of Ryland’s hands where it lay on my skin and held it, pulling it away from mottled and irregular scar tissue like it might contaminate him.
I know I would lay my life down for him willingly at this point, if it would keep him alive then I wouldn’t hesitate. I have nothing and no one tethering me to Erid or anywhere else; If Ryland were to be taken from me, I’d walk into Erid’s atmosphere in nothing but the skin I was born in and wait for my blood to nourish the soil.
My thoughts must’ve been loud enough for Ryland to hear though, because he cracks one blue eye open and squints at me in the dim light with a pout before his hand finds mine and squeezes. “Simon, get some rest,” he whispers, lips tickling against my chest more than his hair against my chin, and he sighs under his breath before he sits up to run a hand through the blonde rat nest he was working up on his head.
“Sorry Angel…thinking too loud?” I reply, shifting to lie with my head in his lap as he flops over me with a hum to hold me loosely. I only get a nod in return and his lips brush gently over tender scars, absent affection flowing from him like it was the easiest thing in the world.
“‘S the only thing you do that’s loud, Starlight,” My savior laughs softly and nuzzles my skin with his stubble, his breath warm as it washes over me in his half-awake state. We don’t exchange many more words before sleep steals us both away for the rest of the night, uncaring that we’re both going to be sore in the morning from the ridiculous position we’re in.
The next day finds me in the greenhouse, my sanctuary away from the chattering Eridians and Ryland’s heartbreakingly gentle eyes, and I’m buried up to my wrist in a bed of budding tomatoes when the blood starts seeping into my vision. Warm loamy dirt slips over my skin and turns to slick red and I try to ignore it, but it’s harder to close my eyes when I feel the blood lapping at my chest and threatening to sink me.
What I can’t see is that I’m frozen stock-still, trembling with every breath in and focused on nothing as my fingers clench rhythmically beneath the soil. Ryland’s come to check on me but I can’t acknowledge him, for all I can tell he’s a lure made by that fucking thing in the blood and when he crouches to meet my gaze I flinch. I’m lost again, drowning in the blood of every poor bastard on Filament Station, and all I can hear is my heart in my ears like a rushing tide before something breaks through. A voice, calm and gentle, the sound of it illuminating the way home like a beacon that I can’t quite focus on. Too much, too bright, too…soft.
“Simon…Si, it’s okay,” the voice reassures and I feel a touch, fingers stroking up and down my forearm where it’s beginning to cramp from tension, but it isn’t enough. “You’re okay, you’re safe now. You’re safe. Safe. Safe. Safesafesafesafe-”
I come back to myself with a flinch and fall backwards, hissing as I hit my hip on a nearby trowel, but there are already gentle hands coming for me and I relent as they caress my face. The blood is receding and the light returns, slowly, nearly blinding me as I turn to meet Ryland’s worried gaze and furrowed brow. I expect him to get angry or upset that I’d all but flung myself away from him, or that I’d knocked over several seedlings in my stupor…but he doesn’t. I’m not met with anger in his gaze but something worse, something gentle and soft and sad that makes me want to tear my skin off where it lands on my trembling body.
“Simon, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” He asks me, and my tongue is too numb to answer so I just nod stiffly. It’s a lie, my pants are torn and there’s a scratch on my hip that’s bleeding sluggishly into the dirt, but I’m fine enough. I push myself to stand when Ryland does and fold myself tiredly into his arms, dirt and all, and he just tucks them around me with his chin resting on my shoulder like this was just how things were meant to be. I don’t tell him what happened, I can’t really, but I think he understands what I need better than I do at times so we begin the slow walk back home. Hand in prosthetic hand, cool metal on scarred skin, and he guides me to bed with a gentle reassurance that he’ll be there when I wake up.