Chapter Text
“Okay, what the fuck are you doing?”
Grif opens his eyes and squints at the tall, irritated man standing over him. “Uh… trying to sleep?”
“On the floor?”
It’s their first night sharing a room on Chorus, and while Simmons has already made a bed out of leaves and other materials he gathered around the crash site, Grif clearly hasn’t been as productive. And unlike Simmons, his lack of a bed doesn’t seem to bother him at all.
Instead, he simply shrugs. “Why not?”
“B-Because! It’s unsanitary! We don’t know anything about the wildlife on this planet! What if there are diseased bugs on the ground? Or snakes!”
“As long as there aren’t bats, I’ll take my chances.” The orange-clad soldier closes his eyes, but Simmons won’t relent.
“Grif, I’m serious! Just make your own bed. It’s not even that hard.”
“Then why don’t you make one for me?”
The cyborg throws his hands up in frustration. “Because that’s not my responsibility!”
“Oh yeah? It’s not your responsibility to yell at me for sleeping on the floor either, but here we are!”
“You can’t just expect me to sleep peacefully in my own bed while you’re on the floor exposing yourself to potential pathogens!”
“Well, too bad! Because I’m not making a bed, and you’re not making me a bed, so I guess I’m sleeping on the fucking floor!”
“Oh just share with me then!”
The suggestion brings an abrupt halt to their argument. Grif’s eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline, and slowly, Simmons’ hard glare softens as he realizes what he just said. Grif is the first one to speak again.
“Did you just… invite me into bed with you?”
“I-” Heat rises to the cyborg’s cheeks, visibly tinting his pale skin. “L-Logically speaking, with our current resources, it is the best way to maximize comfort with minimal effort.”
“Yeah, sure. You gonna buy me dinner too?”
“You know what? Forget it.”
“Okay, okay, fine.” Slowly, Grif gets up, and after a moment’s hesitation, he plops onto the bed, looking down at it thoughtfully. “You know, this isn’t too bad.”
The sliver of praise is enough to lift Simmons’ spirits. “Really?”
“As a matter of fact…” Grif yawns, stretching his limbs across the makeshift mattress. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”
He closes his eyes, and Simmons just stares, dumbfounded, until he regains enough of his senses to make failed attempts at pushing his heavy teammate aside.
“Grif,” he whines mid-shove, “move over!”
But his orange friend refuses to budge. “Just lay down next to me,” he drawls. “There should be enough space there for your scrawny ass.”
“It’s lie, you dumbass. And that’s not the point! You can’t just sprawl across the center of the bed! When you’re sharing, you have to pick a side!”
“Yeah? Well I don’t follow that rule. Because I am a total maverick.”
The cyborg stops pushing and huffs. “You know, I really hate you sometimes.”
Without another word, he crawls into bed and curls up next to Grif, his back pressed against his stubborn teammate’s arm. After a moment of silence, Grif glances at him through half-lidded eyes and sighs.
“All right, fine,” he says. The bed shifts as he moves away. “Happy now?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, I am.” With a satisfied smile, Simmons unfurls himself and turns toward his friend—only for his face to fall when he’s met with the back of Grif’s head, and the newly increased space between them.
But this is what he wanted, isn’t it?
This is the distance they’re used to. This is what feels natural—whether they’re standing on the roof of their base or lying in the same bed. Yet, as Simmons lies there facing the giant hole in the ceiling, he can’t help but feel like there’s something missing.
“Hey,” he says. “You ever wonder why we’re here?”
He wonders how Grif will answer this time. If he’ll start asking existential questions or if he’ll tell Simmons to shut up so he can sleep. Or, Simmons thinks as the silence stretches between them, maybe he’s already asleep. Because of course Grif would already be asleep.
But just as Simmons closes his eyes, he finally hears a quiet response.
“It’s one of life’s great mysteries, isn’t it?” Grif lifts his head to look over his shoulder, and his mouth curves into a weary smile. “Good night, Simmons.”
The cyborg smiles back in contentment. “Good night.”