Chapter Text
Ryland was a firm believer in fog superiority. The atmosphere and serenity of it was delightful, like a blanket over the world and his mind. He loved the way it crept forwards, gently engulfing everything in its path in a haze, like pale tulle being draped over a model city. You can see through it, everything is still there, still as it was. Everything in its right place, not that you can see it. That's the beauty of it, he thinks. It's there, peacefully hidden, aside from what juts out, what reaches for the sky, full of ambition. What's hidden beneath the fog was no less valuable, no less precious. You just couldn’t see the potential whilst it rests beneath its sheer duvet.
It reminded him of some of his students. It reminded him of himself, too. But mostly his kids. The kids that kept their heads down, or slept -or at least pretended to sleep- during class, yet always managed to outshine others in tests, or always had the right answer written, though they’d never, never raise their hands. But that was okay. Ryland knew they were capable of great things. They did need to be loud about it.
That's what Ryland was reminded of as he stared out his frosted over window, studying what he could see of the road in the blizzard. The flurry of falling snow had reminded him, in a way, of heavy fog or mist, only far worse. Visibility was terrible, and he hoped to all that was good that no one was caught in the dense snow.
Shoving his frigid hands into his cardigan pockets, he shuffled his way to his kitchen to make himself a hot chocolate, hoping to not only warm his core but his icy fingers. He really needed to find his gloves… a thought for after he has his drink.
As he moves around his kitchen, finding the right sized mug, plus his hot chocolate powder, he hums to himself, getting lost in his thoughts as he absently gets the drink going in a pot, mixing the rich liquid in a slow, rhythmic motion that sends him deeper into his thoughts. Scientific jargon, lesson plans and concerns about students bounce around his mind freely, and he was happy to let them, at least for the moment. Or, he would have been, if it weren’t for the heavy thumping coming from his door.
Snapped out of his thoughts, he turns his head towards the door, listening. The thumping comes again, harder this time, as if whoever was there was either putting all their might into knocking, or kicking his door. With furrowed brows, mostly in concern, Ryland lowers the heat on the stove, putting a lid on the pot to let it simmer, before heading over to the door, which is still being loudly abused.
“I’m coming, I’m coming, jeez,” he looks out the peep hole to see a singular man, who had clearly been out in the intensifying blizzard longer than one should. He had snow clinging to him, a pale face with flushed features from the cold, despite his heavy looking jacket. A frown forms on Ryland's face as he opens the door. “Crap, man, are you alright? Come in, before you freeze.”
Now, if any of his students asked what to do in this situation, letting a stranger inside would not be what he’d tell them to do. At least not like this. But it was below freezing outside, the blizzard was getting heavier by the hour, and as far as Ryland could tell, he was the only person on his street who was home. Everyone else would have gone to work before the blizzard had started (yay for him, as he had school holidays. Boo for him, if he needed something he had no way to get it).
He ushers the man inside, watching him shake his feet in an attempt to shed some snow before stepping inside. Clearly, the man was freezing. Pulling down his hood, he visibly shivers, and its not until he clears his throat to speak that Ryland realises he was staring. Ducking his head, he closes the door and frowns at the snow that slipped inside before his gaze returns to this cold, unlucky stranger.
“Are you alright-?”
“Sorry about the snow-”
The two men speak at the same time, cutting each other off before both pausing, Ryland apologetically smiling. Being the nervous talker he is, he speaks first.
“Did your car break down or something? You must be freezing. I'm making hot chocolate if you want some, it's on the stove. It’d probably warm you up a bit.” Whilst rambling, Ryland’s eyes drift over the man before him.
He was standing there awkwardly, still encrusted with snow, his boots practically caked in it. He had dark, roughly shoulder length hair, and it looked lusciously curly. His eyes were a beautiful, deep brown, dark like his hair. The man was shorter than Ryland, though not drastically; he did, however, seem more built than Ryland, a thought he tucked away. God, he needed to socialise with adults more. Grace studied the man's beard and facial features while he talked, eventually halting as he notices the man just looking at him with a raised brow.
He clears his throat, apologising and willing his embarrassed flush away as he thrusts out his left hand for a shake. “Ah, sorry. I'm Ryland, er, Ryland Grace. Nice to meet you…?”
The man shifts, looking at the outstretched hand, giving a huff of amusement. “The name's Simon.”
He doesn’t shake his hand, which briefly causes Ryland to tilt his head before shrugging it off, hand dropping back to his side. “What brings you here during a blizzard, Simon?”
“Car couldn’t make it through the snow. Had to ditch it a few blocks over to find somewhere to take shelter.” He gestures to Ryland with his right hand, his left arm strangely limp by his side in his sleeve. “You’re the only person I could tell was home.”
“Ah. Well, I'm happy to provide you with some shelter until this all clears up.” Grace’s eyes flick back to the snow the man inadvertently dragged inside. He swallows a sigh. “Make yourself comfortable, I suppose. And, I was serious about that hot chocolate offer earlier.”
The man nods, accepting the offer with a muttered “thanks” as he kicked off his boots, hesitating before ditching his icy jacket, revealing-
-revealing a lack of a left arm. No wonder he didn’t shake his hand. Ryland blinks, turning and going to the kitchen to finish making hot chocolate, and to find a second mug for his newfound companion.
As good as he liked to think he was with kids, Ryland knew he was terrible at social interactions with adults. There was just too much depth required. Complex as they are, kids are also simple; straightforward. Direct. Adults are…. Subtle. Discrete. Everything feels like it has a hidden meaning, an ulterior motive. Or maybe Ryland just needs to see a shrink. This guy, though, Simon seemed direct, as far as he could tell. Either he didn’t have the patience for the intricacies of conversation, or he was incredibly socially awkward. Either way, Ryland digs it. The fact that he was actually quite handsome- in a rugged way, like he does or did a lot of manual labour.
Shaking his head, Ryland scolds himself for letting his mind drift, and pours the hot chocolate into the mismatched mugs he’s grabbed. Both of them, he realises fondly, were gifts from his students. Kids are such bleeding hearts. One of the many reasons he’s a teacher. Walking back into his toasty living room to find his guest sitting on the carpeted floor in front of his fireplace, still obviously cold, especially now that he wasn’t wearing shoes or a jacket. Ryland was fairly certain that half of Simon’s clothes would be at least partially damp from the snow he had all over him melting. Subconsciously, Ryland sized him up, shifting his glasses up into his hairline, pondering if he had any clothes he could lend his chilly guest. In the meantime, he’d have to make do with what was in the lounge. After all, he doesn’t even know the guy.
“Here you are,” he stands beside Simon, holding out a mug with some dorky science pun on it. “Careful, it's hot.”
He watches his guest take the mug, their cold fingers brushing against each other, with Simon raising a brow at the pun before taking a sip of the hot drink and pulling a face that very clearly says ‘shit, I burned my tongue’. After deciding to heed Rylands advice, Simon holds the cup in his lap and watches the flames on the log.
It was unbearably awkward, if you asked Ryland. As previously stated, he was against beating around the bush, but in this case, he felt the need to, he needed to be able to talk- not that he couldn’t, just that he didn’t want to be the second worst aspect of this guy’s day.
“Pretty cold out, hey?” Ah, conversation starter 101: talk about the weather. How brilliant. No wonder he gets brow raises and odd looks whenever he mentioned his degrees. He could admit, he wasn’t the most serious guy around.
“Hm?” His guest blinks, looking up at him properly. Its now that Ryland realises, without the jacket and in slightly better lighting, that his guest has some pretty nasty scarring on the left side of his face, as well as what appears to be a concerningly bloodshot left eye, though he seems to be able to see just fine out of it. “Yeah, pretty fuckin’ cold.”
Suppressing the urge to scold him for his language (you’re not in class, and this is a grown man), Ryland is suddenly struck by worry for himself. Is this scarred up, no nonsense seeming guy a murderer or something? He forces the thought away, his previous thought on Simon’s handsomeness drifting back, somehow more prominent.
Ryland sips his hot chocolate before setting it on the coffee table in the lounge. Deciding it's better to share than to have a guy freeze to death in his living room, Ryland bites the bullet. “Do you want a blanket? I have some clothes you could borrow, too, if you want.”
“That’d be great, uh…” his brows pinch and he takes a sip of his hot choc, as if to recall their introduction. “Ryland. Fresh clothes would be great. I’m fuckin’ freezing.”
Again, Ryland pulls a face at the profanity, one that Simon notices. A low snort leaves him, and Ryland chooses this moment to turn around, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and grab his warmest- and therefore his favourite- quilt from the couch, moving over to Simon and draping it over his shoulders, not thinking much of it until Simon jolts slightly at the action.
“Ah, sorry. Um, I’m gonna go…” Ryland feels his face heating once again, and decides to grab his hot chocolate and take his leave, giving a mumbled excuse as he does. “Find some warm clothes for you. Sit tight.”
And with that, Simon was alone in a stranger’s living room.