Chapter Text
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Grace can admit to himself that this whole scenario is his fault to begin with. At least he can admit that much.
The wind brushed his cheek as he stayed hunched over the subway awning. It had been melancholy with light sprinkles of rain all morning, the heavens a stormy grey. Grace stared blankly at the dark sky from his covered area. He could barely tell it was raining; the only tell was the gallons of water spilling on the station. He stood with 3 other people nearby, all covered with dark fabrics and looking particularly miserable. Ryland could relate, he looked like he had been dragged through the mud, dark purples growing on his right eye from where he had been punched hours before. He let out another breath, watching the cloud of condensed water vapor billow from his mouth before dissipating into the cold air. The process is repeated with every breath. Grace watches each time, calming his already frayed nerves. However, this action can only be entertaining for so long, and Grace was brimming with anxiety. He looked down, around, and pulled out his phone. Just hours ago, he had turned off any notifications, hiding it in his pocket to avoid it like he did with most of his other problems. Grace turned on his phone with a slide of his thumb.
11 missed phone calls.
428 new text messages.
Grace let out a breath, feeling his heart pound with adrenaline despite nothing happening. He blankly stared at his lock screen, the white numbers reading 2:43 AM, glaring into his weeping soul. His lockscreen was covered by notifications but he could still make out the faces of himself, Colt, Jody and... and Tom. Ryland let out another breath, having somehow forgotten he needed oxygen. Anxiety bloomed in his chest like it had been every half an hour or so. It was a sickening feeling of doubt and fear. He closed his phone, sliding it away to blankly stare at the rain-soaked ground again.
Water has slowly been creeping into the sanctuary, hidden from the rain, getting dangerously close to touching his shoes. Grace just watched with creeping numbness, body feeling cold and stiff. That might be because of the wind; he reminded himself, taking a step back to the drier part of the canopy. He huddled under the awning, safely hidden from the rain with the other 3 people nearby. Metal chairs drilled into the concrete wall sat further back where a man in his 50s sat. He was wearing construction attire and looked as tired as Grace felt. Next to him was a beautiful woman in her late 40s, hair and makeup messy from the rain. She had an arm wrapped around what looked like her teenage daughter, but it was hard to tell in the dim light. He didn't want to look like a creep by staring, so he just watched the rain thud against the puddles.
It only took a few minutes before the train arrived, small and old. It looked eerie under the dim, pale white lamps nearby through the rain. Not many people took these trains anymore, the ones that take you across multiple states; most people preferred flying or driving. However, it was cheap and a good ticket to get the hell out of New York. He just wanted to be away. He moved his stiff body forward, walking out into the rain. Grace scuttled quickly across the pavement; he could hear the heels from the woman behind him and the thud of heavy boots. He blocked the rain from his face with his hand, quickly scurrying through the door and onto the train. Ryland let out a sigh when he stepped on; at least they had heaters in here. On the other hand, he noticed that this train was set up to have old-fashioned compartments, not open seating. Unexpected but not unwelcome as he walked down to find one empty. The internal parts of the train were mostly made of wood. Sliding doors with a small window opened into private compartments lined with cushioned benches facing one another. There were about 3 compartments for each train car. Every compartment could seat 4 to 6 passengers, with luggage racks mounted above the seats and large windows framing the rushing countryside outside.
There were rules written on paper and taped to each door; he only skimmed them quickly.
- No smoking.
- No alcohol.
- Don't lock the compartment doors.
- Don't cover the windows.
- No dangerous, flammable, or hazardous materials.
- No riding bicycles, skateboards, or scooters inside train cars.
- Keep noise levels low; use headphones for music.
- No disruptive, abusive, or threatening behavior.
- Emergency equipment is for emergencies only.
- Children must be supervised by adults.
- Follow instructions from transit staff and posted signs.
Geez, talk about a list. He honestly doubted anyone would follow some of these, No alcohol? On this cheap a ticket? Grace walked down the first train cart before going to the next. This train only had one empty cabin left in the way back; he felt lucky, sliding inside and shutting the door behind him. It was extremely cramped with barely any walking room. The seating covers were slightly cracked with use, and the door was stained with sun damage. Besides that fact, it was still clean and homey, barely any dust or stains lingering around. Grace figured this was the case due to the people who went on these types of trains. Dirty, messy, broke, bloody, wanting to hide. Grace tried not to relate to much as he sat on the left cushioned bench, tossing his backpack down beside him.
Grace was exhausted and a bit damp from the rain. He desperately wanted to just... not think. Why did everything have to fall apart? Grace stood up to slide off his wet cardigan, tossing it on his backpack to dry. He collapsed back on the bench, his head hitting the cabin wall. He felt the sting of it, groaning as he leaned his face on the window. His glasses pushed painfully into his nose, and he moved them with his hand so he could fully relax. The cold glass against his bruised face made his pounding headache simmer down. Ryland sighed, shoulders shrinking down to lean on the glass. His glasses hung from his ears to his chin as he just listened to the rain. It was soothing. The balm to the chaotic pounding on his head. He couldn’t tell how much time passed after that. It was a blur, and his body was floating in and out of sleep. It was hard to stay aware when he finally got a chance to rest.
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Ryland jolted awake when his compartment door slid open. A man, barely even 22 in age, slid inside the cabin. He had warm tan skin and charcoal hair with a very on-edge vibe. Grace stared from where he was slumped over, watching the man close the door. The man before him glanced down the hall through the small door window before pulling the blinds down and locking the door. The man huffed, as if to exclaim “About time!” but too tired to say it. He turned, making eye contact with Grace, hollow dark eyes staring at him down with a neutral expression. It was intimidating to be drowning in the dark pools of his questioning gaze. At least he wasn't hostile? Grace followed his movement as he sat down, their knees almost touching from just how cramped it was in the cabin. The sight unsettled him more than he cared to admit as he stared into the depths of dark irises. He recognized the fear hidden behind wariness, the hurt masked by irritation, his brows furrowed with tension. It was like looking into a distorted mirror, seeing his own overlapping complicated emotions reflected at him through another face. Grace had the strange feeling that the other man saw the same thing. They stared at each other for a few seconds more before Grace chickened out and looked away. It was so awkward. Incredibly so.
Surveying more practically at the other man, now he noticed that the man had a cloth around his forehead and a scar starting from the side of his head near his ear all the way to his nose. The scar in a darker reddish hue compared to his skin tone, to be honest, it looked like a giant burn had ripped across his face. Yet it didn’t ruin his face at all just highlighted his features. Not to be extremely weird, but it fits him quite well. Grace could only fathom what type of injury got him something like that. The man was disheveled, wearing a plain grey shirt with a black jacket, cargo pants, and boots. He smelt strangely like oil and iron. Dirt and sweat covered the other's face and clothes, making him look emotionally older than his actual ag-
Holy MOLY is that a fudging prosthetic arm?
Grace tried not to stare, but his curiosity got the best of him; the arm looked professionally made and hidden well. The jacket covered most of the arm to the wrist, looking similar in size to his other arm. Bandages covered both hands much like fingerless gloves would; however, what gave it away as a prosthetic was the chipping paint on the fingertips.
He looked back up to find the other just staring at his face. A pit of anxiety pooled in his stomach. Why was he staring so intently? Did he recognize Grace? Was there something wrong with his face? He- oh yeah, he had a black eye and a bloody lip. He probably looked like a mess.
Ryland cut the eye contact by looking back at the pitch-black window. He didn't see, but he heard the other man sit down across from him on the other bench. It creaked with the weight of the broad-shouldered man. The patter of the rain fills the silence in the tiny cart. Through the window if he focused enough, he could make out trees through the shine of the moon and rain. Everything seemed to ease again as the lights flicked off once again and the train started back up. He could feel the cart jiggle as the speed increased. He wished someone else hadn’t joined him in his little cabin, but it couldn't be helped. It was harder to fall asleep now that someone was here, blankly staring at the window wasn’t doing it for him. It was awkward for sure, but at least he wasn’t being threatened. That had been a major worry for a bit. Tom really did make him watch way to many action movies. Ryland had caught the other staring at him now and then, but then again, he stared too. They didn't say anything as the train stopped and started at different ports, picking people up for the long travel ahead. They would both tense when they heard footsteps walking nearby or the door handle jiggle. This happened at every stop as the compartments nearby filled with people. From what he read, each compartment could hold about 6 people. The thought made him shiver, 6 people? In this tight space? Must be why it's so cheap, Ryland grumbled internally to himself. He was thankful the man had found some way to lock the door, even if it was against the rules, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was exhausted, and the idea of 5 other people all cramped in a tight compartment for 18 hours. Hectic.
Grace looked at his phone again, ignoring the way his hands shook.
14 missed phone calls.
437 new text messages.
His stomach churned with anxiety as he stared at the phone, 4:17 AM the white light blinked at him. Grace sighed, lowering the brightness. He quickly put in his password, and the first thing that popped up was his already open messages from Tom. He suddenly felt like throwing up as he read the last few.
Grace hollowly stared at the text messages, scrolling up to see rows and rows of texts. A pit in his stomach formed and that feeling of vomiting came back tenfold. He closed his phone, staring at the blurry reflection of himself on the black screen. The color around his eye was darkening, and he looked painfully exhausted. His glasses hung from his ears to his chin, and his hair was damp and messy. He looked pathetic. Not wanting to think about it anymore, Grace ended up shoving his phone back in his pocket. Guilt and anxiety made him nauseous as he stared out the window. He ignored that sickening feeling to want to cry, his eyes burned as he shoved those emotions down his throat. There was no need for him to be such a mess, he's already cried enough today.
The train's speakers come to life a few seconds after, announcing that the train wouldn’t be stopping for another 18 hours and if anyone had any problems, they should ask the staff nearby. Grace honestly doubted there was any genuine staff out and about at 4 AM. Yet it was still nice to know that no one new was going to get on the train. He sighed, genuine relief making him slump. The man across from him had a similar reaction if a bit more controlled and stoic.
He is going to be ok. Grace reassured himself, staring out the window. He was leaving New York, going to the middle of nowhere, and figured out what to do with his life. He had limited resources, but for now, there was no one going to hurt him. Grace leaned back, eyes half open, his hands messing with his glasses.
Colt hasn’t responded to his messages, he didn’t have Jody's number, and he didn’t really know anyone else. He regretted that now. To think that every pillar he built just crumbled to the ground in such a short time. First, Colt and the... the accident, then Jody pushed everyone away to go to work. Sure, Jody is a badass, but she is drowning in work and stress right now and avoiding her emotions. Then, finally, there's Tom.
Tom Ryder.
He should have listened to Colt, and now he was paying the price.
The image of Colt lying on the floor came to mind, blood pooling around his broken body. He lay there like a limp doll, and he could still hear the broken screams and sobs that fell out of his throat. He didn’t even know he could make those noises until that moment. To watch someone he loved so deeply, it was a part of his very soul, die (or what he thought was his brother dying) so simply in front of him broke him. He remembered rushing forward, holding his limp brother as warm blood soaked into his pants and dug into his fingertips. Colt, still somehow awake, just stared at him, a small frown on his face.
That expression would forever be engraved into his memories.
Then he remembered Tom pulling him away, using some nearby makeup wipes to clean off his blood-soaked hands. His brothers' blood. On his hands. He sobbed on the floor as they wheeled his brother away. Tom held him, comforting him. He didn’t remember what the other had been saying, the static in his brain a hazy blur, and his screams hollowing out any noise around him. He remembered the stares, their faces. Frightened, terrified, pitying.
He didn’t know what, but something inside him had broken. He’s been lost ever since.
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Grace jolted awake to the sound of metal on metal. While quiet, it was still a noise close to him. The man across from him, he processed. In his organic hand, he held a screwdriver; his bag opened next to him as he tightened something on his wrist. The bandages that had been originally covering the prosthetic lay peeking out of the man's bag. Ryland watched in makeshift wonder, intrigued like a little kid. How cool! Honestly, it was pretty sick, straight out of some Marvel or Star Wars movie. Grace would never admit it, but he did love a good sci-fi every now and then. Sure, it was hard to watch when they made scientific errors, but you gotta watch the good classics. The man put the screwdriver down, making a fist before rotating his wrist. It moved smoothly, and he could hear the distant hum of the machine moving inside. The man seemed pleased with the test, looking up to find Grace staring at him. Ryland had been obviously gawking at the other, the temple tip of his glasses hanging on his lip as he stared. Ryland jolted once he realized he was being super weird, looking away.
Silence stretched, and the man went back, adjusting his arm, using a much smaller screwdriver now. Grace focused on the window, sliding his glasses into their correct position on his face. He winced in pain as the glasses touched his tender nose, which was close to the bruise. He raised a hand instinctively, his fingertips coming away damp when he touched his lip.
Right. He had been bleeding. The taste of blood still lingered in his mouth.
The realization sat with Grace for a moment. He could ignore it and stay where he was, but the steady ache in his face and the thought of dried blood on his skin quickly made the decision for him. After a brief internal debate, he pushed himself to his feet and reached for his bag. The compartment seemed smaller now as he shuffled around the narrow space.
After fishing out what he needed, he unlocked the door and cracked it open. The corridor beyond was dark and nearly empty, illuminated only by the occasional flicker of passing lights outside. Somewhere farther down the train, muted voices drifted through the halls, making the otherwise silent car feel strangely eerie. He hesitated in the doorway. A heavy, creeping feeling of doubt made his shoulders feel heavier and more tense. Grace was probably overthinking the whole thing, come on its just an extremely dark hallway...? He turned back anyway, finding the other man was already watching him.
“Do you know where the bathroom is?” Grace asked softly, trying not to be loud and draw attention from other cabins.
“No,” He spoke simply, voice rich and confident with the edge of an accent he couldn’t place. How someone could have such a simple tone was baffling, but oddly fit for the character he's seen already. Grace nervously glanced to the hall and back to the man. Would it be weird to ask him to come with? I mean, come on, he's not scared of the dark. It's just a hall.
Oh who was he kidding here? Grace is a pathetic coward, and he knew it.
“Ah- do uh... do you want to go look? Get cleaned up? I have a first aid kit and some makeup wipes,” He mumbled, his social anxiety flaring up at an exponential pace. Oh, why did he ask that? Grace stared at the wooden floor, ignoring the painful squeeze in his throat. How awkward! Why did he say that! Inviting random strangers to places!? They hummed in acknowledgement, staring at Grace like they were trying to find something. The man’s lips pushed together in thought. “You- you don't have to- I- I was just-” Grace began before the other got up from the seat. That made Grace's jaw snap close real fast.
“I’ll follow,” He spoke simply, tossing his things in his bag before he swung it around his shoulder. Grace studied the movement, his arm... it was almost perfectly in sync with his movements if you ignored the second or two delay. Huh. That's actually cool. The observation even distracted him from his aching nose for a moment.
He stepped into the corridor, peering down the dimly lit train car in search of some sign that said Bathroom. The stranger followed behind him. Though slightly shorter than Grace, the man was broader in every other way, built like someone who could lift twice his weight without much effort.
Grace tried not to dwell on that fact.
The compartment door slid shut behind them with a metallic click. A second later, the man reached back and locked it.
“How are we going to get back in without a key?” Grace wondered aloud to the other.
“Bobby pins,” He replied plainly, pulling out a black bobby pin from his hair that he didn't notice until now.
Huh.
Grace hummed in acknowledgement, giving a small smile before he turned left and walked down the small hall to find a bathroom. The man behind him gave him a strange look, a mix between confusion and acceptance, before he shrugged it off and followed. Their footsteps were mostly quiet on the floor as Grace looked around. Knowing the man was behind him was a strange sort of comfort. I mean, come on, he looked badass; he was hot and had a prosthetic arm that he could fix in the back of a run-down cart.
They eventually found one hidden among the cabins. It was a cabin transformed bathroom, a tight fit, but with the booths ripped out and replaced with bathroom things, it was much more open. In the dirty mirror, he could see himself and...
Holy Moly...
Tom decked him good. Actor or not, he’s got a good swing. Not that it was a good thing, but credit where credit is due; he got his butt handed to him. The sight that greeted him wasn't exactly pretty. His hair was a mess; dried blood streaked his lip that went all the way down to the bottom of his chin, and an ugly purple bruise was beginning to bloom around his right eye that radiated pain to all surrounding areas.
The other man took a second to glance at himself, studying his own face before Grace’s shocked one. He had a face of understanding, eyes softening at the edges. The man then turned to lock the bathroom door, thus snapping Grace out of his trance. The scientist placed his backpack in the sink, pulling out the med kit he bought a few hours ago. Bran-spanken-new, he ripped the outer plastic off, sliding it open.
Grace stared blankly at the kit. It was packed with supplies he barely recognized, let alone knew how to use. Why were there three different kinds of bandages? And what exactly was the difference between antiseptic wipes and whatever that bottle was supposed to be?
A wave of panic crept up his spine. He rubbed at his temple and let out a tired sigh. His headache rewarded the movement with another sharp stab behind his eyes. Apparently, staring at the contents wasn't going to magically teach him first aid. Beside him, the other man glanced over his shoulder. His gaze flicked from the open kit to Grace's uncertain expression before settling on the reflection in the mirror.
“You need help with your wounds,” He mused, the question more like a statement for Grace.
The man shuffled through Grace's bag, pulling out the makeup wipes and using them to clean off the dirt on his face. The actions were controlled, and he continued to stare at Grace through the mirror for a reaction to what he was doing. Hesitant or wary, hard to tell. He didn’t seem smug, just tired and weary.
“Uh... if it's not a bother?” Grace offered softly, giving his best puppy dog eyes because yes, he needed help and yes, he was that pathetic to ask a stranger.
“You're the one with supplies here,” He scoffed, tossing the wipe in the trash. He already looks 10x better now. Wow... uh... Grace stared at the other's neutral face that stared back at him. The man in front of him narrowed his eyes in concentration, stepping closer to Grace. He leaned in close, his personal space, just staring at Grace.
The scientist felt his face warm, and his heart flutter. Wow, hot guy in his face! Ok! Ok, be calm.
Calm...
...
“Do you have a concussion?” He proposed, pulling back slightly to take the med kit out of Grace's hands. The other placed it in the sink, pulling out a tiny paper package from the many inside the kit.
Well, that ruined any mood...
“D-do I?” He asked worriedly; he hadn’t even thought about it.
“Dunno, hard to tell, but you look alive and clear-headed enough,” He remarked, ripping the package open to pull out a tiny square antiseptic wipe.
Before Grace could fully process that there was another man standing oddly close to him like this, he reached out to him, using one hand, and gently peeled his glasses off Grace's face to not jostle the bruise. The man placed them on top of the med kit before he cleaned off his face.
It stung. Grace flinched instinctively, sucking in a sharp breath, but the pain faded quickly into a dull burn.
“You got a flashlight or something?” The man asked, cleaning up the scientist's bleeding lip. It was oddly kind.
“A flashlight? Uh- I got my phone?” Grace asked, pulling out his phone from his pocket.
He didn't glance at the texts, scrolling down to find the flashlight button. He handed the other his phone, noticing the shocked look on his face. Grace stared back with a raised eyebrow. The other took the phone with a slight hesitance, the man’s void-like eyes automatically looking at the list of unread notifications before rotating back to Grace. He used the flashlight to shine into each eye individually. Grace didn’t fully understand why, and the whole situation was... fairly awkward, having the man so close, but it didn’t bother him terribly.
The man handed the phone back. “Looks normal, I guess. Are you injured anywhere else?” He questioned again.
“Uh... no, I'm not,” Grace replied
“Good” was all he continued with. The man turned away from Grace to surf through the med kit. In a side pocket, he pulled out a blue pouch that read “SHAKE TO MAKE COLD.” Without warning, he tossed it toward Grace.
“Do what it says,” he added, as if that explained everything.
Grace fumbled slightly but managed to catch it. He turned it over in his hands, reading the instructions on the back before giving it a hesitant shake. A moment later, the chemical reaction kicked in. Cold bloomed through the pack almost instantly.
Grace let out a quiet breath of relief as he pressed it against his bruised face. The sting dulled immediately, replaced by a deep, soothing chill that made his whole expression loose for the first time. Grace walked away to sit on the lidded toilet, holding his face to the ice pack.
“Thanks, man,” he said after a moment, voice softer now, he was feeling better with someone else here caring for him. Even if it still didn’t feel like trust.
“Yeah, thanks for the supplies,” They responded, peeling off their jacket and shirt- OK OK HOLY MOLY.
The man before him was jacked.
Oh my god, was this really happening!?
They didn’t seem to care about Grace staring at all. Ryland took a closer look to notice that he was covered in injuries.
Oh.
Bruises and cuts littered his chest from what he could see. He had a harness around his chest that connected to his prosthetic arm. Grace sobered a bit from his flustered reaction. Guilt filled his chest. Technically, he was still dating Tom, or even if they broke up, it's barely been what? 5 hours? He should not be fantasizing about another man, especially if that said man was obviously not into someone as broken as Grace.
He was injured too! Grace internally yelled at himself. He was being incredibly rude right now, staring like some perv. He looked down, nuzzling into the cold pack. They worked in silence; the only sound filling the small bathroom was the steady rhythm of rain against the train windows. Somewhere in the distance, metal groaned softly as the carriage shifted on the tracks.
The man focused on the med kit like it was routine. Grace stayed seated on the closed toilet lid, the cold pack pressed against his face, watching without really meaning to.
“You know... Uh... I never did get your name? I- I mean my name is Grace if you want to call me that- Well that's my last name, but everyone calls me that but whatever you want to be called-” He rambled, fingers picking at a rip on his jeans. Oh god he was such a mess.
“Simon,” He answered, staring at Grace before going back to cleaning and patching cuts.
Simon huh? That's... not bad at all. He exhaled slowly, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders now that the man wasn’t just the man anymore.
“Nice to officially meet you then, Simon,” Grace greeted with a smile that Simon didn't respond to nor return.
“You too Grace,” Simon spoke, his eyes not leaving the mirror as he placed a square bandage on a cut.
Silence fell between the two after that; Grace was exhausted and so was Simon.
Ryland had a lot of questions for the other, but he also was too tired to ask them. Embarrassingly, Grace almost fell asleep on the toilet. His back leaned against the wall, and the ice was a nice pillow.
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Simon shook him awake, standing over him with his clothes now back on his body. His hand lay on his shoulder, firm as he was shaken awake. It held him upright as Simon stared down at him with furrowed brows. Grace blinked his eyes open, looking up to meet the other. The first thing the scientist noticed is that Simon looked put together, with a clean face and patched wounds. Instead of the cloth, his hair was tied back in a bun.
Wow... Discovering many things about himself tonight.
Grace stumbled up as Simon pulled him like it was nothing.
“Wha- what? What happened?” He slurred from sleep, feeling his eyes ache from staying open. He stumbled to keep himself upright; Simon's hand firmly wrapped around his bicep as he was dragged. Simon had both of their bags hanging on his other shoulder; his tired brain noted it like it was amusing.
Exhaustion weighed down on him.
Simon took the barely cold ice pack from Grace's hand and tossed it in the trash. He took one final glance at Grace, handing him his glasses, which he slid on top of his head instead of putting them on normally.
“You dozed off, come on, we're going back,” Simon snapped, swiveling on his foot and dragging Grace through the hall and back to their shared train cabin. It took less than two minutes to unlock it again, Simon guiding him inside first before locking them both inside. Grace plopped down onto his self-proclaimed bench, sinking back until he was half lying down. He was too tall for space, forcing him to curl onto his side just to fit.
That was fine. He didn't care anyway.
He used his arm as a makeshift pillow, letting the tension slowly drain out of him. The train rattled softly beneath him; rain still whispering against the windows like a steady backdrop. Grace quickly drifted into the comfortable arms of sleep.
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When Grace woke up, he first noticed that the rain had stopped.
The second thing he noticed was the soft sound of someone else breathing.
While it wasn’t unusual to hear, since he regularly slept next to Tom, it was much quieter than his snoring. Grace sat up slowly, groaning as everything from yesterday hit him like a truck. Oh... oh god. He rubbed his eyes, flinching from the pain and dizziness after he touched his bruise. He noticed his cardigan was draping over his body, now dry and warm, much like a blanket.
Oh- oh right, he’s on a train, and there’s another person. Ryland let out a tired sigh, feeling his pockets for his phone. The screen glared back at him, making him squint, 7:23 AM glared right back. Great… about 3ish hours of sleep. That’s not… terrible. Yet the pain in his face hurt enough to not be able to fall back asleep. He leaned back against the outer wall near the window, the ache of moving weighing Grace down to slump in a half-lying position.
The other man, Simon, he reminded himself, lay on the other bench. His head leaned against the wall in a sitting-up position, but he was asleep. His arms wrapped around his bag like a pillow. He looked as exhausted as Grace felt.
The train filled the silence, the hum of clanking tracks and wind from the distance. Grace curled up, stiff from sleep. He cringed at the noise the bench made as he wrapped his arms around his curled-up knees.
This was really happening.
Incredulous dread washed over him like a cold shower. Oh God, this was really happening?! Oh god!
Tom really punched him. Grace had really run away, gone to the nearest train, and just… just left. He had nothing now. He was in the middle of nowhere and was completely alone with no job or living arrangement. He was going to throw up. Oh, he might just vomit everywhere. He told himself not to, and he had plenty of time to think. He tried not to hyperventilate, but he was failing on that matter too. Oh God, what was he doing? Was he insane? Stupid? Maybe he was concussed and thought running away with barely anything was a good idea?! Why did he think this was a good idea!?
Grace already felt the sobs escape his throat before he had time to rein in his emotions. The panic is starting to sink in now. He really ran away. Which, honestly, he was being over dramatic, it's not like someone would go after him?
...
Would they?
Would Tom go after him?
Would he be stupid enough to send someone to hunt him down?
Oh, he hoped not.
He sniffled, wiping his face with the sleeve of his cardigan. He was alone now, alone and lost with absolutely no one. His mind was a broken record of panic, watching miserably as tears splattered on his arm. His hands went to his hair, running through it to calm himself. It didn’t help much, and he was just messing up his hair, but it made him feel less alone.
He took a deep breath. Focus on that.
In.
Out.
That's easy, right?
Breathing is good. People need to breathe. Scientists knew that. He knew that.
So, breathe.
Don't think about Tom.
Don't think about being alone.
Don't think about everything you've lost.
Don't think—
A cough cut him off, making him jolt, and a rush of adrenaline shot through his system. Swiveling his head up with a crack, he found Simon awkwardly staring at him again.
Oh.
Oh, how awkward.
“oH- oh uh. I... I'm sorry- I- I didn't mean to wake you.” Grace wiped his face, wincing as more pain stabbed at him. He’s really got to stop touching his face while his bruise is healing.
“I was awake before you,” Simon replied, looking at something in his bag. He looked stiff with tension and almost awkward. Grace felt shame crash through his panic. Why was he crying in front of someone else and obviously making them incredibly uncomfortable! He felt stupid.
Why is he so pathetic?
“Oh... I- assumed you were asleep... you- well, you looked asleep. Not that I was staring or anything, I’m not a creep, I just glanced over-” Grace began to ramble before Simon cut him off again.
“I know”
“Right! Yea. You were awake here when I started crying- which- uh. Which you didn't need to see, I'll just. I’m sorry.” Grace finished, covering his face with his hands. So much for keeping himself together in one piece. The composure he'd been trying to maintain had completely fallen apart, leaving him fumbling through the wreckage with all the grace of a collapsing bookshelf.
“It's fine... People cry.” Simon mumbled a short reply, abruptly making Grace hesitate, the lower part of his face lying on his arm.
“Yea- just... usually not in front of other people. It's like uh... taboo. Kinda, more like a socially uncomfortable action,” Grace explained. Why was he explaining this? He didn’t really know, but Simon didn’t seem annoyed. The rambling distracted him from his spiraling thoughts, and when he finished, his breathing was evened out. The background hum of the train fills the silence. Simon stared down, eyebrows furrowed in thought.
“Why is the social norm like that?” Simon responded to Grace, asking a complicated question with his face scrunched up in genuine confusion. Did he not understand why crying was... well, awkward? Yet Simon looked genuinely puzzled, as if crying in front of someone and being embarrassed by it was a rule he'd somehow never learned.
“Well... its crying, emotion, makes people uncomfortable,” Grace continued with a bit of hesitance. He turned his face away, picking at a loose string on his sleeve. Simon hummed in thought, looking away from Grace to stare at whatever he was holding inside his bag.
“Sounds stupid,” He replied, the statement so simple it struck Grace. I guess it was a little stupid to be ashamed of feeling crappy.
“Well, social norms weren't exactly made with human health in mind. Sadly.” Ryland mumbled, more to himself.
“Is that why you're so upset?” Simon asked.
“I... Uh no. Not really. A lot happened yesterday and now that I’m here...” He swallowed. “It's finally crashing down on me,” Grace trailed off, his hands fiddling on his knees. He put his legs down to sit in a normal position, back against the bench.
Simon didn’t react much to the statement, like he already understood. His gaze drifted over the bruises on Grace's face.
"Yeah, it happens," Simon said with a small nod. "Got into a fight or somethin'?" He guessed.
“It was pretty one-sided,” Grace laughed back, light and hollow that faded into awkward silence as he failed to make humor of the situation. “You can tell which side got the hit in, I can only assume,” Grace finished, smile sinking away, looking away at Simon's contorted face of curiosity, confusion, and concern.
“Hm, well, you made it out alive. That's more than most,” Simon replied. The phrase rolled off his tongue without any hesitation or doubt. Grace had to re-think the sentence just to understand.
Make it out alive...?
What.
Grace stared at the other incredulously, his mouth half open to say something, but nothing came to mind. What did he mean lucky to be alive!? That's- what? Did he think Grace got into a fist fight or whatever?
“Whoa! I- I wasn’t beaten or anything, I just got into a verbal yelling match with my boyfriend, and he punched me. I'm not- I wasn’t brutalized.” Grace defended, feeling slightly overwhelmed at the idea.
“Boyfriend?” Simon asked in confusion.
“You know, like a partner? A relationship?” Grace clarified with his own confusion; were relationships uncommon for him or something? His confusion continued to grow as the conversation continued.
“Oh,” He uttered, now staring at Grace like he was slightly insane. “Did he attack you with the intent to hurt you?” Simon asked, body now facing Grace with new attention. He seemed genuinely worried at the idea, which concluded with Grace feeling embarrassed.
Ha! Everybody look at him! he got punched in the face by his boyfriend! How pathetic was Grace? He even got to rant about this to a man who lost his dang arm! How cowardly he must look.
However, the question resonated with Grace for a second. Was the attack with the intention to harm? Grace didn’t want to think that Tom punched him with the intent to hurt, but it definitely wasn’t an accident.
“Well, then it was brutalization,” Simon finished, throwing the term back in Grace's face, who stared like a deer in headlights. He didn’t know how to respond to that reply, I mean, he had never really... thought about it like that. Tom is a rough person, especially when he's drunk, but he's never... attacked like that before. Not like yesterday.
“I- I mean it's not like he was trying to beat me...” Grace tried to defend the image he already knew, but the reason sounded weak on his own lips. That shaky picture of Tom smiling softly down at him in his head. Once there was so much love. Was that still there anymore?
Simon sighed from across him, pulling out a flask and taking a swig. I- was that alcohol? At 7 in the morning? Holy Moly, this guy has guts.
“Violence is still violence, Grace. You dated a guy who punched you,” Simon scoffed, closing the flask. The words landed heavier than he expected. Then it dawned on Grace that Tom still thought they were dating. A flash of horror crossed his face, and judging by the others' faces, Simon noticed, raising an eyebrow.
Grace fumbled for his phone, pulling it out to open his messages. “Oh god. I never told him we broke up!”
“I figured he would have known when you ran away from him,” Simon asked, looking genuinely surprised.
“Well... it’s not the first time I've run out,” Grace mumbled, reading the last few text messages from Tom.
“Sounds like a fucking mess,” Simon mumbled, staring blankly at the wall.
Grace ignored how his hands trembled, staring at those messages. Something longing inside him wanted to just give up with this little “rebellion.” He just wanted to apologize, fall between the words and go back home to a comfortable bed and warm arms. But then that sinking feeling of going back. Dreading the fight every time Tom got drunk. Laying alone in bed as music blared from the floors below and just feeling... so alone. He just quickly hit the block button, not wanting those familiar feelings to boil over.
“Thanks Captain Obvious,” Grace snapped back, feeling slightly defensive.
“You're the one that was talking about it, just saying” Simon grumbled, shooting Grace a defensive glare. Grace let out a slow sigh, his shoulders slumping.
Fair enough.
Simon was right. Snapping at him wasn't exactly justified when he'd been the one volunteering information in the first place. He rubbed at the back of his neck, suddenly finding the floor far more interesting than meeting Simon's eyes. Truthfully, he wasn't even sure why he'd been talking so much. Maybe the exhaustion had worn down his filter. Maybe the silence had gotten to him. Or maybe it was simply easier to talk when the person listening wasn't trying to judge him.
Whatever the reason, Simon stayed.
He wasn't particularly warm about it, and supportive was probably too strong a word, but he hadn't walked away either.
“Your right I just... I’m sorry” He mumbled, staring at his phone until it went black from un-use.
Simon let out another tired sigh, sitting up fully he handed over the flask. “I- I’m not a drinker-”
“Just fucking drink it” Simon pushed it into his hands.
“I shouldn’t be drowning my sorrows in alcohol, it’s not good...” Grace mumbled, staring at the metal glass in his hands. He could see a distorted picture of himself through it.
“Just drink it” Simon deadpanned.
“W-What is it?” Grace stammered worriedly, making eye contact with Simon.
“Alcohol” The one arm man said simply.
“What kind?” Grace asked.
“Not asking you to enjoy it,” Simon replied.
“What if I get addicted or something?” Grace wondered, and Simon rolled his eyes.
“Can you even afford an addiction?” That shut Grace up real fast. He made a good point. While Grace didn’t enjoy alcohol all that much, he had some experience with it from his college years.
“Fine,” He sighed dramatically, unscrewing the cap.
The scent was sharp and mildly gross, but he took a gulp anyway. The sickeningly fiery liquid sank down his throat to his chest. He pulled it away from his mouth with a cough, shoving the flask back into Simon's hands. He looked amused more than anything. Grace coughed, covering his mouth with his sleeve.
“Ugh, what was that!?” Grace exclaimed with a hoarse voice, cringing since he could still taste it in his mouth.
“Whisky”
“Are you even old enough to drink?” Grace grumbled out to Simon, who raised an eyebrow.
He looked offended, rolling his eyes. “I’m 23,” Simon replied simply, throwing the flask back in his bag. “How old are you anyway?”
“I'm 25,” Grace mumbled. Simon let out a hum of surprise, looking over Grace in a new light.
“That's shocking, I thought you were barely 20.” Simon shrugged.
“I- you would have given someone underage alcohol!? What the hell Simon!?” Grace pointed out, using his hands to talk loudly.
“Eh, you would have been fine, and besides, you needed it.” The other waved off. “You’re dramatic,” Simon said after a moment.
“I just drank paint thinner,” Grace muttered hoarsely. “Of course I’m dramatic.”
“That wasn’t paint thinner.”
“It felt like paint thinner.” Simon huffed in response to Grace’s complaining, a quiet laugh through his nose, hiding a slight smile behind his hand.
“Such an innocent angel,” Simon teased, and Grace immediately blushed in response. What a cheesy A-hole this guy was.
“Don’t even. You can't flatter- tease... your way out of this,” Grace glared.
“Never said I was,” Simon smirked cocking an eyebrow up at him, and Grace noticed how they both seemed more at ease with each other.
“You think me calling you an angel is flattering?” He asked again.
“I- no! I never said that! My standards aren't that low.” Grace trailed off, looking down at his hands. Ok, maybe his standards were somewhat low... But still Tom was a movie star, and Grace had low confidence. Can you really blame him too badly? It's also the fact that Tom had been pining after him for... what, 4 years? His self-worth has been screwed for a while now that he sat down and thought about it.
“...Angel,” Simon mumbled softly, which made Grace look up. The scientist’s face immediately warmed pink with embarrassment as Simon stared back at him with a raised eyebrow and knowing smirk. A-hole...
“Oh, don't even start,” Grace sighed, deflating back into the bench. He covered one of his cheeks with his palm, looking anywhere but Simon's stupidly smug face. This was probably the effect of alcohol messing with his system. He hasn’t eaten anything in a good while and was what you call “lightweight.” Simon didn't look to have any of these problems.
“Start what?” Simon asked, looking far too pleased with himself for Grace's opinion.
“Oh, you know! That teasing thing! I already have enough on my plate.”
Simon leaned back slightly. “You think it’s flattering.”
“I do not.”
“Sure.”
Grace sighed, his chest heavy with lingering emotions. Frustration sat at the forefront, though it had lost some of its bite.
He could hear the distant clatter of the train and the humming of more voices in the background that calmed those fried nerves. It was... it wasn't terrible, not perfect, but not horrible for a cheap ticket. Grace leaned back on the bench, head hitting the cabin wall. It was nice to get all of that off his chest, and he felt a little less alone now. The silence felt easy between them now. Simon wasn’t a complete stranger anymore; they barely knew each other, and Grace had certainly done most of the talking, but something about the conversation had made the space between them feel smaller.
“Thank you, by the way,” Grace tilted his head to look at Simon. The other hasn’t moved, still staring at him with an easy look on his face. A nice look at the easy lighting of the morning sun.
“For what?” Simon asked, eyes searching over Grace in question.
“For being here, listening to me ramble. I know it can be annoying,” Grace laughed softly, sitting up again.
“It fills the silence,” Simon concluded with a shrug.
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