Archive of Our Own

Scar is looking for Jellie when he bumps into a (wet) man staring at an array of lost glasses. 

“Well, hello there,” he says, slightly startled. “Have you been looking around for a long time?”

The man turns to him. “Where is this place?” he asks. “I swear I was outside just a moment ago.” 

“Oh! Then welcome to Scar’s Magical Emporium for Lost Things!” Scar gives the man the widest smile he can. “Or, the only place where the phrase ‘finders keepers’ doesn’t apply!” 

That part’s a lie. Scar’s been known to keep a few of the nicer objects, as long as their owner doesn’t show up within a certain time frame, but the man doesn’t need to know that. 

“We have everything from your lost sock to that belo–” 

“Wait,” the man says, cutting off Scar’s welcoming spiel. “That doesn’t explain how I got here.” 

“Did you not come in through the front door?” Scar asks. Most people do. 

“No,” the man says emphatically. “I was walking to the train station, and then I blinked, and then I was here.” 

Scar frowns. “Odd,” he says. “Have you lost anything recently? Perhaps the store really wants you to find it.” 

“Maybe,” the man says, but he sounds doubtful. He swipes some of his wet hair out of his face. Scar does not offer him a towel, even though there’s a whole section dedicated to towels and other such supplies in his store. He’s privately miffed that the man interrupted him. 

“So, where are we?” the man asks. “Like, physically. Because I swear I wasn’t here a moment ago.”

Scar offers the man his best comforting salesman smile (it took him months to get it right).  “We’re one of those moving stores, you know, the ones that go where they please and turn up for the right people to find. So I’m not really sure where the store will drop you off.” 

“That’s…inconvenient.” The man looks around, taking in the cluttered sections of the store. Scar notices two colorful wings tucked against the man’s back as he moves. “Tell me about this place?” 

“Well,” Scar says, “As I was saying, before someone interrupted me–”

“Oh, sorry about that.” 

“You did it again.” 

The corners of the man’s mouth quirk up. “Sorry. Again. Carry on?” 

“This is Scar’s Magical Emporium for Lost Things. You lose it, we find it.” Scar gestures around the store, which is, admittedly, smaller and more cramped than the word “emporium” would suggest. Even so, it fits everything, from books to clothes to furniture, an array of lost items waiting for their owners to walk through the door and find them. “Feel free to take a look around, but take only what you’ve lost.” 

The man frowns. “I haven’t lost anything, though.” 

“Are you sure?” Scar asks. “Do you want to look around anyways, in case you haven’t realized it was missing?” 

“I mean, I suppose that I might’ve lost a pen, or something.” His eyes trace over the shelves, rove over the filing cabinets of photos and letters. 

“Pens are by the filing cabinets, in the desk supplies section. A quick browse won’t hurt.” Scar has about four different cups stuffed with pens, and he almost always removes the nicer ones to keep for himself. 

“Normally I’d agree, but I really have to get going.” The man pauses, then adds, “Actually, you wouldn’t happen to have an umbrella, would you?” 

“There’s a–” Before he can finish speaking, he hears a faint thump behind him. He frowns and looks around. 

A large black umbrella is sitting in an owl-shaped umbrella stand that he’s never seen before, right next to one of the shelves. 

The umbrella stand belongs to someone else. Scar recognizes that immediately; knows that it’ll be a temporary fixture of his store for a few months before the owner walks in. It’ll look nice by the shop’s entrance, he thinks idly. But the umbrella…that doesn’t belong with the stand. 

“There’s a what?” the man asks. 

Scar clears his throat and gestures for the man to come over. “As it happens,” he says, “I do have a spare umbrella right here.” 

He pulls the umbrella out of the umbrella stand and holds it out to the man. “Stay dry.” 

The man blinks. “How…how much do I owe you?” 

“Oh, nothing.” Scar shrugs. “I don’t really charge for this business. Although if you’d like a good luck charm, I do make and sell some at the front.” He leads the man to his display rack of good luck charms, where they sit on the counter, waiting to be bought. It’s a nice little side hustle–everyone loves a good luck charm. “Perhaps you’d like one to stave off the rain.” The man’s dripping clothes hadn’t been lost on Scar. “I’ve never had any complaints about them.” 

Mostly due to the fact that Scar rarely has repeat customers. His shop travels around, and most people don’t need to end up here more than once or twice. 

“Sure.” The man takes a charm and attaches it to the handle of his new umbrella. “How much?”

Scar names the price. The man hands over the money, and then he walks out of the store with an umbrella decorated with a good luck charm. Scar expects that to be the last of that odd encounter. 

Except two days later, as Scar’s sorting through the pillows of the bedding section, he hears a short gasp that didn’t come from him. When he turns around, the strange man is standing there, a rain-covered black umbrella in his hand, a familiar lucky charm dangling from the handle.

“Well, hello there,” Scar says, offering the man a pleasant smile. “What brings you here?” 

“I don’t know?” The man closes his umbrella. “I was on my way to lunch.” 

“You should take a look around,” Scar says. “Seriously, this time. Maybe you really did lose something.”

The man sighs. “I really don’t think I’ve lost anything important.” 

“I can show you around if you have a moment to spare?” Scar offers. “Maybe something will turn up. It won’t take long, I promise.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and then the man sighs. “Fine. I suppose I don’t have anything better to do. Let’s go.”

Scar sets down the pillows he’d been holding, and smiles at the man. 

“So! Tell me a little bit about yourself…” He trails off, realizing that he doesn’t know the man’s name. 

“I’m Grian. You’re Scar, I assume?” 

“Yup, that’s me!” He flashes Grian a wide smile. “So tell me…what brings you here?”

“My feet?” Grian sounds confused. “I don’t know how I got here.”

Scar snorts, then switches tactics. “Did you move recently?” he asks. “Sometimes we don’t realize that we lost something in the shuffle.” 

“Nope. I’ve lived in my current place for nearly three years now.” Grian studies the shelves of children’s toys that they’re walking past. 

“Oh, that’s nice. Have you traveled anywhere recently?” 

“Nope.” 

“...not even outside the city?” Scar presses. 

“I like it here.” Grian shrugs, and turns down the aisle into the toiletries section. “My sister and brother live nearby too.” 

“Have either of them lost anything, perhaps?” Scar asks. Sometimes that happens. Sometimes someone will find an object belonging to someone else, but they’ll have had to be the one to find it to mend a relationship, or something. Lost objects can be finicky like that. Magic as a whole can be finicky like that. 

“I don’t think so,” Grian says. “But…I’ll keep an eye out for something of theirs.” He squints at the array of towels that Scar had carefully hung up. “Do people really lose towels that often?” 

“There’s not that many towels there,” Scar says. “Besides, I think they’re a set.” 

“You think?” Grian asks. 

Scar shrugs. “I’ll know when their owner shows up. It’s intuitive for me, honestly.” 

“Huh.” Grian keeps walking, keeps wandering down the aisles. They make their way into the clothing section, and Grian flips through a few jackets before sighing. 

“How does anyone ever find anything in here?” he asks. 

“It’s magic,” Scar says. “Although…I have an extensive organization system.” 

Most people would disagree. The organization system isn’t exactly intuitive for people who aren’t Scar, owner of Scar’s Magical Emporium for Lost Things. 

“I can imagine.” Grian lifts up a hat, then puts it back down. “And none of this stuff is for sale?” 

“Correct! If you’re not the right person, you can’t have it.” 

“How do you know if it’s the right person?” 

“Magic.” 

“And you’ve never been wrong?” Grian stops browsing and looks at Scar. “Because I’m telling you, I haven’t lost anything.” 

“Well, something brought you here.” 

Grian scowls. “You don’t know that.” 

Scar keeps his smile on. “The emporium goes where it’s needed to ensure that people get what they’re looking for,” he says. “For you to have ended up here twice in the span of three days…you’ve lost something, I’m sure of it.” 

Grian’s frown gets bigger. “Why can’t you run one of those magical cafes?” he asks. “Why lost objects?” 

“Even lost things need a place to go,” Scar tells him. 

Silence stretches between them. Grian looks down at the hats he’d been studying earlier. 

Then he sighs. “I really don’t think any of these are mine,” he says. “Sorry for wasting your time, Scar.” 

“We’ve barely gotten through half the store,” Scar tells him. 

Grian gives him a wry smile. 

“I have to go,” he says. “I’ve got to get to lunch.” 

“Oh, right,” Scar says, and steps back. “Well then. Be on your way; I hope you have a good one.” 

Grian nods. “Have a good day,” he says, and Scar watches as Grian opens his umbrella and disappears out of the store. 

As if sensing his disappointment, Jellie appears from wherever she was hiding, and wraps around his ankles. 

“Mrow?” she asks. 

Scar looks down at her. 

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re right. He’ll probably be back.” 

After all, Grian hadn’t found anything here. The store would probably get annoyed that Grian hadn’t found whatever it was that he was looking for. 

Jellie seems satisfied with the answer, and walks over to the counter. Scar follows her. 

Sure enough, a week passes before Grian appears out of nowhere once again. His wings are ruffled, this time, and Scar watches as Grian hurriedly tucks them behind his back, then smoothes down his sweater. 

“Hello, Grian,” he calls out. 

“What.” Grian’s expression is flat as he takes in his surroundings. “I swear this was a restaurant.” 

“Is it?” Scar sighs. “Are you in a hurry?” 

“It appears that way.” Grian frowns. “I don’t have time for this; I’m getting dinner with my siblings and I’m running late.” 

Scar frowns. “I still think you should take a look around,” he says, leaving the counter. “Maybe do a quick search of the filing cabinets? I’ll help you look.” 

Grian sighs. “If you’re sure this will work.”

“It can’t hurt to give it another try,” Scar cajoles. 

 With another put-upon sigh, Grian heads over to the nearest cabinet and starts flipping through the different papers that Scar’s collected over time. Scar joins him, looking at each photo in case a familiar face jumps out at him. The two of them look through everything in silence. Grian eventually groans and moves onto another drawer, rifling through everything as fast as he can. Scar, meanwhile, takes his time, enjoying the moment to review the different photos and letters he’s collected over time. 

If nothing else, it’s just a regular inventory search for him.

The time passes quickly, so quickly that Scar (and Grian) startle when Grian’s phone rings. 

“Shoot,” Grian says, dropping the photo he was looking at in favor of grabbing his phone. “Timmy? Hello. Yes, I’m coming. I had to trim my grass. With scissors, yeah, you know how it is. I’ll be there.” 

He hangs up.

“Sorry, Scar,” he says, an apologetic frown on his face. “I’ve gotta go. Thanks for helping me look.” 

And for the third time, Scar watches Grian disappear. 

“He’s never going to find what he’s looking for, at this rate,” Scar says flatly. 

Jellie meows in agreement. Scar sighs and starts the arduous task of putting everything back where it was. As nice as it is looking through the filing cabinets, they’re probably the worst when it comes to the clean-up. 

People really need to stop losing letters and photos and things. Scar sorts through everything, though, just in case he finds something for Grian. 

But nothing turns up, and Scar eventually abandons his search in favor of getting some dinner. 

Grian will be back. Three times is either the final visit or the beginning of a pattern, and since Grian still hasn’t taken anything besides the umbrella and a good luck charm, Scar is confident that he’ll be seeing a lot more of Grian in the future. 

Besides, Grian hasn’t ever come through the door.

Just as he predicted, Grian appears five days later (not that Scar’s been counting). 

“Well, hello there,” Scar says. 

Grian groans. “Again?” he asks. “I didn’t even–I wasn’t…” He trails off, then sighs. “Fine. I’ve got some time today. Let’s take a look.” 

“Do you want my help?” Scar asks. Normally he’d be out there already, but Jellie’s curled up on his lap right now, and Scar is loath to leave her. 

“You know the store better than I.” Grian crosses his arms over his chest, then thinks the better of it and uncrosses them. “Please.” 

Scar gently picks Jellie up and deposits her on the floor. She meows unhappily at him before taking off to who knows where. Scar heads over to Grian. 

“So, any particular sections you want to start with?” he asks. 

“Front to back, I think,” Grian says. He’s already poking through a display of crystals. “Are these a set?” 

“Some of them are paired, I think,” Scar says. “Some aren’t.” 

“Hm.” Grian picks up a particularly shiny piece of moonstone, then sets it back down. “You carry a lot of things.” 

“It’s called Scar’s Magical Emporium for a reason. Besides, you’d be surprised at the stuff people lose.” 

“Yeah. I think I saw a sword towards the back.” 

“That’ll be our weapon section,” Scar tells him. “Some of those wait years before the person who is supposed to claim them comes through.” 

“Weird.” Grian’s already making his way over to the weapons, though. “Do you think I could be destined for one of those?” 

“No clue. Let’s take a look.” 

The two of them head over, although Grian’s careful to stop whenever something catches his eye. He picks up a small canary statue, and says that it looks like something that his brother would like. Then he stops to examine a particularly worn stuffed rabbit. Scar is patient as Grian moves through the store, and doesn’t offer much commentary. After all, each object that Grian stops at isn’t his. 

Eventually, they reach their destination, and the two of them stare at the display of weapons: swords and axes and crossbows hung up on the wall. Scar’s privately quite proud of it, although some of the weapons could probably use a cleaning. 

“Anything stand out?” Scar asks. 

“Not at all.” Grian turns to Scar. “How does all this stuff get here? You have enough weapons for a small army. We could get geared up, take over the city…” 

“It just shows up by my counter,” Scar says, “And then I add it to the catalog, find a spot for it on the shelves, and wait for the owner to show up.” 

“And you don’t know who the owner is until they show up?” Grian asks. 

“Nope.”

“You’re sure?” Grian’s squinting at him suspiciously. Scar doesn’t like it. 

“Yeah. We could check out the furniture section?” Scar offers. 

Grian blinks at him, the suspicion bleeding from his face. “The what?”

“The furniture section.” 

“People lose furniture?” Grian demands. 

“Oh, all the time.” Scar chuckles as he leads Grian towards the furniture section. He’d carefully arranged it, the chairs and the one couch, and there’s a round coffee table in the middle. There’s more furniture, of course, pieces that Scar has lovingly scattered around his store so seekers can rest if they need to, but he likes having a dedicated section as well. “What do you think?”

“This is crazy,” Grian says. “And my sister runs a traveling coffee shop.” 

“Wait.” Scar squints at Grian. “You know someone who has a traveling coffee shop, but a traveling store for lost things is crazy?” 

Grian shrugs. “I know magic exists–” 

“You’re an avian,” Scar points out. 

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything.” Grian rolls his eyes. “It’s just some wings.” To prove his point, he extends them and gives them a gentle flap, taking care to avoid hitting anything. “I can fly, but it’s not that big of a deal. Plenty of people can fly.” 

Scar mentally re-evaluates his opinion of Grian. “Plenty of people lose things–”

“I just don’t get it,” Grian says, cutting Scar off. “How does it work? How come I never seem to walk through the door? Other people walk through the door, but not me.” 

Scar would suggest his own theory, but he and Grian have barely interacted, at this point. He’d rather wait and see how this plays out. 

“I don’t know,” he settles on saying. “But I’m sorry it’s happening. Do you want to just help check inventory for a bit instead?” 

There’s a long pause, one where Scar almost regrets not sharing his theory instead. But then–

“Sure,” Grian says. “Since I keep crashing here, I might as well help out, right?” 

The next time Grian appears in the shop, Scar doesn’t bother suggesting searching for Grian’s items (if they exist). He just says, “Hey, have you had the chance to meet Jellie yet? She’s practically a lost cat; I don’t know where she is half the time.” 

“Yes,” Grian says immediately. “You have a cat?” 

“This place is perfect for her,” Scar says. He whistles, and Jellie jumps down from somewhere, landing at his feet. He scoops her up and presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Grian, meet Jellie,” he says, holding her out to Grian. “Jellie, meet Grian.” 

Grian extends his hand for her to sniff. “Hello, Jellie,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”  

Jellie sniffs at his hand, then bumps her head against his palm. 

“She likes you,” Scar says.

“I like her too,” Grian says, stroking her fur. “She’s so soft.” 

“She is.” 

Jellie grows tired of the petting, and wriggles her way out of Scar’s arms. 

“Where does she go?” Grian asks as Jellie disappears around the corner. “Is there anywhere in particular that she’ll spend time at?” 

“She goes wherever she pleases.” Scar winks. “I suspect she’s as magical as the store itself, but I’ve never heard her talk, so…” He trails off. 

“I’ve never met a talking cat,” Grian says. 

“I wish Jellie was a talking cat. I want to know what she thinks!” 

Grian huffs a laugh. “I get that,” he says. “I’ve got two cats at home, actually. If they talked to me, they’d probably ask why I was so big.” 

“Oh?” 

“They definitely think I’m a weird bird.” Grian shifts his wings. “I’m surprised Jellie didn’t try to attack me.” 

“Jellie’s a sweetheart. She’d never.” 

“I believe that.” Grian smiles. “Well, thanks for introducing me to Jellie. But I need to be going.” 

“Have a nice day,” Scar calls as Grian swings open the door and steps back outside. 

Grian keeps showing up. Scar isn’t surprised. They settle into a pattern: exchange pleasantries, chat about their day, and then, if Grian’s not in a rush, Scar will ask him if he wants to help take stock of the inventory. Those are the days that Scar likes best: lazy afternoons where the two of them explore Scar’s shop, Grian making complaints about the dust, Scar occasionally stopping to straighten some of the displays. 

It never escapes Scar’s notice that Grian never walks through the front door, though.

“I don’t think your shop works right,” Grian says. He’d arrived while Scar was sorting through the old textbooks, trying to figure out which editions were likely out of print and therefore useless to hapless college students. Scar had flashed him a smile and asked him if he’d wanted to help, and to his surprise, Grian had agreed. That being said, Scar’s still doing most of the work. He’s the one actually putting the books back on the shelves. Grian’s just thumbing through them in case there’s anything interesting pressed between the pages. So far he’s only found various homework assignments, all of which he neatly tucks back into place.

“Rude!” Scar shoves two books into place. “I’ve never had a dissatisfied customer, ever!” 

“...hello,” Grian says flatly. “I am right here.” 

Scar looks at him. “You’re the help.” 

Grian rolls his eyes. “I am not. You don’t even pay me.”

“Right, right. By the way, could you hand me that?” Scar asks, pointing at the book in his lap. 

Grian starts to hand it over, then stops. His eyes narrow into a slant, and he leans away from Scar’s outstretched hand, taking the book with him. “You’re just trying to prove that I’m the help.” 

“I would never!” Scar exclaims, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m simply trying to organize my bookshelves, and you just happen to have the next book!” 

Grian snorts. “I don’t believe you,” he says. “You definitely think of me as your employee.” 

“You’re a kind soul, Grian,” Scar says, “And you’d be kinder still if you could hand over that book in your hands.” 

Grian shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Please?” 

They stare at each other, Scar with his hand outstretched, Grian still holding the book as far away from Scar as he can.

“Grian…”

“Alright, fine,” Grian says, and surrenders the book to Scar. “But this means nothing! I’m not the help!” 

Scar laughs. “Come on, is working in my shop really that bad?”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you paid me,” he says, and Scar laughs again. “And maybe if the hours were more consistent.” 

“Can’t control that,” Scar replies. 

Grian sighs. “I suppose not,” he agrees. 

Grian nearly faceplants on to Scar, wings spreading out to keep his balance. “What the hell,” he says. “I was climbing the stairs?” 

“There’s no stairs here,” Scar says dumbly. 

“Well, I was climbing up some, and now I’m not,” Grian says, managing to find his footing. “This is...really not where I’m supposed to be. See you!” 

Scar waves after him, and goes back to work. 

“But it’s weird, right? We know I haven’t lost anything. We’ve turned this place upside down in search of something that belongs to me.” Grian picks up the notebook that just landed on the counter. He’d arrived just a few minutes ago, just as Scar had been wondering if he’d see Grian today. Even if the man has no control over when he appears in the shop, Scar would still say that he has impeccable timing. 

“I just don’t get it,” Grian moans.  

“Yeah, I know,” Scar replies. “Pass that to me?” 

Grian flips through the notebook, then slides it to Scar. “It’s a sketchbook, by the looks of it. Want me to put it away?”

“Put it near the notebooks section,” Scar says, and makes a note of the sketchbook’s arrival. “You know where that is?” 

“On it, boss,” Grian says, and throws Scar a mock salute as he gets up to put the sketchbook away. 

“Oh, hello, Jellie,” Scar hears Grian say. “Didn’t see you there.” There’s a pause, and then Grian says, “Yes, I didn’t expect to come here today, either.” 

Grian walks back out, sketchbook gone, Jellie now cradled in his arms. 

“Look who I found,” he says smugly. “One cat, for the owner of Scar’s Magical Emporium for Lost Things?” 

“Have the chargers always been here?” Grian asks, and Scar jumps. 

“I was rearranging these,” he replies, waving at the newly wrapped cords. “They used to be closer to the office supplies.” 

“Am I going to have to remember this?” Grian asks.  

“Only if you want.” Scar shrugs. “You know that you don’t actually have to help out, right? It’s my store.” 

“If I’m going to show up randomly, I might as well help out.” Grian adjusts one of the chargers. “But not right now! I have to go.” And with that, he’s gone once again, leaving Scar with the chargers. 

“I just wish I could get, like, a warning or something,” Grian says, while Scar rearranges the screwdrivers to accommodate the two that had shown up in the night. At this point, hearing his voice doesn’t startle Scar anymore. He’s grown used to Grian’s spontaneous appearances. “I’ve started leaving the house earlier, in case I get whisked here.”

“I am really sorry that this keeps happening,” Scar tells him. He slides the last screwdriver into place and straightens up. “I don’t know why you keep getting pulled here.” 

“It’s fine.” Grian offers Scar a smile. “Someone’s got to help you clean this place up.”

“It’s plenty clean,” Scar retorts. 

“Sure.” Grian runs a finger through the dust along the top of one of the toolboxes. His finger leaves a clean mark, and Scar’s surprised at how vibrant the red is when it’s not covered in dust. He really should make more of an effort to tidy the place up.

Grian holds up his now dusty finger.  “I was going to offer to clean this, but if you’re sure that the store is clean–”

“No, no, we can clean together,” Scar hastens to say, and Grian’s smile grows impossibly wider, and Scar can’t help but smile back. 

“I just really don’t think that your shop works the way it should,” Grian says thoughtfully. He’s currently dusting the large chandelier that fills the entrance, standing on a borrowed ladder and using a borrowed duster. When he’d arrived that afternoon, he’d taken one look at the chandelier and declared that it was too cobwebby for its own good, and offered to clean it. Scar let him, because he wasn’t planning on cleaning it anytime soon. He could barely keep the shelves dust-free as it was, even with the addition of Grian’s help. 

“Pearl’s cafe doesn’t just magically pull me inside; I see it from across the street and enter of my own volition,” Grian continues. “But your shop doesn’t work like that. I blink and I’m here. I’m usually not even thinking about this place when it happens.” 

It’s been three months since Grian first entered Scar’s store, and consequently, his life. Scar’s grown to cherish each visit, has grown to anticipate them. Sometimes Grian looks tired and worn, but on those days Jellie is usually the first to greet him, and it doesn’t escape Scar’s notice that Grian usually leaves the store smiling. 

It makes Scar feel better too, knowing that his shop is more than just a place for people’s lost items. 

“Perhaps,” Scar says, already knowing the answer. “We could take another look for your lost thing.” 

“I’m busy cleaning.” Grian doesn’t look at Scar. “Your chandelier was bothering me.” 

“It was a bit cobwebby,” Scar admits. “Well, you keep doing that, and I’ll wait for any customers to come in.” 

As soon as he says that, the door opens, and in comes a tall man with a mustache. He’s wearing a black suit and rings his hands together nervously. 

“Welcome to Scar’s Magical Emporium for Lost Things!” Scar calls out. “Or the only place where the phrase, finders keepers, doesn’t apply! We have everything from your lost sock to that beloved baby blanket that you’d thought you’d lost months ago. Feel free to take a look around, but take only what you’ve lost.” 

“Hello,” the man says. He fidgets with his hands, shifts his weight from side to side. Then he says, “This might sound…weird…but do you have any…redstone? Like, a lot of redstone?” 

“Redstone?” Scar hums. “Check the rocks and crystals section. It’s to your left.” 

“Thanks,” the man says, and he disappears into the store.

“Redstone,” Grian repeats. He’s no longer cleaning, choosing to lean on his ladder and watch the man disappear in search of the redstone. “Does he know he went to the right?” 

“He’ll find it,” Scar says, leaning back in his chair. “They always do.” 

“Not me.” 

“Oh, you’re my newest employee, obviously.” Scar offers Grian his most beatific smile. “It felt right, since you’ve ended up here so often, and now you’re cleaning my chandelier…” 

Grian throws the duster at him. Scar laughs, then promptly gets hit on the head because he forgot to duck. 

It’s okay though, because Grian’s laughter rings out around them, and Scar finds himself suddenly enchanted. 

He’s never been able to coax a laugh out of Grian before. A smile and a snort and an eyeroll, a scoff and a raised eyebrow and even a giggle, sure, but never a full-bodied laugh, never anything like this. 

He’d known, sort of, that he enjoyed Grian’s company. But Grian’s tilting his head back, exposing the pale column of his throat. Some of his hair is stuck to his forehead. There’s a stray cobweb on his sweater. 

It’s a beautiful sight. Scar wishes he could take a photo of it. 

“You saw me throw that!” Grian crows, still laughing. 

“Yeah,” Scar breathes out. It comes out a little too breathless. His head is throbbing, but it’s nothing in the face of how fast his heart has started beating. “Yeah, that actually hurt. A lot.” 

Grian just laughs. Again. Scar’s a little bit in love. Or maybe it’s the delirium talking, because he did just get hit in the head with a duster. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. “Any chance you’ll throw that back at me?” 

“Of course not,” Scar replies, grabbing the duster from where it lies on the floor. “In fact, you’re never getting this back.” 

“Oh, come on.” Grian starts climbing down the ladder. Scar would call him out for climbing and not flying, but he needs a moment to get his breathing back under control. “I’m not leaving this unfinished; give me the duster.” 

“Shouldn’t have thrown it at me.” Scar twirls the duster around in his hand. “Consider yourself fired.” 

“Oh, well…” Grian grins. “In that case, I suppose I should just leave, then.” 

“Wait, don’t do that.” Scar nearly gets up to stop Grian, even though Grian’s just reached the ground and isn’t anywhere near the door. “We can come to an agreement, I’m sure.” 

“Can we?” Grian strides up to the counter and slams his hands down. It shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. Scar is horribly charmed. “Name your price.” 

“One feather duster,” Scar says promptly, and holds it out to Grian. 

“No.” Grian studies the feather duster. “I think I should get more than that. After all, I’m the one cleaning your chandelier for free.” 

“You wanted to do it,” Scar reminds him. 

“I suppose I did.” Grian looks around the store, slowly, eyes purposely roving over the various items, before bringing his gaze back to Scar. “I think–”

“Do I just take this?” someone asks, and both Scar and Grian jump. It’s the man from earlier, now carrying a ridiculously large cube of redstone. It looks heavy, and Scar internally winces. “Or do I…” The man lowers the redstone, and he takes in Scar and Grian. 

“Oh,” he says. “Am I interrupting?” 

“No,” Grian and Scar say simultaneously. Scar slides the feather duster towards Grian, who takes it. 

“He can help you with the exit process,” Grian says, and Scar flashes the man his most brilliant smile and flips open his catalog to mark down the man’s entry while Grian flies up to finish dusting the chandelier. 

“Here, again?” Grian asks, wandering out of one of the aisles. He sighs but still offers Scar a wobbly smile. Scar smiles back. He’s glad to see Grian, but Grian had just shown up yesterday, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but there. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a meeting to get to…hopefully I’m not too far away.” 

“Hopefully,” Scar says. “That’s, what, the second time in two days?”

“Plus I spent the whole weekend cleaning your chandelier,” Grian adds. “Hopefully I don’t turn up tomorrow. No offense, but it gets old.” 

“Right.” Scar manages to keep the smile on his face, but it feels strained. He also avoids mentioning that Grian had wanted to clean it. “Again, sorry.” 

“Not your fault.” Grian opens the door and groans when he sees the surroundings. “Great. It’ll take me forever to get back to work. See you later, I suppose.” 

The door shuts behind him, and Scar sighs. As if sensing his sadness, Jellie hops onto his lap, and settles down. 

“I just…” Scar trails off. He’s not sure how he’d finish that sentence. 

Wish he’d walk through the entrance, maybe. Open the doors and say that he’s looking for something. 

Or someone, even. 

To no one’s surprise, Grian appears in the shop the next day. 

“Three days in a row?” Grian demands. He’s wet–it must be raining outside. There’s a familiar black umbrella in his hand. “This is so–” He finishes his sentence with a wordless scream. 

“I’m sorry,” Scar says. And he is. As pleasant as he finds Grian’s company, he can’t imagine how frustrating it is for him. 

“It’s fine.” Grian shoves some of his hair back. “Or, well, it will be. I’m just late. Again.” 

His unplanned detours have made him later and later. Yesterday they were on the outskirts of town. Grian had looked exhausted at the thought of flying back to work. 

“You know,” Scar says idly, as Grian stalks towards the front of the store. “Are you sure that you’re not a little lost, yourself?” 

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words leave his mouth. Grian turns around with a blank expression, and Scar wants to back away immediately. The umbrella clatters uselessly to the floor. 

He doesn’t. He won’t. 

“What.” Grian’s voice is flat. “Lost? Me?” 

“It’s a store for lost things,” Scar reminds him. “And you keep appearing.” 

You’re not a seeker, he wants to say. You’ve never come in through the door. 

“That hardly seems fair,” Grian snaps. “I’m not…lost. And even if I was, who isn’t lost these days? Just because I hate my job and this city doesn’t mean I’m lost .” 

He laughs. It’s a bitter thing. 

“It was just an idea; I could be wrong.” Scar doesn’t think he’s wrong, but maybe it’ll soften the blow. 

“I may not know what I’m doing, but that doesn’t mean that I need to be found. Besides, the only one who’s ever here when I show up is you! What are you supposed to do, put me on a shelf so I can collect dust?” 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Scar says, drawing back at the accusation. “That’s not what this shop is for.”

“Right.” Grian inhales sharply. “Look. What I’d really like is for you and your shop to leave me alone. I can’t keep getting yanked here spontaneously; it’s been really messing me up.” 

With those parting words, Grian whirls around on his heel and storms out of the front door. 

“Wait, Grian–” Scar says, but the door slams shut. 

He picks up Grian’s umbrella. The good luck charm swings uselessly from the handle.

“You forgot your umbrella,” he says to the empty shop. 

Nobody answers. The door stays shut. 

After that, Grian stops appearing. 

Before the store opens, Scar likes to do an early-morning inventory check. It’s not unusual for items to turn up at night, and for the owner to show up later that day. 

Today, he feels more exhausted than usual as he drags himself through the store. Even the store itself seems to match his mental state: a little dustier, shelves stacked more haphazardly than Scar normally would organize them. He thinks that there’s been an influx of cobwebs too. 

He tries not to think of Grian helping him keep the store clean. 

With a sigh, he turns around the corner, and the sight that greets him causes him to freeze in place. 

Grian is sound asleep, curled up in a large brown bean bag with a large blanket that Scar’s never seen before pulled over his body. Strands of golden hair fan out on the fabric of the bean bag and catch the morning light coming in from the windows. His ribcage rises and falls slightly with each breath. The tops of his wings are just barely visible from under the blanket. 

Scar’s staring at him. At this point, he’s stared at him long enough to be creepy, long enough for him to catalog the way Grian’s face smoothes out when he’s asleep, to memorize how he looks under early morning sunlight. 

It’s just that he hadn’t been sure that he’d ever see Grian again. He hasn’t seen Grian in a little over a month. 

He should wake him up. It would be the polite thing to do, since Grian had made it clear that he hadn’t enjoyed having the store pull him in randomly. 

Scar does not try to wake Grian up. 

“We can talk when you wake up,” he says softly, and turns his attention to cataloging the rest of his store. After all, lost things turn up all the time, and he never knows when the owner will walk through the door. Grian will wake up when he wakes up. Scar has a store to manage in the meantime. 

Grian eventually stumbles out from the depths of the store. 

“Well hello there,” Scar says. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” 

“Yeah.” Grian rakes his fingers through his hair. “Do you. Ah.” There’s a moment of silence, one where Scar can see Grian visibly weighing the pros and cons of asking whatever it is he’s going to ask. It startles Scar, to realize how well he can still read Grian. 

Eventually, Grian says, “Do you have anything to eat?” 

Scar should say no. He should let Grian leave, tell him that he’ll have better luck going somewhere else. 

Scar says, “One moment. Jellie!” 

Jellie hops up onto the counter. 

“Watch the store for me,” he tells her. To Grian, he says, “I’ll be right back.” 

He goes upstairs to his kitchen and makes two pieces of toast. It’s nothing fancy, but Grian will be fed and he won’t leave and that’s what’s important. When he returns, both Jellie and Grian are in the exact same positions that he’d left them in. 

“I made you toast,” he says. 

Grian starts eating immediately. “Thanks, Scar,” he says between bites. “This is good.” 

“Do you need to get going?” Scar asks politely. “Any more meetings? Did you get enough sleep? Your umbrella is by the door, by the way.” 

He’d put it back in the owl-shaped umbrella stand that had shown up the first time Grian had arrived. It had sat there for weeks now, waiting for the day Grian walked through the door. 

“Oh. No. I’m not here for that, but thanks for keeping it.” Grian seems surprised, like he’d expected the umbrella to disappear. 

“That’s kind of my job.” 

Grian shrugs and keeps eating his toast. Once he’s done, he looks around the store. “I’ve got some time. Do you need any help cleaning today?” 

So they’re not talking about it. 

“Sure,” Scar says. “I was thinking that it looked a little dusty.” 

The corners of Grian’s mouth turn up. “Well,” he says. “Your employee has been a bit…absent. He should probably get back to work, right?”

Something in Scar lifts when Grian says that. 

“If he wants to,” he replies. 

Grian’s face softens a little bit. “He wants to.” 

It’s a good day. 

Grian doesn’t leave, which surprises Scar. He just grabs a duster and a rag and goes through the store, wiping down shelves and dusting various objects. Scar tends to the counter, directing everyone who comes into the store to where their things might be. They’re busy all day, right until closing. Once everyone’s left, Scar faceplants on the counter, expecting Grian to leave as well. If he pretends to be asleep, it’ll make Grian’s leaving less painful.

Someone pokes at Scar’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Grian says. “Wake up.” 

Scar groans into his arms. “No.” 

“Come on,” Grian says. “I want to talk to you.” 

Scar lifts his head. Grian’s leaning over him, uncomfortably close to Scar’s face. Scar could probably count Grian’s eyelashes. 

“Look,” Scar says, in order to avoid counting Grian’s eyelashes. “I know you don’t always enjoy being pulled here–” Understatement, he thinks, privately wincing at Grian’s words from the last time they’d spoken. “–But it was good to see you again. Thanks for your help today. You’re free to go, though.”

“Oh.” Grian’s wings fluff up, then settle back down. He shifts away from Scar, so that their faces aren’t so close. “Yeah, um. About that.”

Scar looks at him expectantly. 

“I went for a late night walk,” Grian says. “Last night, I mean. Couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d get some air. And then.” He pauses. “It was about three blocks away from my apartment, but I saw it. Scar’s Magical Emporium for Lost Things. The window display looks really pretty when it’s lit up.”

“I’m glad,” Scar says, even though he’s still processing Grian’s words. He’d seen the window display. He’d seen the storefront. “I worked hard on it.”

“Yeah.” Grian’s looking down at his hands. “Well. Anyways. I saw your store, and…I wasn’t sure when I’d get another chance like that. So. I walked in.”

“The door wasn’t locked,” he adds. “I didn’t want to disturb you, so I just slept here. I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh,” Scar says, unable to say anything else. Something flutters in his stomach at the thought. Grian had walked in.

He’d found the store, and walked inside.

“Anyways,” Grian continues, “I was thinking that maybe we should go somewhere that isn’t your store? For dinner, I mean. If you want to do that.” 

Scar blinks at him. “Dinner?” 

“Yeah. Aren’t you hungry?” Grian’s giving him a Look, one that means he thinks Scar’s being willfully obtuse. 

He catches on a moment later. 

“I was just going to get Jellie and rest tonight,” Scar tells Grian, and makes a show of looking around the store. “I’m sure she’s missed me.” 

Jellie is nowhere to be found, and Scar would bet that if he went looking, she’d appear just long enough to give him a baleful look, as if telling him to go out tonight, before vanishing again. She’s funny like that.  

“Okay, well, get dinner with me.” Grian’s staring at him now. “Come on. We should do something that isn’t in your store.” 

“Should we?” Scar asks. “I kind of like being here, don’t you?” 

Grian blinks. Scar waits for him to say something. 

“...it is nice,” Grian says finally, like the admittance pains him. “I like coming here.” 

“Excellent.” Scar grins. “Okay, so, here’s my plan for what we’ll do tonight. Let’s go out–you can pay–and then I’ll show you where the physical location is, so you can always find your way back.” 

Grian’s already starting to smile before Scar even finishes. “Why do I have to pay?” he asks. 

Scar shrugs. “If it goes well, I can pay for the second one.” 

Grian thinks it over, but Scar can already tell from the way he’s smiling what the answer will be. “Fine,” Grian says, “But you have to kiss me when you drop me off at my place.” 

Scar grins. “Who said anything about that? It depends on how dinner goes.” 

Grian’s eyes narrow. “My umbrella’s still here, right?” 

“Right,” Scar replies. 

“Skip showing me the physical location,” Grian says. “We can leave that here, so that way I have a reason to find this place again, and that way you can walk me home, but I’ll kiss you at the door.” 

Scar makes a show of thinking it over. “Okay.” 

“And give me your number,” Grian adds. 

“But you’re still paying for dinner?” Scar asks. 

“And you can order the most expensive thing on the menu,” Grian tells him. 

“Hm.” Scar rests his chin on his hands. “I have much to think about…” 

“Limited time only,” Grian says. “Deal will be unavailable in five…four…three…two…”

“Sold,” Scar says. “Let’s go. Jellie! You watch the place while I go out!” 

Jellie meows back at him. She might not talk, but Scar knows that she told him to have fun. 

“You were going to make me get to one, weren’t you?” Grian asks. 

Scar just shrugs. “I had to consider your offer, didn’t I? What kind of salesman would I be if I didn’t?” 

(Scar orders the most expensive thing on the menu just to mess with Grian, but it turns out that Grian kisses just as sweetly as Scar had hoped, and they make plans to meet up in two days. Properly, this time, without the interference of certain traveling stores that may or not like to pull unsuspecting Grians inside.

And two days later, Grian walks through the door. And then he keeps doing it.

Grian likes walking through the door. Scar tells him that he preferred Grian's random visits, but privately, he agrees. He likes seeing Grian walk through the door too.

After all, it's nice to know that someone's looking for him.)