Feeling emotional about the concept of Rocky being able to hear Grace’s heartbeat. Like what do you mean he was alone for 46 years and he had no choice but to sleep without anyone watching, terrified cause he’s never had to do that before in his life, but then he befriends this alien and he’s weird and soft and his internal organs make noise and maybe that’s annoying at first but it becomes something soothing, a steady presence, always there. It speeds up when he gets nervous or excited and steadies out, calm and predictable, when he sleeps - and it’s always the first thing Rocky hears when he wakes up.
And what do you mean that the first time Rocky fell asleep after they parted ways to save their respective planets, he had to wake up to silence instead of Grace’s heartbeat.
There is a cathedral bell ringing somewhere inside his skull — an endless, merciless toll. Sunlight slices through the gaps in the curtains like heated golden blades, each beam aimed directly at his eyes. His mouth feels like sandpaper. His tongue tastes like cheap citrus and vodka.
Oh God. He is never drinking like that again.
He groans and tries to roll over, only to realize he is not in his own bed. The sheets are far softer than anything he can afford. The pillows are big and plush and smell faintly of expensive shampoo and cologne. Familiar cologne.
Then he sees it.
A black jacket with flame motif draped over the back of a chair.
Robert’s eyes widen. He has seen that jacket before.
It belongs to Flambae.
The realization makes him groan out loud.
He forces his mind to function — just enough to piece together last night — but the hangover is ruthless. He remembers going to the bar alone. He remembers having more drinks than he can usually handle.
Then... nothing. A blackout.
Robert presses the heel of his hand to his forehead, trying to steady the spinning room.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” he mutters hoarsely.
The bedroom door creaks open.
“You’d better not do that in my bed, bitch.”
Flambae’s voice carries its usual teasing edge.
Robert squints toward the doorway. Flambae stands there wearing a long burgundy silk robe tied at the waist. His long black hair is gathered into a low bun, a few stubborn, sleep-tousled strands falling perfectly around his face. In one hand, he holds a glass of water. In the other, a bottle of aspirin.
It feels unfair that Flambae looks that awake. That beautiful.
“I made breakfast if you’d rather eat before taking these,” Flambae says casually as he walks toward the bed.
Robert hums, momentarily lost. “Can I take them first? I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.”
Flambae hums in agreement and hands Robert the water and pills before sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. The mattress dips under Flambae’s weight. He is close enough for Robert to feel the warmth radiating from his body—the same warmth Robert now remembers falling asleep against.
“Then drink,” Flambae instructs gently.
Robert obeys. The water feels like a blessing.
For a few quiet seconds, the only sound in the room is him swallowing and his own shallow breathing.
Then he notices it.
That smile.
It is written all over Flambae’s face, from the corners of his mouth to the brightness in his eyes.
Robert narrows his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing,” Flambae says simply, though his expression betrays him.
“You’re going to make me question how I ended up here, aren’t you?” Robert grumbles, already sensing regret.
“You made me pick you up from a bar downtown,” Flambae replies with alarming casualness.
Robert groans and drags both hands down his face and through his hair. “Fuck…”
“Oh, and that was just the beginning of the night, Bob Bob.”
If Flambae is trying to sound reassuring, he fails. The nickname alone makes Robert tense.
Flambae’s smile widens at Robert’s reaction.
Robert’s stomach flips, and not because of nausea.
“…What did I do?”
Flambae tilts his head slightly as he studies him. There is no mockery in his gaze. No cruelty. Just amusement, and something softer, something not fully revealed yet.
“So you don’t remember?” Flambae asks.
Robert searches his mind again. Loud bar. Vodka. Tequila. Blackout. Warmth.
“No,” he says slowly. “Nothing after I started drinking at the bar.”
Flambae chuckles softly and shifts, moving up the bed to sit beside Robert, their backs against the headboard.
“So…”
Robert turns his head carefully to watch Flambae’s profile as he begins recounting what should have been Robert’s own memories.
“You called me around two in the morning, asking me to pick you up because you’d had too much to drink.” Flambae pauses, holding back a small laugh. “When I asked where you were, you got all embarrassed and said you must’ve mixed up your contacts because you thought you were calling Chase. But I told you it was fine. I’d come get you.”
“Nooo…” Robert slowly sinks lower into the mattress beside him.
“And when we got here, you wouldn’t let me let you go.” Flambae smiles as he watches Robert slide further under the covers. “You only fell asleep once you were the big spoon, clinging to me. And then…”
Flambae nudges the lump under the blanket that is Robert’s shoulder.
“…You said you loved me.”
Silence crashes over the room.
Robert goes completely still under the covers. In his mind, he briefly considers never moving, or breathing, again in the faint hope that Flambae will somehow forget he exists.
Several long seconds pass.
Then the mattress shifts again as Flambae slips under the covers too, finding Robert frozen there.
“You okay?” Flambae asks softly, though the amusement is still present in his voice.
Robert nods. Heat crawls up his neck to his cheeks. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry for making you sleep with me clinging to you.”
Flambae shrugs, their shoulders brushing. “It was nice, actually. We hadn’t tried that yet,” he jokes.
“Yeah… I know we agreed to keep this casual, and—”
“That was months ago,” Flambae cuts in gently. “Things have changed between us.”
Robert swallows. He takes a deep breath and turns onto his side so he can see Flambae better. “Are you just saying that because of what I said? Because I was drun—”
“I love you too, Robert.”
The words come out firm and steady, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“I tried pretending I didn’t for months,” Flambae continues more quietly. “But I think I was just avoiding the inevitable.”
He lifts his hand to Robert’s face, tracing the freckles beneath Robert’s eye with his thumb.
Flambae is still smiling but it is no longer playful. It is softer now. Almost shy, even if he tries to hide it.
They stay quiet for nearly a full minute, absorbing everything the other has just said.
Then Robert breaks the silence.
“Drunk me wasn’t lying,” he murmurs. He exhales, closing his eyes and leaning further into Flambae’s warm hand. “I just wish I hadn’t said it like that. I wish I’d said it... sober.”
Flambae laughs softly and slides his hand down to pull Robert closer by the waist. “Well, you may have forgotten it, but you definitely made it memorable for me.”
“Wow. Comforting,” Robert replies dryly.
“Not to pressure you,” Flambae adds, and there it is again, that teasing tone threaded with affection Robert has grown used to over the past few months, “but you can say it again now that you’re sober. If you want.”
Robert groans dramatically before hiding his face in the curve of Flambae’s neck. “You know I do.”
“Do I?” Flambae laughs, trying to lean back enough to see Robert’s probably flushed face — but Robert clings tighter, just like he apparently did the night before.
“Shut up, okay?” Robert laughs softly, his breath warm against the back of Flambae’s neck. “I love you. There. Happy?”
Even hearing it for the second time, Flambae’s heart pounds harder in his chest.
He pulls Robert fully into his arms and holds him close.
He has hoped their casual hookups might someday turn into something more. He has wanted that, badly, but he has been afraid to say it first, afraid of pushing Robert away or losing him entirely.
But now, with Robert curled against him, having said it twice, Flambae finally allows himself to believe that maybe this was always meant to happen.
Grace, how much astrophage you need, question? Two million kilograms. I can give. I go home six years slower. Rocky watched crew die. Could not fix. Grace say Grace will die. Rocky fix.
scene where grace begs stratt to stay in the project for his kids—stratt initially thinking it was to heal his bruised ego but relenting after being proven wrong by his earnestness. scene where stratt calls grace to her office to get his opinion on the hardest decision she’s ever had to make, grace understanding immediately and seeing straight through her, knowing that she’s already made up her mind. scene where grace was the first person stratt checked up on after the explosion. scene where stratt says grace knows how she operates, more than anyone else, and that she will always put the mission first, even before herself. scene where stratt looked pained while grace was begging for his life. the way the whole mission only succeeded and went the way it did because they understood each other fundamentally. she saw potential through his cowardice and put all her faith in him. and she was right all along.
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